Page 20 of Free to Breathe
“No, you do not! When is this happening?” God, to not have to deflect about why I’m hauling my ass to Baltimore is certainly going to lighten my list of concerns. I think my siblings were beginning to wonder if I was banging a Ravens football player.
“We can get your next round of tests ordered for Greenwich. You’re due for them soon anyway,” Bryan informs me, breaking into my thoughts. “I’ll work out a month’s notice for Hopkins. By the time we get you scheduled and get the results, we’ll know what our next play is.” His words are full of confidence. He stabs a forkful of food and shoves it between his chiseled lips. Bryan begins talking about the new facility and staff and how my transition will work. But every word is like pressing on an open wound he knows nothing about because I haven’t told him my news yet.
Unable to listen to his calm voice anymore, I’m unusually quiet when I interrupt him. “I had an episode yesterday.”
“Excuse me?”
I open and close my mouth a few times, but I can’t repeat the words. Beseechingly, I finally whisper, “You heard me.”
Snapping into full doctor mode, I no longer have Bryan at my table. Now, Dr. Moser is sitting across from me. He snaps, “Describe it. Leave no detail out.’
Painstakingly, I do. I explain everything, like what I was doing right before, including baking Ali’s birthday cupcakes and my increased agitation level because Colby was in my kitchen. I watch his eyes narrow before he starts asking me questions he’s never asked in the five years I’ve been seeing him. Things like if I’d experienced any sort of numbness in any of my extremities or if I’d noticed any unexplained slurring of my speech. Was there any time where my facial muscles haven’t cooperated when I’ve tried to blink or smile?
Finally, unable to take it, I blurt out, “You think I had a stroke!”
Rubbing his thumb along his jaw, he replies, “Truthfully, I’m more concerned the tumor may have grown or shifted, and is putting pressure along your ICAs—internal cranial arteries. Are you still having all of your tests ordered through your primary care physician?”
The tumor may have grown. The tumor may have shifted. Those words keep repeating over and over in my head. I stare at Bryan, my eyes huge. “Excuse me?” I whisper. I’ve known for years this could not only be a possibility, but this could be the beginning of…
I had to stay in the now. It’s how I’ve lived my life, and I’ve done just fine.
“Cori, do you still go through your primary care to order your medical tests?” Bryan snaps at me. His patience is waning.
I nod slowly. I feel the oil, vinegar, and Italian spices churning in my stomach from lunch.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“I’m moving up your tests, but we’ll have them done here. I need new imaging. We’ll have copies sent to Hopkins so I can see them. I’ll order my staff to copy Dr. Braddock at Greenwich so they can start building your case file here.” Pulling out his cell phone, Bryan scrolls through his contacts. He presses a button to engage the call and meets my eyes. “Derek? Bryan Moser. The patient I was discussing with you earlier? Yes, she’s on board with switching her program to Greenwich. We need to get her in for testing next week though. She’s had a mild escalation of symptoms I’m not encouraged by.” Bryan turns his head away and begins talking in medical jargon that involves a lot of codes.
I’m still stuck on the part where he said he wasn’t encouraged. Shoving away from the table, I walk to the doors leading to my back deck.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I move directly into the wildflowers outside, where their imperfect beauty that withstands the bitter winter and the brutality of the summer.
What if I never feel them against my skin again?
What if I never see my family again? What if I can’t hold the kids?
What if I never walk again? Drive a car? Decorate a cake?
What if I can’t see or speak or hear? What if I can’t touch, or feel someone’s touch?
What if…what if I die? I’ve always known it’s a possibility, but now it’s more like a probability.
What if all the pride I was taught to have doesn’t do me a damn bit of good when I can’t breathe because the darkness has decided it’s time to wrap me in its cloak and mock me with laughter as
I suffer, immobile and terrified?
For the first time since they told me that long-ago day at UConn, brokenhearted and bruised, tears flow from my eyes. Why aren’t I meant to live a happy life?
My spirit is finally broken. I don’t realize when Bryan comes up behind me. “We’ve got this, Cori. You’re not going to give in, not when I can fix this.”
“Okay,” I whisper, defeat thick in my voice.
“Okay,” he says, confidence lacing his.
And for a long time, we just stand there with his hands on my shoulders, amid my field of wildflowers, both of us thinking very different things about the same issue.
My life.
