really can’t,” Dr. Robeson said. “But I trust Mr. Thorne implicitly.”
“The treatment is very dangerous,” I said. “It probably won’t work.”
“I know,” said Dr. Robeson.
“But if it’s the only chance I have....” I let that trail off.
“Cora, there’s nothing more I or any other oncologist can do. Mr. Thorne’s procedure, however risky and unorthodox, is your only possibility of a cure.” Her voice was not unkind, but she was firm.
I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding. “Thanks for being blunt. I needed the reassurance. My judgment…” I trailed off, then changed the subject. “ I guess I’ll go for it, then. Anyway, I’ll be picking up the antibiotics at the Health Center, as usual.”
“I’ll call it in. Goodbye, Cora,” she said. “And good luck.”
“Bye,” I said, and I hung up.
And that was that.
I grabbed the picture that sat on my bedside table and turned it so I could see it from the bed. In the photo, I was grinning and holding up my high school diploma with my Gramma’s arm wrapped around my shoulders in a fierce hug. She looked so happy. Triumphant, even. She’d done it, singlehandedly raising me, giving me a normal childhood despite the tragedy that had killed my parents so soon after I was born. She’d put off her retirement for ten years, I found out later, to support me. I could never pay her back, but I’d wanted to succeed to show her that all her sacrifice had meant something. But if Mr. Thorne’s experimental procedure didn’t work, I’d be dead in less than a semester.
Logically, I knew my chances were slim, but I was convinced that this time, I would be the one in one hundred lucky ones. I must be. I didn’t think that it was just that I couldn’t accept my own death. It went far deeper than that. I was absolutely certain that I would be cured. I don’t know where that conviction came from, but no amount of rational thought could shake it.
I levered myself out of bed and dragged on some clothes. My head felt like it was stuffed with a wad of cotton, my sinuses were slowly burning through my skull, and my ear throbbed dully. Shoving my feet into my UGG knockoffs, I went into the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal.
“Hey, Cora,” Lisette said from the living room. “I thought you’d left for class.”
“No,” I said, splashing milk over my raisin bran. I flopped in a chair and dug in. I hadn’t gained any weight back since stopping the alemtuzumab, but I hadn’t lost any more, either, for a change. “I had to call Dr. Robeson and get another script for Cipro. I can’t shake this ear infection.”
“I’m sorry. Have you seen Geoff after our last study session?” she asked with exaggerated casualness.
I aimed my spoon at her. “I know it was you who told him I’m sick, so don’t play innocent with me. He admitted it.”
“Wait, he talked to you? And you didn’t tell me?” She looked betrayed.
“Last week. And I didn’t tell you because you opened your big mouth and told him about my cancer.”
“Oh, come on, Cora. He’s been mooning after you all semester,” Lisette said. “And you weren’t going to do anything about it. Somebody had to.”
“It’s my life,” I grumbled.
“And it’s his, too,” she pointed out. “Anyhow, you’ve been weird ever since you came back from your last appointment Dr. Robeson. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m not healthy,” I returned.
“So, what did Geoff say?” Lisette was not to be distracted. “Dish! I can’t believe you guys have been studying with me for three days now, and I had no idea.”
I sighed. “He’s still interested, okay? And believe it or not, so am I.”
Lisette made an absurd squealing noise, and I treated her to a glare.
“After Christmas,” I said. “If the treatment’s worked.”
“So you’re going to go for the
“The treatment is very dangerous,” I said. “It probably won’t work.”
“I know,” said Dr. Robeson.
“But if it’s the only chance I have....” I let that trail off.
“Cora, there’s nothing more I or any other oncologist can do. Mr. Thorne’s procedure, however risky and unorthodox, is your only possibility of a cure.” Her voice was not unkind, but she was firm.
I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding. “Thanks for being blunt. I needed the reassurance. My judgment…” I trailed off, then changed the subject. “ I guess I’ll go for it, then. Anyway, I’ll be picking up the antibiotics at the Health Center, as usual.”
“I’ll call it in. Goodbye, Cora,” she said. “And good luck.”
“Bye,” I said, and I hung up.
And that was that.
I grabbed the picture that sat on my bedside table and turned it so I could see it from the bed. In the photo, I was grinning and holding up my high school diploma with my Gramma’s arm wrapped around my shoulders in a fierce hug. She looked so happy. Triumphant, even. She’d done it, singlehandedly raising me, giving me a normal childhood despite the tragedy that had killed my parents so soon after I was born. She’d put off her retirement for ten years, I found out later, to support me. I could never pay her back, but I’d wanted to succeed to show her that all her sacrifice had meant something. But if Mr. Thorne’s experimental procedure didn’t work, I’d be dead in less than a semester.
Logically, I knew my chances were slim, but I was convinced that this time, I would be the one in one hundred lucky ones. I must be. I didn’t think that it was just that I couldn’t accept my own death. It went far deeper than that. I was absolutely certain that I would be cured. I don’t know where that conviction came from, but no amount of rational thought could shake it.
I levered myself out of bed and dragged on some clothes. My head felt like it was stuffed with a wad of cotton, my sinuses were slowly burning through my skull, and my ear throbbed dully. Shoving my feet into my UGG knockoffs, I went into the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal.
“Hey, Cora,” Lisette said from the living room. “I thought you’d left for class.”
“No,” I said, splashing milk over my raisin bran. I flopped in a chair and dug in. I hadn’t gained any weight back since stopping the alemtuzumab, but I hadn’t lost any more, either, for a change. “I had to call Dr. Robeson and get another script for Cipro. I can’t shake this ear infection.”
“I’m sorry. Have you seen Geoff after our last study session?” she asked with exaggerated casualness.
I aimed my spoon at her. “I know it was you who told him I’m sick, so don’t play innocent with me. He admitted it.”
“Wait, he talked to you? And you didn’t tell me?” She looked betrayed.
“Last week. And I didn’t tell you because you opened your big mouth and told him about my cancer.”
“Oh, come on, Cora. He’s been mooning after you all semester,” Lisette said. “And you weren’t going to do anything about it. Somebody had to.”
“It’s my life,” I grumbled.
“And it’s his, too,” she pointed out. “Anyhow, you’ve been weird ever since you came back from your last appointment Dr. Robeson. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m not healthy,” I returned.
“So, what did Geoff say?” Lisette was not to be distracted. “Dish! I can’t believe you guys have been studying with me for three days now, and I had no idea.”
I sighed. “He’s still interested, okay? And believe it or not, so am I.”
Lisette made an absurd squealing noise, and I treated her to a glare.
“After Christmas,” I said. “If the treatment’s worked.”
“So you’re going to go for the
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