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)
“The treatment we’re recommending is aggressive precisely because every day, every week, and every month matters. Some patients exceed our expectations, but I believe in being honest about what we’re facing.”
The door clicked closed softly, and Miri let out the most gut-wrenching sob I’d ever heard from anyone. I held her as tightly as possible while rubbing her back.
“We’ll get a second opinion,” I told her, trying to give her a small semblance of hope. “Boston has the best doctors. We’ll pack up the kids and leave right away.”
Miri said nothing. She held on to my arms, clutching them to bring me closer, and sobbed. Her tears matched my fear and heartbreak. There wasn’t a time in my life when she hadn’t existed, and I wasn’t sure I could exist in a world where she didn’t.
Chapter 6
Antonia
Nothing about what I’d heard, about what the doctor had said, made any sense to me. Miri was sick, and in my heart of hearts, I knew there would be no magical cure for what she had. My brain said otherwise while also screaming, Why and how?
Why was this happening to her? She was the kindest, nicest, loveliest person I knew. She didn’t wish harm on anyone, even if they’d scorned her. Miri never said a bad thing about those types to anyone, except to me, but I was her best friend, her confidant. I’d never betray her, and people should be allowed to vent their frustrations.
How was this happening to her? How had her system gotten so horribly bad, without her or her doctors noticing?
Cutter’s voice rang out in my mind . . . The last couple of months, she hasn’t been feeling well. She had a cough and said it was nothing, but she seemed very tired.
Was it only the last couple of months that she hadn’t been feeling well? Did she not prioritize her health? Of course she had. Miri would never do anything to put her babies in harm’s way or to not be with them. They were her life.
Miri quieted in my arms. I was afraid to move out of fear she would start up again, and rightly so. She had the right to cry, to sob, to scream if she wanted. I suspected the anger would come next, and then the denial.
I held Miri tighter, wishing like hell I had the right words. Everything failed to make sense in my mind except my need to fight. To fight for Miri, for Cutter, for Nova. Even for myself. I had to be the one to step up and make sure Miri got the care she deserved. And believe me, she deserved the best there was.
I needed to call Brendan—there was no way I was leaving Miri—and he’d have to accept that I was going to be working from home. Regardless of whether it was from Grove Hill or Boston, I wasn’t leaving her side.
After a knock at the door, a nurse entered Miri’s cubicle. “Hi, Miriam. I’m going to run an IV and take some blood.”
“What’s the IV for?” I asked as Miri sat up and gave her arm willingly.
“Pain meds, if needed. And fluids. We want to keep her as hydrated as possible. Over the next hour or so, others will come in to talk about your options. Dr. Frederick will be here shortly to meet with you and go over a treatment plan.”
“Are you in pain?” I asked Miri.
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Wouldn’t her illness cause her a lot of pain?” I asked the nurse.
“Yes, but sometimes the brain blocks the pain receptors. It’s not uncommon or unheard of, but now that she knows . . .” The nurse trailed off.
This wasn’t happening.
“I need to go call work,” I told Miri. “Be back in a minute.” I excused myself while the nurse inserted the IV, then walked out of the room and went to the end of the hallway, barely able to keep my tears at bay. Biting the inside of my cheek, I pressed my mom’s name on my phone and held it to my ear.
“Hey, honey.”
“Mama . . .” It dawned on me that I only ever called her “mama” when something was wrong.
“It’s cancer, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t keep it in and let the gut-wrenching, heartbreaking sob loose. I couldn’t inhale enough air to keep from hyperventilating. My howls were loud and matched my mother yelling my name on the other end. Finally, I rested against the wall and slid to the ground.
“She has cancer.” I finally said the word through a barrage of hiccups.
“Okay,” she said. “Cancer is treatable, Antonia. I know it’s hard to hear, but it’s something people can and do survive these days. They’ll take her into surgery and remove the cells, and then she’ll start treatment. Miriam is a fighter. She’ll come out on top.”