Page 6 of Born to be Wilder

Doris pressed her hands together and started to pray. We went silent and let her do her thing, knowing this was how she needed to process the news.

When she finished, she took a deep breath. “Okay. There. You’ll be okay. I prayed for it.”

“Thank you, Doris,” Alice said, even though I knew she didn’t believe in prayers. She was giving Doris what she needed to move forward.

“Alright, so what’s next?” Marge asked, then jutted her chin toward my front door. “I mean, since you won’t let me go to the garage and get my Husqvarna and make quick work of this crap.”

Alice chuckled. “I guess if you really won’t go on the trip without me, then we just sit around and wait for the next couple of weeks until my next appointments. And during that time, I have to decide if I’m having a lumpectomy or a mastectomy.”

Marge grumbled under her breath, and Alice rolled her eyes. “My decision, Marge. Mine.”

Marge scoffed. “Whatever.”

“And they can really treat it?” Doris blew her nose.

“Yes,” Alice said definitively. “The doctor even used the word curable. Now we just need to learn what that treatment is. In two weeks I meet with the breast surgeon, and if I’m doing the double mastectomy, the plastic surgeon too. They said I don’t need to decide until that day, so I have a little time. Surgery, whichever one I go with, is in three to four weeks.”

I tried not to let my own inner panic rise with my memories of losing Bruce to cancer. He’d died right here in this very living room. Even years after his oxygen machine had been unplugged and returned, I could still hear the sound of it humming like some ghost that refused to leave.

And also, my best friend Moira in my thirties. Advanced ovarian cancer that had taken her from me in a matter of months. That laughter of hers filling my world right up until the end.

My emotions were at war inside me. My desperate need to minimize this and think of nothing but the perfect outcome and my rational brain reminding me that cancer was terrifying and unpredictable and sometimes… deadly.

The tears started to brew behind my eyes.

Not now, Sylvie. Keep it together. No crying.

“So, wait. You’re saying no matter what, nothing happens for two weeks?” Marge leaned forward.

Alice nodded. “Yes. This is the calm before the storm.”

A light ignited inside Marge’s eyes… or perhaps better described as a terrifying lightning storm of trouble more than a light.

She clapped her hands together. “I have an idea.”

“Oh God,” Alice breathed. “What? You going to tie my boobs to the door like a loose tooth and try to rip them off?”

Marge furrowed her brow. “No. Of course not.” Then her brow lifted. “Although…”

“Marge!” I palmed my face. “Stop trying to come up with ways to remove Alice’s boobs! The doctors will handle that part!”

She grimaced. “Fine. Okay. But… what about this idea?” She looked around at all of us, eyes twinkling with excitement. “We do one wish… Alice’s. We have, let’s say, ten days to accomplish it. Have a little adventure while we still can before treatment starts. You need this. Some fun before the battle. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t love it.”

I looked to Alice immediately.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she pursed her lips, head tipping in consideration. “Well, that’s not a bad idea. I could use the distraction. I won’t pretend otherwise. I’ve been thinking about nothing but this for three weeks, and I’m exhausted by it. Some fun now just in case I⁠—”

She stopped before saying the word we all anticipated, and Doris made a noise like a dying animal, and the dam broke once again. She erupted into full, heaving sobs. “Please don’t die, Alice! You can’t die!”

“That’s it.” Marge pressed her hands on her thighs and pushed herself to standing. “I’m getting the chainsaw.”

I closed my eyes, hands balling into fists as I shouted, “Marge, sit down! Doris, breathe!” I turned to Alice. “And you, stop mentioning you might be dying, because you’re not dying. You’re dealing with cancer and you’ll be fine because you have to be fine. Understood?”

She looked shocked at my outburst.

“Cancer treatment has come an enormous way,” I said firmly. My heart was doing something alarming behind my ribs, but I didn’t let them know the fear crashing around inside my chest, and I pushed on. “They caught it early. You have options. You are going to be absolutely fine. Now say it. Say ‘I’m not dying. I’ll be fine.’”

A beat.