Selfish

When life happens

§ January 8th, 2046 §

Cough. Cough. Cough.

The irritable itching in the back of my throat seemed to worsen every time I coughed, but I couldn't stop. Every muscle in my body- cough- ached along with my throat. The cold, that seemed to not want to leave, had worsened in the past month and I was fed up. I sighed aloud and closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of wind generators outside the emergency care unit, instead of my pounding head. Cough. My illness had left me with a total of 9 hours of sleep in the past three days and my body could no longer take a simple illness at the ripe old age of fifty-nine. 

The walls were covered in paper featuring zoo animals; the counters, or life size iPad's as I liked to called them, scrolled through advertisements of new and improved dieting pills and heart repair supplements. The digital clock in the corner of the screen counted out the minutes as I waited for the doctor to return from running the test results. I squinted my eyes at the small number and smiled satisfied when the doctor opened the door with a tablet in his hand.

"The clock says 6:46 pm ma'am. May I ask why in the world you haven't had your eyes surgically repaired?" the young doctor, who looked to be in his late twenties, chided me. I refrained from rolling my eyes at his nonsense and remembered back to when glasses had a purpose other than a retro fashion statement.

"Oh honey, my eyesight isn't that bad yet. Either way, i'm saving my spending money on my grandchild, she is about the cutest thing anyone ever has laid eyes on." I smiled proudly, and hoped my answer was sufficient enough for him. I was ready to get my medicine and go home. He simply shrugged.

I shifted in the plush seat and waited for him to speak. "Uh, well Ms. Duebner it seems you have throat cancer, not a common cold," he said and looked over at me with slight discomfort. I squeezed my eyes shut. I could not allow them to fill with tears. Instead, I shook my head wildly in disbelief. No.

"No, doctor I think you've got it wrong. Please, just give me the medicine for my cold and let me leave this place," I threw my head up high and looked expectantly at him, daring him to question me. His eyes softened and I immediately stiffened. I knew he was right, but I prayed with every inch of my soul that he was bluffing. A terrible joke would be much better than the truth at the moment.

"I wish that I was," he paused and looked at his shoes, "but... uh fortunately for you, almost every cancer is curable now. I'm sure you will be fine by summer..." he trailed off completely avoiding any eye contact with me.

Cough. It was silent.

The only distinguishable sound was our breathing: quiet and slow, heavy and rapid. With each breath, the truth began to permeate my defenses. His words climbed over the walls and began shooting at whatever was left inside. I choked on my breath. Defeat.

He was right. At least most cancer patients were survivors, except for the rare few. But, something was off; he wasn't telling me everything.

"How long?" I demanded. Well, attempted to demand but my voice came out shaky. His eyes shot up from the floor and widened. "Oh please, I'm not dumb. I can see it in your eyes," I steadied my voice, speaking stronger this time, " How long do I have?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, seeing as you are in the last stage of throat cancer..." his voice nearly a whisper, "I give you... maybe fourteen months." I felt my jaw go slack and my mouth slightly part. How had I not noticed something was wrong before? 

As if guessing my train of thought, the doctor spoke again, "The cancer seems to have spread rapidly in the past month. If you start treatments soon, you can slow down the spread and give yourself a few more months. A few more months with that beautiful grandchild of yours," his words were meant to comfort me, but all I heard was pity.