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TEN



Ten steps I climbed to the hospital door,
Ten hallways I walked late at night.
Ten strangers I passed on the MRI floor,
Ten faces that mirrored my fright.

Ten minutes I waited alone in the room,
Ten pages I turned without reading. 
Ten tears that transported my feelings of doom,
Ten sighs that my heart was still beating. 

Ten voices I heard, when there was but one,
Ten tones that deafened my ears.
Ten seconds I counted, then wanted to run,
Ten pauses that silenced my fears.

Ten breaths I took as I ventured away,
Ten thoughts that entered my mind.
Ten days I pondered, just what they would say,
Ten reasons I feared they would find.
 
Ten months of treatment to help me survive,
Ten fingers and toes to discover. 
Ten years celebrating being alive,
Ten birthdays of being her mother.


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