My aunt’s waiting at the window when I pull up to her home. In seconds, she’s out of the front door and heading my way. A weak smile graces her lips, but she’s just trying to put on a show for my benefit. I can see how she’s really feeling in the depths of her dark eyes. She’s terrified but doesn’t want me to know it.
“Good morning,” she sings in her usual cheerful voice which normally brings me joy, but right now, all I want to do is cry.
“Morning,” I force out through the lump in my throat.
“You didn’t have to come, you know. I’m a big girl; I could have gone alone.”
“No chance. We’re a team, remember? We do the hard stuff together.” I repeat the words she said to me time and time again in my late teen years.
She reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing tightly. “We both know what he’s going to say, and neither of us wants or needs to hear it. But …” She trails off.
“The unknown is worse than the reality.” She nods, a tiny smile twitching at her lips.
“Exactly. Let’s go and find out the reality. See what we’re really facing.”
My aunt was first diagnosed with breast cancer when I was nineteen. I’d just managed to sort my life out and then hers was falling apart.
She’d saved my life, and now she was going to lose hers.
Tears burn my eyes as I recall that first appointment when we heard the bad news, and everything that was to follow. The hospital appointments, the treatment, the sickness. She handled it all with such strength. I already knew that she was one hellof a woman, but watching her kick cancer’s butt one day at a time was incredible. I was so proud of her and inspired by her resilience. She’d only recently lost the love of her life, and now she was fighting for her own. It takes a really special kind of person to be able to get through all of that unscathed—not to mention picking up your wayward niece and bringing her back to life along the way.
I back out of her drive and force down my fear. There’s no point in jumping to conclusions. This is going to be bad, but we don’t know how bad. People live with returning cancer for years. Maybe she’ll be one of the lucky ones.
“I’msorry to have to tell you this, but the scans show that your tumors are growing faster than we anticipated. That will account for the symptoms you’ve been complaining of. The headaches, the dizziness, the confusion, the seizures.” I turn to look at my aunt, my eyebrows raised in accusation. All the while, my heart is shattering in my chest.
“You didn’t tell me?—”
“I didn’t want to worry you unduly.”
“Unduly? I’m thinking it was kind of important.”
“It is what it is. There’s nothing you could do to fix it.”
“Maybe not. But he can,” I say, gesturing to the doctor watching our exchange. “So, what next? What’s the treatment plan? What’s the prognosis?”
He swallows before opening his mouth, and my body turns to ice. “Well, we can discuss treatment options, most likely radiation. But you’ve already indicated on a number of occasions that you don’t want any more treatment. Is that right Mrs. Winslow?”
“But that was before. When you thought it was all over. You can’t still?—”
“That’s correct.”
“No, no. It might help. It might give you more time,” I beg, reality fast slipping away from me.
“More time for what, Lo? To be ill and have to be looked after by you, carers or nurses? If this is my time, then I want to go out with dignity.”
I blow out a long breath, trying to absorb what she’s saying. What she’s always said. “I know you do.” I take her hand in mine and squeeze. It takes every bit of strength I possess to say it, but I meet her eyes and allow the words to pass my lips. “I’ll be there for you, whatever you decide.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, her own eyes full of unshed tears.
“So, the prognosis?” I ask again, turning to the doctor.
“It’s all a guess at this stage, but at best I’d say a couple of months. At worst …”
“At worst?”
“Weeks.”
“Fucking hell,” I say on a sigh, my body desperate to curl up into a ball in an attempt to block everything out.
