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I wish it were possible to remove bad memories from a person’s mind. A built in eraser or a page like on those silly writing things we had as a child where you lifted the page and everything that had been recorded magically disappears. If so, I could simply and efficiently remove all the things I no longer want to remember from my mind – never having to think about them again. There are many I would wipe clean in a heartbeat. Things I hate to relive over and over - things I would give anything to never think of again. I know without a doubt that this moment will always be one of them.
The stricken look on Oliver’s face gives me a sharp pain in my chest. The way his face completely loses any trace of hope or denial when he sees the truth on mine. His eyes cloud with terror and his jaw clenches. The need to make sure this is reality shows in the way he grips my hand. A reaction so potent I’m not only seeing it, I’m feeling it right along with him.
He swallows repeatedly. His head nods several times and I know thoughts are racing through his mind. “Okay. Okay. So, you have cancer, but there’s treatment. I’m sure you caught it early, so first we need to get a second opinion, right? Right,” he answers his own question. “Then we need to get started on a treatment plan immediately. I remember how this works. What did your doctor say to you, exactly?”
“In all honestly, a lot of it’s a blur. But, it’s not great news. It’s aggressive, which I’m all too familiar with and they want to talk about chemotherapy, radiation and…”
“And what?”
I try to tell him but just thinking the words makes my throat tighten and my stomach feel queasy.
“And what, Remy?” I still can’t say it. Instead I look at him, really look at him. And he sees. His eyes drop down to my chest and pop back up again. He knows. He remembers what I went through alongside my mom. He became my rock and at times my safe place and escape when my mom was sick. If I hadn’t already been in love with him before then, that would have done it. “Are they sure?”
“It doesn’t look good, Ollie,” I say calling him by his childhood nickname. “Believe me, I would give anything to have better news, but the truth is, it’s only a matter of time. A total mastectomy is likely and chemotherapy will hopefully help, but let’s be honest – it will only extend the inevitable.”
“We’re getting a second opinion. We need to make sure we understand all of your options.” I’m silent, not acknowledging his words, but he knows me too well. “What aren’t you saying?”
I shrug, “Nothing.”
“It’s written all over your face. Tell me.”
“Fine. The truth is, I don’t see a point in getting a second opinion. I mean come on, we already know how this works.”
“We know how it worked with your mom, but this is different.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Yes it is,” he insists.
“No it’s not. She had breast cancer and now it’s found its way to me too.”
“I don’t care, it’s not the same at all.”
“How is it not?”
He takes my shoulders in his hands and grips them, “Because this time, it’s you!”
I laugh, but it sounds hollow, “It doesn’t matter, don’t you get that?”
“It matters to me. It should matter to you.”
“Well it doesn’t!” I knock his hands off my shoulders. “I don’t care who has it, the disease is the same. Your life becomes separated into two parts – before cancer and after cancer. It’s vicious and ugly. It strips you down until you forget the person you were before getting cancer or it’s worse, you remember exactly who you were and the fact you’re no longer that person makes depression compound an already wicked situation. It can strip away the person you were before cancer, can make you beg, plead and pray to just feel better – for a week, for a day, then it morphs into an hour, just an hour. The sick part is for a while it may even ease. It may go away and you’ll think you’re stronger and better and the treatment plan was actually effective. Hope will start building in your heart once again. You’ll start looking toward a future you weren’t sure you’d get to have. You’ll start to believe it’s possible.”
“Remy…”
“But then you realize it was all a hoax, a cruel joke. It comes back. It comes back and it will be stronger, fiercer, less forgiving and lethal. It will have you begging crawling and scratching your way through. It will strip you of your soul, maybe even make you beg to die. To just die and take away the pain. Did I ever tell you that in her worst moments she begged to die, Oliver? One time she was sick and in the bathroom on her knees at the toilet and she was asking God to just take her home. To let her fight be over.” Looking into Oliver’s eyes I open myself up and let him see the devastation I still carry. How even after five years it all haunts me still. “She had hope again, for a while. But then it was just… gone. She fought the fight of her life and it didn’t matter at all. It took her anyway. It’s the worst kind of torture.”
“Remy,” Oliver cups my face in his hands, runs his thumbs over my cheeks, “I know you’re scared, but please listen to me. What you saw…what your mom went through… it doesn’t mean that it will be the same for you.”
“You’re naive if you believe that.” Stepping back from him, his hands fall to his sides. I shrug, “You know, I keep thinking, this shouldn’t even be surprising anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean a part of you had to know this was coming, right? I mean - I certainly did. After what happened with my mom and my family history and genetics, this was bound to be my future. Everyone always said I took after her. Guess it’s true in more ways than one,” I laugh.
“That’s not even funny,” his jaw tightens and he walks to the window, but then turns to face me.
“Well hey, they say laugher’s the best medicine. Although I’ve never heard of it curing cancer.”
