Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Miri shook her head. “You need to read a book.”
“I read last night, thank you very much. Speaking of which, Cutter’s attitude gave me whiplash.”
She nodded and sighed heavily. “He has a girlfriend and her parents are strict, which I appreciate. I’m trying to give him leeway, but then I think about me and . . .”
I reached for her hand and held it. “Kids have sex, Miri. You can’t stop them. You can just teach them about protection and the consequences of the action. Educate him.”
Miri scoffed. “Easier said than done. I might talk to his coach. I don’t know. Cutter needs a male role model.”
“I’ll have Brendan talk to him. They seem to get along.”
There was a knock on the door, and Croc shoes squeaked on the linoleum. When the curtain moved and the doctor came into view, I was surprised to see the same one from the elevator ride.
“Hello, Miriam,” he said as he looked at her chart and then to her, and finally to me. “I’m Dr. Niall Frederick.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Miri said as they shook hands.
“I’m Antonia,” I said and shook his hand as well.
“Nice to see you again,” he said.
“Again?” Miri asked.
I motioned toward him. “Elevator ride, yesterday.”
Miri mouthed “Oh,” and then her eyes widened. Let’s just say I was happy I didn’t embarrass myself and ask him the inappropriate questions.
“Is now a good time to talk?” he asked, looking at Miri. She nodded, and he pulled a chair from the next space over. He sat, set his file on the table near Miri’s bed, and crossed his legs. I fully expected him to clasp his hands, but he didn’t.
“We have your results back, Miriam.”
Right away, I knew this wasn’t going to be good. I stood and took her hand in mine.
“Is it cancer?” Miri asked.
Dr. Frederick nodded. “The findings show cancer in multiple parts of your body, including the pancreas, breast, and colon.” He leaned forward slightly. “Based on the imaging and blood work, the cancer originated in your pancreas and has metastasized to your liver, lungs, and breast tissue. Pancreatic cancer is particularly aggressive and often goes undetected until it’s advanced, which explains why you didn’t feel significantly ill until recently.”
Miri’s hand turned cold in mine as he spoke.
“It started in the pancreas?” Miri’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, yet it echoed in the sterile hospital room.
He cleared his throat and then continued. “Yes. Unfortunately, pancreatic cancer is known as the ‘silent killer’ because symptoms don’t typically appear until the disease has progressed. The fatigue and discomfort you’ve been experiencing are common early indicators, but they’re easily mistaken for stress or normal life pressures. The blood test confirmed the findings from the MRI. Certain cancers release specific proteins into your bloodstream. Between what we saw on your images and the elevated levels, this condition is what we call metastatic cancer.”
“Oh God,” I mumbled at the sound of his words. Tears fell instantly. There was no way to stop or combat them. This wasn’t something Miri could’ve prevented with a monthly self-exam or a yearly mammogram. It wasn’t like she could’ve stood in the mirror and examined the organ for bumps, lesions, or any abnormalities.
“With the cancer spreading to several organs, it becomes more complex to treat because one site might react positively to the treatment, while another may not respond at all. This doesn’t mean we don’t have options, though. We will find a way to treat you. At this stage, our primary goal is to manage the cancer and slow its progression while mitigating any symptoms that arise.”
“Is there a cure?” Miri asked quietly.
“It’s not likely we’ll be able to cure the cancers, but we can focus on treatments that might help extend your life.”
“What about a second opinion?” I asked. “I live in Boston. The hospitals are better there. More equipped. I’ll take her there.”
Dr. Frederick nodded. “Please do,” he said. “I’ll tell the charge nurse to send Miriam’s file there.”
“How long?” Miri asked.
“With the right treatment—”
“How long?” Miri asked again, this time more forcefully. “Am I going to see my son graduate? My daughter? Will I see my son get married? My daughter become a mother?”
Dr. Frederick took a measured breath. His eyes were soft, kind . . . practiced. I could tell he’d given more bad news in his years as a doctor than he had good. My heart sank, even further than before. I held Miri’s hand, willing her to feel the comfort I couldn’t put into words.
“With aggressive chemotherapy, we’re typically looking at six to twelve months. Without treatment, significantly less. I want to be clear, we’re not fighting to cure this cancer, Miriam. We’re fighting to give you as much quality time as possible with your children.”
Miri’s face crumpled. “So I won’t see Cutter graduate. Nova’s only seven.”