He sat in a large leather chair with a tall back that was similar to mine, but my back was shorter. His chair also looked more comfortable. In front of him sat a large mahogany desk that look more expensive than everything in my bedroom combined, including the pair of diamond earring Gram gave me for my fifteenth birthday. Over his body hung a startling white coat traditional to doctor’s and I could just imagine it in a laundry detergent commercial. Above his ears were a few gray hairs and I was pleased to know my doctor wasn’t the type of man to dye his grays. For some reason that was comforting.
I was sure I looked uncomfortable in this expensive and posh office. It must have been comical. My sweatpants and tee weren’t prestigious enough to sit in this chair or even to be inside this hospital.
Over the next hour, my hysterical mother and fancy doctor talked about the ‘options’ and my ‘treatment’, but it was clear to me that none would be necessary. I’d most likely be dead within the year. Only 6% of patients live more than five years if diagnosed early on, and I wasn’t. The cancer- my cancer- had already progressed. Honestly, it felt like I was sitting in biology again during my freshman year. Doctor Mertz was like Ms. Spires, my old biology teacher. The x-rays of my brain he was presenting reminded me of the charts she’d show us of cells. One time she even showed us one of a brain, like the picture currently in front of me.
“Who can tell me what part this is?” she asked, pointing with a pen at the picture on the screen. A boy with curly red hair, Jacob, raised his hand in the back of the classroom. When we were younger, he had dated one of my best friends. Then he dated my other one, too.
“It’s the frontal lobe.” Ms. Spires smiled in approval.
“Can you tell me what this part of the brain does?” When Jacob pursed his, she moved on to his lab partner. “Haley? Can you tell me?”
“It regulates decision making, problem solving, control of purposeful behaviors, consciousness, and emotions,” she quoted directly from her notes. I disliked Haley. She had never been nice to me and acted like she know more than everyone else. In situations like this where it was a definite answer, she did know everything, but put her in a debate and her most common line is ‘you don’t know that.’
“Very nice. If you lost this part of your brain, other than dyeing, of course, what do you think would happen?” This time I raised my hand.
“You would lose your ability to think rationally and logically. You could rob a bank, and not remember even a slight possibility of consequences. Ergo, you would go to jail.”
The doctor’s voice brought me back to the present.
“I was surprised to discover this in Charlotte. It is most commonly found in men over the age of fifty, so it is odd to find it in a seventeen year old girl.” My mother sniffled and pressed yet another tissue to her cheeks. I wondered why my eyes weren’t even moist.
“Well…” The doctor hesitated and my mom reached over and clenched my hand. I looked at the two of our hands together while the doctor thought. He tapped his metal pen against his lower lip and glanced at my file again. I was reminded of all the girls in second period who chewed their pencils around Mr. Christiansen. Most of my female peers thought him to be attractive. I never really noticed him or paid and attention to his appearance. I was at school to learn. “It may be better that she is younger. Her body has not been weakened by age. The gender doesn’t play any significant role. As far as I know, her condition is no different from a seventeen year old boy with the same illness.” I noticed how he said condition. It sounded as if he was discussing the make and build of a car.
They then started discussing options again. There was surgery, but I could only imagine that. Several surgens gathered around me as they cut through my skull to my brain. My stomach turned at the meer thought of it. The surgery would remove as much of the tumor as possible. They would be shooting for a 99% removal. However, Dr. Mertz went on to explain how these patients often had more tumors appear at the original spot later on. I was glad when he said that. I didn’t want people cutting me open.
Next was the possibility of chemotherapy and radiation. I didn’t like the sound of that either. I had heard of people being burned and I didn’t want to lose my hair.
The doctor threw around a few more words and ideas, but none of them sounded promising. Everything was either currently being studied, or not reliable. My three options sounded like a living hell to me. It was my mom was looking into who to call and making appointments that I finally found my voice.
“Mom.” She didn’t look up and was too distracted by looking through papers. “Mom.” She looked up.
“Yes, sweetheart?” I felt like a little kid again. It seemed like a grown up problem I should ignore and ‘Mommy’ would fix for me. Did she not realize it was my life on the line?
“I don’t want to do it.” Her eyebrows drew together and I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to receive treatment.” Her lips pursed and I could see the wheels turning in her head. I waited for it to click.
“Honey…” She trailed off as if trying to find a way to explain it to me. “I don’t think you understand what will happen if you don’t.” This time it was my turn to be confused. Did she really think I was that dumb?
“Of course I do. I going to die.” She gasped as if it was a shocking subject to her. She had been spending the last fourty-five minutes skimming around the words, so she should not have been so taken aback. Quickly, she squared her shoulders and turned to me.
“No, Sweetie. That is not going to happen. I won’t let that happen to you.” I wondered if she was talking to me or to herself. With a quick pat on my hand, she turned back to the papers. Dr. Mertz probably felt uncomfortable, but he was the last thing on my mind.
“Mom, yes, I am. You heard what he said. I’m going to be dead by next year.” She turned back to me and I could see tear in her glare. I felt awful for making her cry again, but she couldn’t just live in denial.
“No! You are not! You will be healthy and fine by graduation.” She turned back to the papers, but her hands were shaking too bad for her to read them. Besides, there was no way she could read with all the tears built up in her eyes. I placed my hand on her shoulder gently, and wondered again why I was comforting and not being comforted.
“I don’t want to spend my last few months like a zombie because chemo,” I softly spoke. Under my palm, I could feel my mom intake a sharp and ragged breath before letting it out quickly. If I leaned forward, I was sure I could see her eyes bloodshot and her bottom lip being tightly bitten.
My mom was strong and could really take care of herself, but first she had to have a good cry. When it came to her children, though, it was a different story. All of that crying was done in private and all I ever saw was her stepping up to the bat to tackle whatever hurt us. Seeing her cry like this wasn’t unusual, but it was unusual for it to be over me. In a depressing moment, I could imagine her standing at my memorial by my tombstone. These morbid thoughts were weird for me to think of, but it was even more depressing to realize they would soon become a reality. A reality I wouldn’t see.
“None of this needs to be decided today.” Dr. Mertz chimed in. “ It would be best to go home and discuss your options with your family. We can decide things later.” My mother quickly nodded and I smiled at the doctor as a way of saying thank you. He returned the smile, but all I saw was pity in his eyes. Would this become my new life? Or at least what was rest of it?
I gathered up my mother’s purse and things and helped her stumble out of the room, down the hallway, onto the elevator, and to the car. Would people need to do this for me soon when I became too weak to do things myself?
