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A wave of numbness washed over me, skirting over my body like a cloud of mist.
“Huh,” I said, focusing on the black-and-white picture of my brain. I stood up and crossed the room, staring at the mass in my frontal lobe. “That little thing is causing all my problems?” I asked, shaking my head.
Doctor Watson pressed her lips together and nodded. “The headaches, nausea, dizziness. Even your instances of losing time or hearing things can be attributed to the tumor.”
I nodded, slow and languid, like a thick syrup coated my movements. This was the second opinion I’d gotten, and now I knew there was no denying it.
“There are treatments,” Doctor Watson said, settling on her rolling stool in the suddenly too-sterile hospital room. “There have been advancements with clinical trials for drug therapy after surgery, but as you know, the tumor isn’t one-hundred percent removable, since it grows directly into the brain tissue.”
“I know,” I said, my voice even as I continued to stand in front of that picture, staring at the little blob that was slowly killing me.
The same little blob that killed my mother when I was nine.
Flashes burst through my mind, images and memories that played like movie reels on repeat—my mother, vomiting because she’d sat up in bed too quickly, her skin stretching too tight over her bones after a round of radiation, the way her lips had thinned and even her smell of vanilla and sage had faded.
I used to love that smell, associated it with being home, being loved and cared for. Now, I associated it with a harsh, painful death, because that’s what happened to my mother when she started treatment.
“Grace?” Doctor Watson said my name like she’d said it a few times, and I turned my back on her lightboard, focusing on her. “When are you available to start?” she asked, glancing down at the clipboard in her lap. She traced her pin down a line of charts and words I’d never recognize. My doctorate was in psychology, not medicine. “The sooner we get you scheduled for surgery—”
“I won’t be having the surgery,” I said, earning a shocked look from her.
She’d been my doctor for the last few months as we worked to figure out what was causing all my symptoms…the nausea, thevoices, but I’d known in my gut what the diagnosis would be. This form of cancer runs in the family, and even though I’d spent the rest of my youth in foster care, I knew I wouldn’t be able to outrun it.
“Grace,” Doctor Watson’s tone held that air of pleading I’d heard from her several times over the past few months. “This is fatal. Without treatment, you’ll have three months, maybe six tops, if you’re lucky.”
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. “Luck has nothing to do with this situation, Doc.”
“I have to advise you to schedule surgery,” she pressed. “If we can remove a majority of the mass, then get you on drug therapy—”
“Then I’ll spend the last few months I have on this earth in even more pain than I am now,” I cut her off. “I’ll get a front-row seat to my own demise, all from the comfort of a hospital bed.” I shook my head, trying like hell to drown out the memories of my mother. God, I missed her. Even now, fifteen years later, I wish I could’ve made her last months a little better, a little more exciting. Instead, I’d sat next to her hospital bed and read her favorite book aloud. The treatment had stripped her of any strength she possessed, robbing her of a last-minute bucket-list adventure.
I wouldnotgo the same way.
And maybe, if there was a life after this one…maybe I’d finally get to see her again, tell her all about the brief life I’ve lived.
Doctor Watson flashed me a sympathetic look as she stood up, heading toward the door. “I will respect your wishes, Grace,” she said, hauling the door open. “But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I said as she turned down the hallway one way, and I the other.
Three months.
Threemonths.
The words kept flashing behind my eyes, like a glowing stopwatch that had just been clicked. Three months used to seem like a long time—three months till graduation, three months of a trial subscription to Kindle Unlimited, three-month gym membership. Now?
Now it seemed like an infinitely short time to get all the things done that I wanted to. Because, in truth, I didn’t have anything Ineededto get done. I’d been preparing for this diagnosis since the headaches started two months ago, and then the voices…
My living will was in order, but honestly, I didn’t have much to leave to the only person I considered family—my foster care mother, Maria Johnson. She’d be the proud owner of the eight-year-old car I’d finally paid off, and whatever remained of my meager savings account.
My heart sank a little as I walked through the double doors to the hospital, the night sky opening up above me in a sea of glittering darkness—I’d worked for years in college to earn my doctorate in psychology and now I’d never get to work with actual clients. People who needed my help, namely foster children or adults who’d been in the system…that was where I’d planned to focus my efforts.
Planned. How stupid of me. I should’ve known I couldn’t make plans, but after twenty-three healthy years, I thought maybe the family curse had skipped me.
I’d been so ridiculously wrong.
I sucked in a sharp breath, letting the crisp scents of the summer air soothe the emotions that were threatening to break through the numb blanket I kept them under. I didn’t have time to wallow or cry or agonize over the hand I’d been dealt. The clock was ticking, and it was time I started doing all the things I’d kept myself from doing…out offear.Seemed so silly to be scared of having a one-night-stand or going on a roller coaster or go sky-diving now.
My footsteps slowed as I walked along the paved path through the outcropping of trees that hugged the hospital grounds. Some sort of awareness prickled at the back of my neck, stopping my movements completely.
