He cleared his throat and then continued. “Yes. Unfortunately, pancreatic cancer is known as the ‘silent killer’ because symptoms don’t typically appear until the disease has progressed. The fatigue and discomfort you’ve been experiencing are common early indicators, but they’re easily mistaken for stress or normal life pressures. The blood test confirmed the findings from the MRI. Certain cancers release specific proteins into your bloodstream. Between what we saw on your images and the elevated levels, this condition is what we call metastatic cancer.”
“Oh God,” I mumbled at the sound of his words. Tears fell instantly. There was no way to stop or combat them. This wasn’t something Miri could’ve prevented with a monthly self-exam or a yearly mammogram. It wasn’t like she could’ve stood in the mirror and examined the organ for bumps, lesions, or any abnormalities.
“With the cancer spreading to several organs, it becomes more complex to treat because one site might react positively to the treatment, while another may not respond at all. This doesn’t mean we don’t have options, though. We will find a way to treat you. At this stage, our primary goal is to manage the cancer and slow its progression while mitigating any symptoms that arise.”
“Is there a cure?” Miri asked quietly.
“It’s not likely we’ll be able to cure the cancers, but we can focus on treatments that might help extend your life.”
“What about a second opinion?” I asked. “I live in Boston. The hospitals are better there. More equipped. I’ll take her there.”
Dr. Frederick nodded. “Please do,” he said. “I’ll tell the charge nurse to send Miriam’s file there.”
“How long?” Miri asked.
“With the right treatment—”
“How long?” Miri asked again, this time more forcefully. “Am I going to see my son graduate? My daughter? Will I see my son get married? My daughter become a mother?”
Dr. Frederick took a measured breath. His eyes were soft, kind ... practiced. I could tell he’d given more bad news in his years as a doctor than he had good. My heart sank, even further than before. I held Miri’s hand, willing her to feel the comfort I couldn’t put into words.
“With aggressive chemotherapy, we’re typically looking at six to twelve months. Without treatment, significantly less. I want to be clear, we’re not fighting to cure this cancer, Miriam. We’re fighting to give you as much quality time as possible with your children.”
Miri’s face crumpled. “So I won’t see Cutter graduate. Nova’s only seven.”
“The treatment we’re recommending is aggressive precisely because every day, every week, and every month matters. Some patients exceed our expectations, but I believe in being honest about what we’re facing.”
The door clicked closed softly, and Miri let out the most gut-wrenching sob I’d ever heard from anyone. I held her as tightly as possible while rubbing her back.
“We’ll get a second opinion,” I told her, trying to give her a small semblance of hope. “Boston has the best doctors. We’ll pack up the kids and leave right away.”
Miri said nothing. She held on to my arms, clutching them to bring me closer, and sobbed. Her tears matched my fear and heartbreak. There wasn’t a time in my life when she hadn’t existed, and I wasn’t sure I could exist in a world where she didn’t.
Chapter 6
Antonia
Nothing about what I’d heard, about what the doctor had said, made any sense to me. Miri was sick, and in my heart of hearts, I knew there would be no magical cure for what she had. My brain said otherwise while also screaming, Why and how?
Why was this happening to her? She was the kindest, nicest, loveliest person I knew. She didn’t wish harm on anyone, even if they’d scorned her. Miri never said a bad thing about those types to anyone, except to me, but I was her best friend, her confidant. I’d never betray her, and people should be allowed to vent their frustrations.
How was this happening to her? How had her system gotten so horribly bad, without her or her doctors noticing?
Cutter’s voice rang out in my mind ...The last couple of months, she hasn’t been feeling well. She had a cough and said it was nothing, but she seemed very tired.
Was it only the last couple of months that she hadn’t been feeling well? Did she not prioritize her health? Of course she had. Miri would never do anything to put her babies in harm’s way or to not be with them. They were her life.
Miri quieted in my arms. I was afraid to move out of fear she would start up again, and rightly so. She had the right to cry, to sob,to scream if she wanted. I suspected the anger would come next, and then the denial.
I held Miri tighter, wishing like hell I had the right words. Everything failed to make sense in my mind except my need to fight. To fight for Miri, for Cutter, for Nova. Even for myself. I had to be the one to step up and make sure Miri got the care she deserved. And believe me, she deserved the best there was.
I needed to call Brendan—there was no way I was leaving Miri—and he’d have to accept that I was going to be working from home. Regardless of whether it was from Grove Hill or Boston, I wasn’t leaving her side.
After a knock at the door, a nurse entered Miri’s cubicle. “Hi, Miriam. I’m going to run an IV and take some blood.”
“What’s the IV for?” I asked as Miri sat up and gave her arm willingly.
“Pain meds, if needed. And fluids. We want to keep her as hydrated as possible. Over the next hour or so, others will come in to talk about your options. Dr. Frederick will be here shortly to meet with you and go over a treatment plan.”
