Page 102 of Fall of a Kingdom
“Probably?” I reiterated. “What do you meanprobably?”
“Only twenty five percent of glioblastoma patients live past the year mark after diagnosis and treatment. Only five percent of patients live past the five-year mark. There is no actual cure for glioblastomas. We can only manage them.”
Each sentence was a battering ram to my psyche.
“I’m going to be sick,” I announced.
Dr. Elmond moved quickly. He grabbed the small plastic trashcan next to his desk and thrust it toward me.
Espresso and bile expelled from my mouth into the bin. My stomach heaved and my throat burned. Tears clouded my eyes as I struggled to get myself under control.
When it was clear that I was done, Dr. Elmond set the trash can aside.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t apologize.” He handed me a box of tissues from his desk.
I plucked a tissue and wiped my mouth.
“Would you like something to drink? Water? I can have the nurse—”
“No. Thank you.” I clenched the tissue in my hand.
He cleared his throat. “Do you need another moment before I continue?”
“There’s more?” I croaked.
“Aye, there’s more.”
I nodded once.
“Your tumor is nestled in the part of your brain that is responsible for what is commonly known as your personality. Removing the tumor might irrevocably change who you are, and who others perceive you to be. The behavior that makes you,you, could be entirely different after your surgery.”
My lip trembled and then I bit it hard enough to draw blood and to stop myself from falling apart. “If I don’t seek treatment? What does it look like for me?”
“Six months. A year at most. You’ll have more seizures, and soon migraines, memory loss, and toward the end you’re going to need full-time care.”
I closed my eyes and felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. They didn’t belong to the doctor because he hadn’t moved.
I knew who was touching me.
My tumor was manifesting as the ghost who haunted me.
“Barrett?” Dr. Elmond prodded.
I opened my eyes. “If I’d come to you weeks ago, would things be different now?”
“Weeks ago?” Dr. Elmond repeated. “It’s hard to say. The glioblastoma would’ve been smaller. But we can’t really know that since we’re just now discovering it. We haven’t been able to track it over time, so there’s no telling.”
I nodded slowly. I couldn’t go back in time. I hadn’t known Igor’s ghost was indicative of a medical problem. I thought it had been my guilt.
But now I knew—the tumor had affected my personality. I’d run from Flynn and our family, thinking I’d needed to exorcise Igor’s ghost.
I’d engaged in a food fight in Ash’s kitchen.
I hadn’t been myself for a long time.
The initial panic and fear of the truth was fading for just a moment.
