Fate Is A Betrayer

Be still, sad heart! And cease repining

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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he doctors' face was like that of a brick, impassive and drab. His movements were calculated, rather sharp in manner and stifled with purpose. His eyes were as gray as the winter clouds that fought to keep the sun away, his dark pupils were dilated from irritation and tiredness. The aged lines around his mouth were gently painted by the brisk brush of time, they, however, gave no indication that he ever lost himself in deep laughter. There were no marks around his eyes that would allude to that conclusion.

Yet, that was the man who all prayed for and never wished to ever see in their lifetime. Diana wondered if he had always been this somber or if his profession had made him the way he was. Perhaps as a young boy, he had once chased stray cats about and rode a bike around his neighborhood, but somehow she doubted it so. She just could not make up that image in her mind quite right. It did not suit him even if he were a child. She supposed he was a serious boy in his youth.

He analyzed the chart for a few seconds, the ash remnants of the roaring fire - or rather, his dark Grey eyes glided effortlessly over the written words. As he read the pages, he seemed to forget his surroundings, his mind busied itself on unlocking the meaning of each word and at first, he found nothing wrong in his patient that would be considered serious or life threatening, until something clicked in his brain and he remembered Diana's blood test results. He looked up with a grim expression that did not suit his face; his brows rippled and his gaze shifted to a sympathetic softness - that also did not suit his face - and just for a moment Diana's heart sank to the depths of her belly as if anchored down by heavy stones.

"Mrs. Lewando, I'm sorry to tell you that you have a cancerous situation that is not curable and unfortunately poorly treatable. After you have a moment to think about this, we may review a couple of options on how to proceed and whether or not a treatment is the right thing for you" The words took flight from his parted lips, each one wrapped in a sheen of solace. He had so many patients that day that he almost forgot about Diana's important diagnosis. The task of delivering such news was, understandably never an easy one, he took no pleasure from times like these especially when the patient had been nothing but kindhearted and sweet.

"Oh," Was all she said, it came out almost like an accident, spilling out of her plump lips, her mouth opened and closed like the shutters of a window on a windy night. As seconds passed her amber eyes lost any ounce of liveliness, they become rounder, masked with a veil of gloss. Her brain scrambling to make sense of it all. Then all at once, her face buckled exactly as if her knees would do so if she were to be standing. Her breaths came in short puffs of air as she held in her threatening tears. The doctor went on to speak but it was like she was submerged under the surface of murky water, unable to hear him clearly as if cotton was lodged in her ears.

"...five to six months left" Her brain caught the words before they vanished into the stuffy air. She choked down the rising bile and consciously flexed her hands feeling, at last, the pain of her nails digging into her palms. "However there is always the chemo option. It will help extend the time and ease the symptoms" He went on to speak, yet she paid him no mind. His words only splintered her insides further. Comfort care only? No, she did not wish for that. That meant no more living, no more walks to the park, there will be no more car trips, no more roller coaster rides or theme parks for that matter. She did not want to be surrounded by four walls and medication until she died. She wanted none of it. "Never!" She chastised in her mind. She could not let any of that happen. For you see, Diana hated change, in fact, she loathed it with a near sizzling passion. Since she was young all she experienced was change. Her friends changed, her father changed and everything around her always did so too and not for the better either.

So she vowed to herself that not a soul will find out about this, she will tell no one of it. Not her father, not her husband not even her poor dog Nutmeg! She will keep this to herself, hidden away in the depths of her mind where her fears always lingered. "No one need know of this. I will act like it never even happened. Yeah, I will ignore all of this" She though in silent reverie getting up from the uncomfortable leather seat and grabbing her purse. She completely ignored the doctor who was still babbling on about chemotherapy and comfort care and she simply just walked out the door like nothing ever happened.

"Mrs. Lewando! Ma'ma!" She heard him yell out. The mask of equanimity he had on earlier vanishing. She paid him no heed as her mind wasted its time malfunctioning and glitching out in her skull.

It was for sure an odd way she chose to cope with her problem. Yet she coped nonetheless. And alas, for each their own.

Outside in the near puncturing silence, the light was too bright for her tired hazel eyes after the darkening gloom inside, she found it rather abrasive, enough perhaps to bring on one of her throbbing migraines that lasts hours to dull out. She almost bit her tongue in two trying to keep her composure under lock and key. She thought deep and hard within herself, she knew her fate was sealed one way or the other so she will go about this the way she wished. No doctor or anyone else would dare tell her otherwise, and with that, stubbornness can be a lethal force that harbored unruly choices.