“Ah, the English and their stupid sense of fair play.”
Friday finally dawned. Today was the day. My Rock, my parents and I arrived at Dr. K’s Office in the late afternoon. The nurse took me to an exam room. Dr. K came in and shared what he knew with me. (It took years for me to let people know that Dr. K told me first. He wanted me to try and grasp what was happening before explaining the situation to my family, in the purple room. This was a gift. It truly was.)
After Dr. K spoke with me, we met my family in the purple room. This moment is frozen, in slow motion, in my mind. I saw my Rock, mom and dad in a different light. I could feel time.
Dr. K sat in one of the chairs. The four of us sat on the couch. Dennis had his Franklin Planner and was ready to take notes. My parents looked nervous. Dr. K told us that I had leukemia. My Rock began to write. My mom said, “Not my baby!” My Dad started to cry. The WW hit me repeatedly. With every gasp. With every stroke of the pen. With every tear. Honestly, it wasn’t because I was sad. It was because I was causing this grief. One of the first thoughts I had was that my entire family would have to change how they fill out paperwork. They all now had an immediate family member who had cancer. We’d never had that before. We come from a very healthy gene pool.
Dr. K continued. The specific type of leukemia was not known, but the results would be in on Tuesday. He described what the possibilities were by saying that on Tuesday he would let me know if I had a house fire and the house could be saved. OR (I heard this word quite clearly). Or, that the fire had spread throughout the walls and there was little that could be done.
Dr. K answered our questions. He was extremely patient, kind and direct. He was exactly what I needed in a doctor. He offered two bites of wisdom that I took to heart:
1. Cancer is the only word we hear in all caps and bold. Don’t give it that weight. (True nugget of wisdom here!)
2. Final results wouldn’t be in until Tuesday. Take these three days to make memories with your kiddos. Get your affairs in order. Come back on Tuesday, with your bags packed and ready to be admitted into the hospital. Dr. K promised that he would fight for me just as hard as I would fight. Together.
Things I learned in those moments that remain tattooed on my heart:
1. Time is a gift.
2. It is… unnerving to be in the body that is trying to kill you.
3. Time is a gift.
4. The Uninvited Guest was clearer, but I still couldn’t see his face. That’s not how this was supposed to work. I should know him and begin fighting him immediately. He was duplicitous, this UG. “Oh, we English and our STUPID sense of fair play.”
The Time that is Given 