By Tinamarie Moss

I t took her mother first. Decades ago, when she was just a silly college girl, she watched as her mother fought with the monster. The disease was in its infancy then. Doctors had barely begun to name it. It was a curse word whispered in the dark…cancer. What was this strange disease that caused her such heartache?

Her mother lasted nine months down to the day the disease was first discovered. Nine months of inconsolable torment. Downing pills upon pills that did nothing but cause her more pain. An experimental procedure called, chemotherapy, was implemented in her mother’s case.

“It’s highly experimental,” said Dr. Wung. “We honestly don’t know how your mother’s body will react. I wouldn’t even attempt the procedure, if it wasn’t for your mother’s age. She’s just so young, I want to give her every chance.”

“Yes,” she said. She was able to bring herself out of the fog. “Yes, thank you, Doctor.”

Chemotherapy was supposed to be the radical experiment that would save her mother’s life. It would fight off all of the poison and bring her mother back to a state of perfect health. Instead, it destroyed everything inside her, good and bad. It poisoned her until there was nothing left to work with. Her kidneys failed, her liver failed, her heart failed. All of it failed like a stack of dominoes, one by one by one. When the lid on the coffin was closed to seal her mother’s fate, the body inside was already a skeleton.

Within nine months, the same time it takes for a life to come into this world, her mother’s life was taken away. In those nine months, the silly college girl learned more about life than she ever wanted to and transformed into an old, old soul. Her shoulders took on a permanent slump, her forehead became ingrained with five wrinkles, and her long, blonde hair took on an ashen hue. Her heart never recovered from the pain of watching her mother’s torment and from that day on thumped to an irregular beat.

On the day of her mother’s funeral, Dr. Wung, who had fought so hard for her mother, wept. He was a defeated man. But, even in his desolated state, he managed to utter words that would haunt her forever.

“I know this is neither the time nor place,” said Dr. Wung. “However, I feel it is my duty as a doctor to inform you that this particular…” His voice suddenly broke into a whisper as he uttered the word, “…cancer…” He bowed his head. “…well, there is a possibility of a genetic link. We really don’t know all the details. We’re just learning about it, but it’s possible.”

She froze. Her hand reached for her neck trying to rub voice into her vocal cords.

“Genetic?” she whispered nearly choking on the word.

“It’s only a possibility. We just don’t know enough about it, yet. Promise me that you’ll be checked every three months, just to be certain. There’s really nothing to worry about as long as you continue to be monitored.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you.”

The doctor put a polite hand on her shoulder, gave it a pat, then walked away. It was a strange sensation that ran through her. In college she studied modern history and planned her thesis on World War II. She had lived through the horrible war, but only as a child. She wanted to understand it better. She had studied the effects of the atomic bomb for so long that she thought she truly understood the pain the victims felt. She realized that she had been a fool. It wasn’t until that moment, that very moment when the doctor uttered the second curse word…genetic…that she understood. The first atomic bomb to hit Japan had shocked the world. It had caused turmoil amongst the people of the country. It would have been bad enough on its own. But, the second one, the second one was the real kicker. Genetic…the second bomb had crashed down upon her and shattered her world.

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“Dr. Tzu! Dr. Tzu!” came the voice over the monitor. “Mrs. Williams is here to see you.”

“Not again,” said Dr. Tzu under his breath. “Alright, send her in.”

Dr. Tzu had been dealing with Mrs. Williams for the past twenty-five years. He had known her first as Ms. Harrington. She came to see him shortly after her mother passed from cancer. A friend and colleague, Dr. Wung, recommended him. Although, Mrs. Williams had every reason to be concerned about her health, he found her to be an annoying hypochondriac.

“Well, hello, Mrs. Williams,” said Dr. Tzu. “How long has it been? Four weeks? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Hello, doctor,” she said. “I know that you told me to come back in three months, but I’ve been feeling a bit tired lately. My period is still irregular, despite the hormones. And I’m a bit bloated.”

“Yes, well. That’s all very natural. You’re going through your changes. You may begin to experience hot flashes, mood swings, and chronic fatigue. It is all part of pre-menopause and menopause.”

“Doctor. I’m well aware of the symptoms,” she said with a touch of irritation apparent in her voice. “I’m not talking about menopause. I’m talking about...” Her voice lowered. “…cancer.”

“Mrs. Williams. We’ve been through this,” said Dr. Tzu with a sigh. “You do not have cancer. We monitor your CA-125 levels, you get your bi-yearly mammograms and sonograms, and you are given a Pap-smear every three months. Other than these precautions, there is nothing else to be done.”

She lowered her head defeated. No one would listen to her. The doctors stopped caring. Dr. Tzu hadn’t been the only doctor she’d seen over the years. She secretly went to other doctors, Dr. Leven, Dr. Volonte, Dr. Foi, Dr. Speranza, Dr. Zal, and those were just a handful of the countless doctors she’d seen. Of course, she never told one doctor about the other. They tended to get jealous about that sort of thing. As if there should be only one doctor in your life. She knew better. What one doctor missed, another doctor might find. Lately, however, she seemed to have dried out the well of good, available doctors. They all knew her story and refused to take her aches, pains, and symptoms seriously. They all told her, “Oh, it’s only menopause, don’t worry. Try exercise, vitamins, rest, meditation, eating healthy, etc, etc, etc.” Menopause - the most common misdiagnosis and the number one killer of women over forty.

