How terrified she must feel facing a prognosis of cancer?
The same might be said for our former temporary boss.
When I first heard about her diagnosis the Monday following
his announcement, I was extremely skeptical. I thought she was lying for some
reason – an idea a few weeks later seems absurd, especially when I considered just
how shocked both of them must have felt.
GA, the all-knowing Hometown blogger, knew she was not lying
and had suggested months ago she had a medical problem. GA had gleaned the
information from two Hometown attorneys our poet had apparently dated, one or
more of whom – like our former temporary boss – had contracted this variety of contagious
cancer.
As said, I had a cynical opinion at first – perhaps because I
felt she had no use for me and I felt spurned.
Since then, I’ve come to my senses. Why on earth would
anybody falsely report they contracted cancer?
Since then, I’ve come to realize just how horrible she must
feel, facing her mortality, not from the vantage of a roof top, but at the edge
of a medical examination table, the prospect of slow death filled with doubt,
not merely as to what her future might bring, but whether or not she would have
a future at all – a similar situation for our former temporary boss, whose
ambition is to become a bestselling novelist.
I was also skeptical of the juice thing, a radial cure that
first struck me as snake oil.
But my friend, a founder of the cancer victim’s resource
center in Newark, told me other people had used the technique successfully.
“Anything that works is fine,” she told me. “Sometimes, the
most outlandish things can make a difference.”
Although I still have my doubts, I also sincerely hope the
program works for our poet, who even recommended it to our former temporary
boss – he chose the more conventional therapy: surgery, chemo, and radiation,
from which he may well find a cure.
Still, facing one’s mortality is never easy. Ultimately, our
former temporary boss has it better than our poet. He has his wife at his side, while our poet
must (with the exception of her mother, brother, father etc.) largely face this
all alone.
In reality, no matter who we have around us, we are ultimately
facing death alone.
For her, it’s even worse. There is someone who might bring
her a measure of comfort, someone who remains distant at a time when she could
use his arms around her and have him whisper: “It’s all going to be all right.”
Whether or not it will be, she needs to hear it – from him.
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