PROLOGUE
I am in the middle of the ocean.
It seemed like the ship I was on capsized and there I was in the water, fighting for my life.
The heat and glare of the burning sun roasted my face like hot coals, as I tried to maintain my head above water.
My weary legs continued on their robotic threading in its undeniable quest for survival. At the same time, I’m fearing that they will go to a halting stop anytime soon.
I felt my head begin to sink as water got in my nose and mouth and I gasped for air.
That is when I woke up.
I never learned how to swim, and this was my worst nightmare.
“It’s only water, it won’t kill you,” I remember my twin brother Edward saying with sympathy, as rivulets of pool water drained from his face.
We were both a part of this neighborhood kids group that were learning how to swim at our community pool.
Our instructor told us to jump feet first into the pool as he placed a long steel pole in the water that reached the bottom. He said we could hang on to the pole for security until our feet touched the bottom, and we must kick as hard as we can to propel us to the surface.
I took the instructions to heart, but when my brain realized that I was under water with the surface at least 8 feet high, I began to panic. My feet on the ground became frozen stiff and would not move. That is when I shook the pole violently, until the instructor got the hint and dove in to save me.
So since then,, unless the water was waist deep, I would never mess around in a pool or ocean.
I’ve always heard that dreams are the reverse of reality. It was particularly true in this case
I don’t even know how to thread and if I was really in that situation, I would’ve drowned in minutes.
ESTHER
The hum of the machines around me and the tightening of the BP cuff around my arm every few minutes, was enough to deprive me of sleep.
I see my husband of 5 years-Brent, snoring softly while hunched over uncomfortably on a hospital chair beside my bed. The moon from the outside window spotlights all his many features that I fell in love with.
My name is Esther, I am 46 years old and dying of colon cancer.
How could someone like me, in the prime of her life, be handed over a death sentence?
Studies show more and more young people less than 50 are getting diagnosed with colorectal cancer. This forced health officials to lower the screening to 40.
I have always known I had the gene for it. Some of my distant relatives either died from this cancer, or lucked out and continued to live, minus a few feet of their intestines which had to be cut off. Luckily, I haven’t heard of anyone who had to be at the mercy of a colostomy bag.
Despite that, I was not worried, because none of my immediate family ever got it. I was in the best shape of my life, running 2 miles a day and eating only healthy foods. I felt great, and did not have any symptoms that would think otherwise.
My reluctance to undergo colonoscopy screening got the better of me, as I constantly hear of horror stories like being on “conscious sedation” during the procedure.
The alternative is the stool sample test sent by mail. Just reading the instructions on the little booklet grosses me out that I have collected a mound of these little booklets sent to me by my doctors.
One night, when Brent and I went out to dinner at our favorite steak house to celebrate his huge promotion at work, I became very ill. When the food came, I took one look at my prime rib and immediately made a mad dash to the restroom, almost missing the toilet bowl. I threw up what little food I had that day and it felt like, the rest of my soul as well.
Brent rushed me to the nearest Emergency Room where loads of tests were done. And just like that, I was scheduled immediately to see the Oncologist first thing the following morning.
The doctor educated me and Brent on what was going on, pointing to a video taken inside my stomach area. It looked like the blue ocean with several islands intertwined together.
When she said “ I had a 7 inch lesion that already metastasized to the other organs,” I suddenly felt that her voice was coming from a deep well and everything inside the hospital room transformed into weird shapes trying to reach out to me like long claws.
I then felt Brent’s hand heavy on my shoulders.
“So how long is treatment?..a week?..a month?, I am needed at work as soon as possible,” I blurted out.
The doctor looked at Brent, then at me and said “It will be more than that.”
My mind was going a mile a minute like it was about to explode.
I really don’t remember Brent wheeling me to the pharmacy to get my prescribed medications. It was like watching a movie. I felt like I was elsewhere as he spoke with the pharmacist and paid the bill.
While we waited, Brent had to go use the restroom and so he left all the paperwork on my lap.
I leafed through them and when I read “stage 4 colon cancer”, I automatically placed a hand on my mouth and tried to stifle a scream.
Brent came back unsuspecting, that I had just experienced the shock of my life.
What does this mean I have stage 4 cancer?” the paper was crumpling, as I waved it in front of him.
“We will talk about this at home soon,” his face ashen as he whispered in my ear, looking around, probably not wanting for us to be a spectacle.
“No! I want to talk about this right now! I screamed with all my might and every single face at the pharmacy turned and stared our way.
Brent and I have only been married a short time, but the love we both felt for each other is immeasurable.
Having a daughter of my own Louise- from a previous marriage further enhanced the essence of our loving little family. Brent treated Louise like he’s own, even from the start. She had never known any father figure but him. Louise’ father did not want anything to do with her.
I have a successful career as Advertising Manager of a successful marketing firm and am headed for a big promotion as VP.
I had everything. A nice house in the suburbs, even a lovable husky named Poodle.
All that ,seems to take second precedence to what I really needed. To survive this deadly disease.
That is when I began to sob.
