Pending

Refresh.

Pending.

Refresh.

Pending.

I've done this forty times.

Maybe more.

I stopped counting after the first cup of coffee got cold.

The test was yesterday.

The results could come any day.

The portal says pending

and has said pending

since 6 AM

when I woke up

and my hand went to the phone

before my eyes even opened.

I'm supposed to be working.

I have a meeting at two.

My coffee is cold.

I've made it twice.

Neither one has been touched.

Refresh.

Pending.

It's like if I just keep clicking,

keep looking,

keep the app open,

the results will somehow

appear faster,

like my anxiety

is the engine

that's supposed to move this forward,

like I can think the answer

into existence

by refreshing enough times.

My thumb is starting to hurt.

The word "pending" is starting

to look like gibberish.

I know what it means.

It means I don't know.

It means somewhere in a lab

someone is looking at my blood

and taking their time

about it.

It means I'm not supposed to worry.

It means most of these are fine.

It means it's probably nothing.

But I'm still here.

Refreshing.

Waiting.

My hand won't stop moving.

My eyes won't look away.

The meeting is at two.

It's 12:47 now.

I still don't know.

I still don't know.

I still don't know.

Refresh.