“Doctor, I'm telling you, I know there is something wrong with me,” she said. “I just know there is.”

“Please, Mrs. Williams, there is nothing to worry about. All of your tests were fine. Come back again in three months.”

She had nothing left to do. She smiled stiffly and walked out the office door. Leaving the building, she gave friendly waves to the medical secretaries and security guards she knew so well. She was convinced she'd never see them again. ************************************************************************

A shockwave reverberated through her body when twelve years after leaving Dr. Tzu's office that day, she was still alive and her husband was dead. The dreaded curse word that she had feared for as long as she could remember claimed her husband's life. It started in the colon, worked its way up to the liver, and at last, the stomach. Falling like dominoes, one by one by one.

A strange sensation swept through her seeing him in the casket. Her mother had been a skeleton, but he still looked relatively healthy. The drugs used in these cases increased dramatically in their ability to keep a person looking health. The key, evidently, was to look healthy. If a woman saw herself as healthy, she might have the will to make herself healthy. It was a New Age idea. After decades of dealing with a disease with still no hope for a cure, she supposed that New Age was better than nothing.

“He was such a kind man,” said Mrs. Gluck, their neighbor. “I'll never forget the fun we had at your Sunday barbeques.”

Sunday barbeques? Over thirty years of living next door to a man and the best she could come up with is Sunday barbeques. She imagined what it would be like if her entire life was a Sunday barbeque. She'd get up around nine o'clock to attend church. There she would ask for God to grant her prayer. Perhaps, the prayer would be for absolution, forgiveness of sins. Perhaps, it would be for a sick friend. Perhaps, it would be for world peace. Perhaps, it would be for The Cure. Perhaps, she wouldn't pray at all. She'd come home, clean the back yard, walk the dog, pull the meat from the freezer, and spread all the paper products on the picnic table. At barbeques she'd never use china or the sterling silver utensils. Her husband would light the fire and start the cooking. She'd sit back in her lawn chair drinking pink lemonade and listening to the sound of the wind in her tomato bushes. The dog would bark calling her attention to the arriving guests. She'd play the role of hostess, smiling and talking easily. Everyone would have a fabulous time. And when she died, people would say, “My God, do you remember her Sunday barbeques?”

He was dead. She didn't have the will to live any longer. How could she? Her whole life was focused on the disease and now, it got her husband. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Why should he die before her? She was supposed to die, not him. She never thought for a moment that he would be in any danger. But, perhaps, just his proximity to her had caused him to contract the deadly disease. Maybe, it was contagious and they just hadn't discovered that yet. Contagious... it was a word even more deadly than...genetic... even more deadly than the dreaded word itself... cancer.

The priest said something over the casket about those we love never really leaving us. He didn't know. He didn't know what that damned disease could do. It tore away the ones she loved. It forced her to watch her husband and mother suffer. One day, it would force those she loved to watch her suffer. She knew it. Damn it, she knew it! And there was not a thing she could do about it. She wondered what was worse, having it or knowing that one day she would have it.

“I wonder if Nostradamus felt this way when he wrote about the end of the world,” she muttered to herself.

“Darling, are you okay?” said Mrs. Lent, the wife of her late husband's preacher friend.

“Yes, thank you.”

“If you need anything you just let me know, okay? We deal with these sorts of troubles all the time at our church's grief center. So, if I can help in any way...”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

She wandered behind a tree as the last of her friends and family departed from the gravesite. Her daughter tried to pull her away, but she refused. She let the wind push her hair into her face and pounded a closed fist against the tree trunk.

“Grief center,” she said. The words tasted like acid in her mouth. “Grief actually needs a center? A place where you go and grieve. That's got to be the biggest joke. As if people actually needed a place to grieve. As if grieving wasn't something I do everyday in my heart. A grief center, Christ, what will they think of next.”

She walked slowly back to the patch of dirt that was her husband's final resting place. Kneeling down, she whispered into the grass that marked the spot where the not yet carved tombstone would lay. “Honey, I know you probably can't hear me, which makes me feel foolish for talking like this. But, I've got to tell you a secret.” She put her lips so close to the ground, she could feel the tops of the blades of grass brushing against them. “You always said I was obsessed with death, that this disease had beaten me long ago. I think you may have been right. I don't even have...cancer... but I think about it everyday. I don't know how to deal with it. But, you know something...” She held her stomach in her hands and leaned her cheek against the dirt patch. “For all my testing, doctors, medical journals, research, and so on, it's not about death. It never has been. I don't think about the disease because I want to have it. I don't think about it because I want to die. I think about it because I want to live. That's the truth. I want to live. I'm afraid of it because I want to live.”

She stood up, nodded her head at the dirt patch and turned to walk away. As her foot touched grass again she noticed a scent on the wind. It smelled strangely like barbequed steak with all the trimmings. She smiled thinking about the first day of summer and the friends she'd like to invite over. She knew that the disease would still get her, but she also knew that her daily doctor visits were a thing of the past. She decided in a moment. It was the briefest of moments, the simplest of thoughts that changed her life. She wanted to live. One day she would die. It was inevitable. But, everyday from that moment to her death day, she wanted to live. And live she did.