Even Cancer Patients Have to Pay Bills

My mind went blank. I remember the burning in my eyes from not blinking. My hands were squeezing the bed so tightly, I struggled to loosen my grip. The doctor was in the background talking, but his voice was muffled. The last thing I remember him saying was, “I’m sorry, but the lumps in you throat are malignant. You have cancer and you don’t have much longer. A few weeks at the most.”
I can’t have cancer, I thought, I’m too young. I have too much to finish; I have to graduate college, get the job of my dreams and move out of my mothers’ house. I haven’t done anything significant enough to become famous, well-known, or on someone’s Most Wanted list. I’m going to die a nobody with cancer. My headstone will read “No one of importance is buried here. No need to waste flowers”. I have to fix my car and pay off my student loans. I need to get married and at least have someone that would keep my memories alive. I haven’t traveled or saved the world. I haven’t experimented with drugs or had nearly enough sex. I can’t die right now; I just don’t have the time.
I couldn’t remember leaving the doctor’s office, but somehow I managed to get home. I waited outside the front door; I was horrified of what was about to occur. How do you tell your mother that you’re going first? “Good news Ma. I’m going to die pretty.”
I held the key in my hand, thinking this would have been easier if I would have gotten in a terrible crash on the way home. I could have avoided this completely. I put the key in the lock and twisted to the left. A little push of the large, wooden door, and I was in. I threw my purse on the ground and my mother came running down the hall, “Well? What did he say?”
I walked passed her and made my way to the fridge. My mother came behind me as I leaned over, rummaging through the bottom shelf; “Are you not going to tell me? I think I have the right to know. Damnit Rebecca, answer me!”
“I know it’s in here somewhere. Ahh, bingo.” I reached to the back corner of the fridge to pull out a bottle of Pinot Noir. We had no wine glasses in sight, but I found a hot pink crazy straw that did the trick. I walked into the living room, with my mother in toe still barking questions at me. I sat in the lazy boy and kicked off my boots. She stood there with her hand on her hip and her lips so pursed she might as well not have any. I looked at her and patted the seat next to me.
“Here’s what I know. I have cancer, but the doctor said that he is hopeful. He said I need to see specialists and have lots of tests, surgeries, blood-work, yadda yadda yadda. But he says I’m young and healthy, so there’s no reason to be worried.”
The lines in her forehead diminished slightly, though her eyes started tearing up; “Hey. Hey. None of that, now.” I said as I poked her cheek. I took a sip from my wine bottle and turned on the television. I’ve never been a religious person but I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some ridiculous rule about “little white lies”. Thou shalt tell thine mother the truth about having cancer, otherwise thou will…suffer some more. Good job, God.
That night there was no sleep for me; I kept seeing myself in a half-assed pine box and everyone in black throwing dark brown dirt on top of me. A priest stood over me shouting some bible verse and repeating how loved I was and how I will be missed. Everyone looked down into the dirt filled hole, their heads cocked to the side, singing psalms and wiping their snot-filled noses. This funeral was overly depressing for my liking.
I woke up the next morning forty-five minutes late. I jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth and I was off to biology class. I was still in my pajamas with my messy ponytail and no make up on. I have an excuse for not looking presentable, thank you very much. I sat in class half way listening, writing a list of things I need to accomplish. Not a “to do” list, rather a “what’s left to finish” list. I had a million and a half things to do, and I still had to study for my philosophy final. Then I wondered if I would make it through Christmas. Seeing the look on my older brother’s face when he opens his presents from under the tree; it’s borderline precious. The doctor said “a few weeks”. What exactly is “a few”? You figure with all the medical advances and technology there is they could pin point the exact moment you were about to kick it. I’m going to be quite pissed off if I die before I finish this list.
A few hours later, I was on my way to work. I was exhausted and not thrilled about having to go in. As I walked in, it was chaotic; people were crowding the door, waiting to be seated. Others were giving their to-go orders to the frantic-looking hostess and angry because it would take 25 minutes for their sushi to be ready. I stood there, sunglasses on my face and my Starbucks cup in hand. The hostess had tears in her eyes from all the yelling; “Excuse me!” I yelled, “First of all, I need everyone to get out of the doorway. If a fire were to suddenly ignite, we’d all be screwed. Now, if you’re waiting to be seated, stand closer to the right. If you’re doing a to-go order, please be seated and wait patiently. And if you don’t want to be patient, I just cleared the door for you.” Efficient? Yes. Rude? Sure, but I’m dying and they’re whining because of wait times. I handled the situation and I hadn’t even clocked in.
I continued writing my list, when my manager came up to me; “Is everything alright?” she asked. My mind went blank again. How do I answer that question? Honesty is always the best policy, but if I can lie to my mother, why can’t I lie to my manager? But why lie, I thought. If I tell her I’m sick, I could get cut early. I could get a few weeks off. Hell, if I cry, I could get a raise. Funeral’s aren’t cheap, ya know.
“Nothing. I’m just tired. School is killing me,” I said.
“Oh ok. You just look…sick or something.”
“Nope. I’m as healthy as a horse.” Right before you’re about to shoot it.
Sparing everyone’s feelings should get me into heaven, right? Number one, go to church everyday—there’s a whole lot of repenting to do. Number two, be kind to children, it’s mostly their parents fault they’re like that. Number three…
Two weeks pass since I got the news, and I feel like garbage that’s been sitting for too long. My skin is no long olive colored, but it’s a grayish white and I just cough and cough and cough. I’m almost sure you could smell the death on me; it has a faint hint of fertilizer mixed in with lavender body spray. My mother seemed to be going through the stages of grief for me. I think part of her knew I lied to her that day; she saw me getting worse and she knew my time was limited. She knew I was dying and no lie or joke could get me out of this one. A mother always knows.
“I found this in your pants pocket,” my mother said, holding up my list. How could I let her find out that way? She was so angry, so hurt, she couldn’t verbalize anything. She just stood there and shock. My mother left the room and went to sit in the living room. I gave her a moment, then I followed her in there; “Are you mad because I’m dying or are you mad because I didn’t tell you?”
“Both. You’re my child! I’m supposed to go first, not the other way around! This isn’t right, this isn’t fair. I mean, what am I supposed to do without you? What are you’re siblings supposed to do without you? Did you tell them anything? How dare you lie to me like that! Did you want me to find you dead in your bed one day? I swear, you are so selfish.”
I let her rant for a bit longer, then I walked to her and curled up in her lap; “You can’t change the inevitable, mom.” We sat there for a bit, occasionally crying and making small talk. I noticed the list in her hand and I took it from her. I’m not sure how much longer I had and I hadn’t even started on the damn thing. I put all this pressure on myself to finish it and most of it I don’t want to do. What kind of a life is that then if I live the rest of my life doing what I think I should do instead of what I want to do? I refuse to, I won’t. I might have cancer, but I won’t let it scare me. No way some list or some malignant lumps would dictate the rest of my days.
“Screw the lump, and the list. Let’s go get ice cream.”