Months To Years Fall 2018 Months To Years Fall 2018 - Page 6

Less Than One Percent By Martina Reaves I’ll soon be 70. Just three short months to go. A miracle, I felt boiling hot, like I wasn’t in my body, but floating since I was supposed to die when I was 59. above it. I finally looked at Tanya, sitting on a small chair by my elevated examination chair. Her short blond hair “There’s nothing more I can do for you,” Dr. Kaplan said was tousled from running her hands through it. Her face then, not looking at me as he turned to walk out the was red, a sign of her intense emotion. Her eyes were examining room door. glazed. “They’re just small spots. Why can’t you remove them?” “I’m sorry,” I said.             I hated all that I was putting her through. “Because they’ll just come back,” he said, looking over his shoulder.             After more than an hour, three lab techs nervously came “You might have double-digits of months left,” he said as out a big chunk of flesh, as if to prove his point. “Are you telling me I’m dying?” into the room and took pinprick biopsies of the small white dots on my neck. Then, Dr. Kaplan returned and scooped he walked out the door. “We’ll do biopsies to be sure.”   “The preliminary check of the biopsies is negative for My wife and I sat silently, frozen, unable to look at each cancer,” a tech reported an hour later. “We’ll have the final other. We’d been through the original diagnosis of tongue report in a few days. You can go home now.” cancer a year earlier, through three grueling tongue and neck surgeries, weeks of radiation. Why did they tell me I was dying when they didn’t know for sure? And now it had come to this.              6   But Dr. Kaplan was right, after all. A week later, his