Show me love.

Twenty Eight

“Francesca, let’s go!” Mom calls from the floor below. “Dr Masude is a very busy woman. I don’t want to be the one keeping her waiting!”

I suppress a snarky teenage eye roll and shout back. “I’m coming!” wiggling my fingers beneath my bed and grinning at success at finding my fallen phone. Another crack was seen across the bottom of the screen that I would need to hide from my parents to save the endless rath from dad telling me again about storing my phone beneath my pillow when I’m sleeping.

“Fran, let’s go.” Flo says, poking her head around the doorframe. Her rebellious red locks were pinned back into a messy bun that sloppily lay on top of her head but still somehow looked perfectly put together. “You dropped it again?”

I stand to my feet and dust my knees. “Don’t tell dad. I’ll get the screen fixed myself, somehow.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Hurry up, you know how big today is."

She was right, but my stubborn sixteen year old self dug her heels into the ground and selfishly didn't want to think of today's consequences. Everyone around me including my mom, had been upbeat about today. Positive vibes and positive energy when I was had a dark cloud looming over me with terrorising thoughts keeping me awake at night.

Mom was flushed faced when we got downstairs, double checking and rechecking her bag for her doctors letter for admission. Dad holds her by the shoulders and kisses the back of her head tenderly.

"You've got it. Now let's go."

The four of us packed into the volvo and drove in silence. I bit back asking dad to pull over so I could spew up last nights dinner onto the road, and continued to fumble nervously at the bracelet around my wrist.

Hospitals struck a newfound fear into people. I wasn't sure if it was the smells of disinfectant or bleeping of monitors, the use of professional terms that only those qualified would understand or the unknown. The unknown of whether you, or a loved one, would be okay.

I hated the bland look. The cold, ivory walls that held a rack filled with flyers and leaflets covering everything from illnesses to grief. I hated the haunting ticking of the large clock and the odd vibrations from the coffee machine in the corner.

"Francesca, stop that, please." Mom calmly asks, eyeing my bouncing leg. I muttered an apology and clamped my knees together, willing the anxiousness to be freed from my bones. "How's that essay coming along, Florence?"

I chewed at my inner cheek, my eyes glaring up at the clock facing me. Tick tick, tick.

My body jolts as the door opens. "Ah, Ms Fields."

Dr Masued was an older Indian doctor with a caring smile and gentle tone but even I could see immediately behind her forceful uplifting lips that she wasn't baring good news.

"How have you been feeling? Dr Masued asked, taking a seat behind her desk. I could feel the thick, choking tension fill the room.

"Good." Mom said.

She lied. She hasn't been feeling good at all. I can see it behind her eyes. The pain she's suffering in her abdomen and groin, the burning sickness from morning until night, the sweats and shakes, even the discoloration in her skin that she was trying to disguise in makeup and long tops.

Dr Masued glances between Flo and I. "Do you want them to be here for your results?"

That was the moment I knew something was wrong. I could taste my own sick. When mom nods, Dr Masued gives a gentle smile. Sympathy.

"Ms Fields, I'm so sorry." She begins and I can feel the air being squeezed from within me. "I'm afraid your biopsy has came back with some upsetting news."