We pulled up to my parents’ house and Charlie went around to help me out of the car. I wasn’t too proud to accept the arm he offered me so I could stand—I needed it.
Inside, I slowly made my way up the stairs to my room. My parents were there, but I didn’t have the energy to talk to them. It was all I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. My chest was on fire, the pain radiating through my whole body.
Charlie followed me into my room and helped me get settled. I couldn’t lie flat, so he adjusted the bed so I was at an incline.
“So, I guess now we wait?” he asked.
“Now we wait,” I said.
And maybe that was the hardest part—knowing the outcome of my life was no longer within my control. It wouldn’t matter if I stayed mentally strong. My will wasn’t enough. This illness was taking me down and there was nothing left for me to do but wait.
Wait, and hope for a miracle.