If I weren’t already so shaken, I’d have been surprised that someone was honking at me. I blinked, focused on the intersection in front of me and realised I was standing on a green light. I quickly stepped on the pedal and moved away as smoothly as possible. The driver behind me stopped abusing his car horn and his car, tires screeching, shot out of the spot like a bullet.
As soon as I could, I moved into a side street, partially to get rid of that bloke, still gesticulating wildly behind me, partially to calm down a little. I can’t go home in such state!
I stopped by a house with a spacious driveway, my breathing shaky, staring into the void and wondering how I could have left the hospital, when I couldn’t even remember fishing my keys out of my bag or sitting down behind the wheel and making my way through the maze of streets.
I’m afraid your cancer has returned.
I could hear the doctor’s words crystal clear, as if I was still sitting in his office.
“But you took that lump out, and the chemo was successful,” I protested in a small voice, reminding him of my last battle with this illness.
At that time I thought it strange that the cancer must have been sprouting in me for some time, growing and rejoicing at the new territory it was acquiring. But when I first noticed the little lump, the diagnosis and surgery took place so quickly that I still sometimes wondered if it had really happened to me. It was all over in a few months, I didn’t have to fight for years like others do, so sometimes it was easy to believe this was more of a glitch than a catastrophe. But in any case, that was three years ago, ages ago…
“Metastases,” the doctor explained apologetically, as if it was somehow all his fault. “Into the other breast, lungs and liver.”
“And what’s next?” I blurted out in a tight voice. I wasn’t thinking about the kind of treatment ahead of me, I already had an idea. I wanted to know which target would cancer choose next. My stomach? Pancreas? Brain? Is it going to keep taking me apart like a LEGO, like a robot which eventually stops working because it doesn’t have enough parts?
“You were lucky the last time, we discovered it early on and removed it quickly.” He took a deep breath and looked into my eyes. His back straightened, while I was sinking into the chair, making myself smaller and smaller in anticipation of the next blow. “This time it won’t be so straightforward. I’m afraid your chances of recovery are slim. We can try to give you more time with intensive care, but…”
“More time?” I interrupted and felt my whole body going cold. “You mean… this is it?”
He nodded and repeated: “I’m afraid so.”
It occurred to me, slightly morbidly, how many people a week does he give this kind of news to, and does he get an approving pat on the shoulders from Death when he fulfils a certain quota. But this nonsensical thought was quickly replaced by another, more urgent one.
I was afraid to ask, but I had to know. “How much time do I have left?”
The doctor answered without hesitating. “Six months. Maybe twelve.”
His hand moved involuntarily, as if he wanted to place it over mine. Would he be shocked by this piece of ice, or would he be brave and stroke it reassuringly?
“I…” I opened my mouth but couldn’t continue. What is expected of a person who was just given a mere one year of life? And even that as a best-case scenario!
My God, this was meant to be just a routine check up! I’d often felt so stressed it made me feel faint, but otherwise I was good! I also checked my breasts often, out of fear that the cancer would come back, but I never found another lump. I’d never dreamed it could be located so deeply that it would only show up in an ultrasound.
I was just about to ask how come the metastases weren’t discovered in one of my last appointments, when I remembered that I had missed quite a few. Because of Dad moving in with me, Ruby’s tonsillitis, work…
Tears forced their way into my eyes. I thought of my carefree little girl and my breath got stuck in my throat. Being a Mum was the best thing that’d ever happened to me. I wanted to see Ruby with her friends, braiding their hair, painting their nails, chasing boys and looking for a part-time job to have money for clothes and the movies. And now I won’t even be there on her first day of school… Why did I take so long to go for this check up?
“I sometimes feel a bit off,” I said and remembered the other reason I finally came to see the doctor. Occasionally I felt a blunt stab in my chest. I may be too young for a heart attack, but you never know. But I certainly didn’t think it had anything to do with cancer! “I thought it was just stress…”
The source of this stress was crystal clear. I loved my job and wouldn’t change it for the world, but it was challenging and mentally draining, no doubt about it. Even the doctor hummed in agreement, looking at my uniform which I hadn’t had time to change out of. I have no idea if he could tell by the missing epaulette that I was never sworn in, that I’m not a police officer in the field, but one at a police station. What did
