“Well, that’s why we’re here,” she said. She shuffled a few papers and then looked back up. “I think our best option is to start with Chemo. Then, if that doesn’t do what we want it to, we’ll consider surgery.”
“You don’t think surgery would be better now?” I asked.
“It would be more aggressive,” she said. “Which, isn’t always better.”
“But,” I began.
“Listen,” she said. “With this kind of cancer, we can never be sure we’re doing the right thing. We just have to start somewhere and push forward.”
I nodded. She wasn’t saying anything that calmed my nerves, but at least we were moving forward. Besides, my cancer was rare. I couldn’t blame her for being uncertain. I also appreciated the fact that she wasn’t trying to blow smoke up my ass and hype me up with false hope. I was a medical professional and I knew I needed to be realistic.
“What are the chances I’ll survive this thing?” I asked boldly. My voice was stronger, much stronger than I felt.
“We caught it early,” she said. “These headaches are the first sign, so that’s good. If the treatment is successful, then I don’t see any reason why you can’t live out your life in remission. But if it’s not, well, we can never really know for sure.”
I nodded again. I felt like there wasn’t anything left to say. My chances of survival depended entirely upon luck. If things worked, I would be okay. If they didn’t, I would die. There was no middle ground.
I listened to Dr. Young tell me the details of my treatment. She walked me through exactly how many chemotherapy sessions I would undergo and what we would do after each one. She tried to be encouraging and positive, but I knew better.
When I left her office, I was exhausted. I had the day off, so I got in my car and drove to my apartment. My mind was blank until I walked through my front door. My phone rang, jolting me back to consciousness. I pulled it out of my pocket and smiled when I saw Caleb’s name flashing across the screen.
“Hi,” I said. “I just got home.”
“How’d it go?” he asked. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”
“It was okay,” I said. “The doctor walked me through her plan.”
“Which is?” he asked.
“Chemo,” I said. “She wants me to start as soon as possible.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah,” I said weakly. “Yeah, it’s good.”
Caleb paused. I could practically hear how worried he was through the phone. I sighed and sunk down on my couch, taking deep breaths and trying not to cry. If I broke down, then Caleb would only feel worse.
“Come over,” he finally said. “You have the day off, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m off all day.”
“Then, come over,” he said. “I just got back from the station. I’m here for the rest of the day.”
I smiled. “Let me shower first, then I’ll head that way.”
“Hurry,” he said.
“I will.”
We said goodbye, and I took a step toward my bathroom. Before I could make it another, there was a loud knock on my door. I groaned. This day already felt endless, and it wasn’t even noon.
I walked toward the door and pulled it open, my eyes widening in shock when I saw my father standing before me. His eyes were lighter today, and his face was devoid of any anger. He looked nervous.
“What are you doing here?” I asked sharply.
“I’m here to talk to you,” he said softly. “Can I come in? Please?”
I wanted to slam the door in his face. After our last conversation, I couldn’t imagine what he possibly had to say to me. Still, he didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look upset. I sighed and stood aside, gesturing for him to come inside.