Borrowed Time

No one was more shocked than I was. My mouth actually dropped open. I felt great. I looked good for my age. A little tired...yes...but that was it. How could this possibly be? How? I wanted to argue with the doctor. I wanted to point out why this could not possibly be true. But deep in my heart, this explained the tiredness. This explained a few things. Things I had noticed, but refused to think about. Things I kept to myself.

I wanted to argue with my doctor, but I knew it would be useless. When the exhaustion reached the point where I had to do something about it, I knew I was in trouble. I had allowed fear to get in the way. Big mistake. The biggest. I just kept hoping to feel better. I guess I was hoping for a miracle. I was positive I was anemic, and that did not particularly scare me. Anemia can be worked with. The rest I was not prepared for. 

    You see....the doctor had just told me that I have cancer. Leukemia to be specific. He was making me an appointment with an oncologist. I was still speechless. 

    I eat well. My diet is a good one. I do not smoke. I do not drink. I maintain a clean healthy lifestyle. This cannot be, I told myself. I did not even hear the doctor anymore. I was invested in an inner dialogue. Heavily invested. No, I thought. No.

     The doctor was handing me a slip of paper. The information for my oncology appointment. I felt devastated. Automatically, I said thank you to the doctor. My lips barely moving. The doctor opened the door and indicated to me to walk out with him. I stood on legs I could not feel, and blindly followed the doctor down the hallway and to the appointments desk. 

     "I want to see you in six weeks," the doctor was saying.

    I managed a weak tea smile, and stood waiting to speak to the receptionist, who I was hoping, would not have cause to actually ask me anything. She smiled at me and handed  me a small white card, which I quickly stuffed into my pocket. I attempted a smile in return. 

    I pushed my way through the swinging doors, out into the lobby, through another set of doors, and into the parking lot. It was winter, and the cold hit me like a slap in the face. It was a wake up call. 

     I grabbed my smart phone and asked, "What are the top cancer fighting foods?"

     My phone immediately took me to a website that listed the top foods that fight cancer. I threw my phone back into my purse and pulled out into traffic. 

      I headed for the nearest grocery store. I parked my car and grabbed a cart from the shopping cart's bay. I pushed my cart steadily up and down the aisles. I was on a mission. I threw everything on the list into my cart. 

     I bought broccoli, cauliflower and berries of every color. I bought apples, oranges, tomatoes, and beet greens. I bought carrot and celery sticks.

     I would beat this. I was going to win this battle. Failure was not an option. I was a mother. A grandmother, a great grandmother. I had a child, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren. I refused to contemplate failure. I would kick failure to the curb.

     I actually smiled at the cashier, wished her a pleasant day and drove home. I put away my groceries and made myself a salad for lunch. I had also grabbed organic salad dressing. A great start. I would make salmon for dinner, along with broccoli and beet greens. I have always believed you are what you eat. And diet matters. No early grave for me. But, still, this made no sense to me. My diet had always been pretty good. I did eat the occasional junk food, so many people do. But overall my food choices were good ones. What had gone wrong? 

      Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. My maternal grandmother had died of cancer. She passed before I was even born. I never knew her. My mother always had tears in her eyes when she talked about her mother. My mother had been killed in a car accident several years ago. And I miss her every single day. And... today.....more than most. 

      I paused, fork and knife in midair. I was praying this was not hereditary. If it was, I was in trouble. Big trouble. I went back to my salad with infinitely less enthusiasm than before, raising and lowering my fork automatically. I rinsed my plate, cleaned up my scraps, and headed for the couch.

       I had to tell my daughter. She had lost her father only five short years ago, and I just dreaded making this phone call. He had been a wonderful husband, and an excellent father. You couldn't ask for better. 

       He had endured a heart condition for several years, and he died of a heart attack one bright and sunny afternoon. His doctor told me he was dead before he hit the floor. Cold comfort. I have never, in all ml life, known a nicer, kinder or gentler person. A light went out of my life, and my daughter's life when we lost him. 

     Boy, did I dread making this phone call. I held my phone in my hand for a few minutes, thinking about the best way to handle this. In the end, I decided to downplay it. I thought that might be the best way to do it. 

 She answered on the third ring. 

     "Hello Sweetheart," I said. I have something to tell you. It is not good news, but it IS good news that your mother is going to prevail. Failure is not on the table. My dear, I saw my doctor today...and he told me I have cancer."

I heard my daughter gasp. 

     "Sh-sh," I said. "I am going into treatment immediately, and I expect to come out on top. My white cell count is higher than my red cell count, and that could be why I have been so tired lately. I am also anemic, and that could explain the tiredness, too. Easily. I am going to be fine. I mean it. Nothing to worry about. Mom is going to come out on top." 

      "Mom," Leah said tearfully. Please don't tell me this." 

      "No reason to cry. I am going to beat this. I could beat this with one hand tied behind my back." 

I was hoping to hear laughter. 

      "Mom," said my daughter a slight scold in her voice. "Are you sure? Will you be alright? Will you?" 

      "Yes," I said feigning a determination I did not feel. "I will be fine. My doctor and I are really going to get a grip on this."

       "Mom, I'm scared," said my daughter. 

       "No reason to be. None. I will beat this." 

       "I cannot lose you. We just lost Dad. I cannot lose you too. I am on my way over."

'Love you," I said.

"Love you too, Leah said.

        "You won't lose me," I promised. And I prayed to God, that I was telling the truth. For her sake, as well as mine. 

      I believe in prayers. There is a power in prayers. Love and prayers. The most powerful forces in the world. 

        I shall overcome, and I will prevail, I told myself. With love and prayers... and I will prevail.