The Paradox of Living

 “Without treatment, you have approximately one month. Two at the most,” his face was professionally composed, though there was just a hint of sympathy in his brown eyes. My own eyes had begun to water and I felt light headed. Fear had taken over my body and my hands shook with the slightest of tremors.

“And with treatment?” I asked.

“The chances are still pretty slim,” he said gently, “Your tumor is aggressive and many surgeons would consider it inoperable. And even if you could find a surgeon who would operate…with a tumor this size and in this location-”

“I’m going to die either way,” I cut him off. My vision had begun to blur and I pressed my fingers to my temples.

“Miss. Weller, I’m sorry to say but… in order to fully recover, you would need nothing short of a miracle.”

“I see,” I replied. I looked down at my brain scan image. There was an intricate malignant tumor that pushed threatened to press against my frontal lobe if it grew any larger.

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat, “Of course, you can choose what you want to do.” He said that but by the tone of his voice, I already knew I was a goner.

“And if I wanted the surgery…” I mumbled, “How much would that cost?” He pressed his lips together and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He was searching through a stack of papers on his desk.

“Assuming you actually found a doctor willing to do the procedure…” he trailed off, “I would predict well over two hundred thousand.” My jaw tightened and I looked down at the table.

“And if I can’t pay that much?” I asked. He looked very conflicted.

“I’m sorry…” he said. In that moment, tears were streaming down my face.

“You’ve already given up on me,” I said. My voice was raspy and broken.

“There are places that can make this- uh- transition easier for you,” he said. He opened up a drawer underneath his desk and fished a pamphlet out. He sighed quietly and reached over the desk to hand it to me. It was a brochure for a hospice. I laughed darkly.

“Might as well sign my death certificate and hand it over to me,” I said, “I have a nice frame in my apartment that I haven’t used yet.”

“Miss. Weller,” he said, “Our office has a counselor…”

“I don’t even feel sick!” I exclaimed, “I get headaches here and there but I feel the same as I always have for the most part. And now you’re telling me that I’m going to die. I’m only twenty-one for god sake! There has to be something I can do.” He didn’t answer. He seemed to be having difficulty in finding the right thing to say.

“With all of the advancements in modern medicine, are you saying there’s no way I can live?” I asked. He looked down.

“I’m not saying there’s no way,” he spoke, “I’m saying that at this moment, if you went into surgery, there’s more than ninety percent chance you’d die on the table.” His words were chilling and my mind was assaulted with the image of me on a cold metal table beside a monitor that had just flat lined.

“And that’s only with the surgery,” he said, “Without it, there’s absolutely no possibility whatsoever. And from what you’ve told me, you can’t afford it.” I wiped the tears from my eyes and sat up straight.

“I’m sorry Miss. Weller,” he said, “I’m just being realistic.” He handed we another brochure and I stuffed it into my bag without even looking at it.

“Thank you very much,” I said quietly. With that, I stood up and walked straight out of his office. I barged into the bathroom and stood over the sink, staring furiously into the mirror. My skin was pale and my eyes were rimmed with red. I looked even more hopeless than I felt.

            I couldn’t believe that in another month, my twenty-one year old body would give up on me. I couldn’t even picture the world without me in it. It just didn’t make any sense. Where would I go when it was all over? Was there a life after? I had grown up believing in god and heaven, but now that I was close to those crossroads, I wasn’t as sure as I had always been. I couldn’t believe that I was loosing control of myself. I was the only person I trusted and now, that was no longer the case. I knew I would die one day. I had always known that. But how could I bring myself to accept that it would happen in another month? The worst part was that I had no control of anything that would happen. I would grow weak and sick and then I would die in some hospice that smelled like antiseptic and mortality. I didn’t want that to happen. I had run out of choices and all of a sudden, I realized something that would drastically change the course my life was headed on. I could choose how I wanted to die. I could take my own life. And that was how I ended up on the edge of that building.