The Suicide Pact
00.
I found a lump. You know, the lump that the doctor looks for when you're on the table during a full physical? Yeah, one of those. Normally I don't feel myself up like I'm supposed to, so I'm surprised I ever found out it was there. I was having one of those days when you look in the mirror after getting out of the shower, and you just…stare at yourself. Sometimes you have to do that. I stood there for a good minute, then I touched my right breast. I made a face because of how much smaller it was than the other one. People say you can't notice, but it just screams at me.
Then I felt it. I furrowed my eyebrows and touched it again. I wasn't really sure what to think right then. Should I tell my mother? Should I ignore it? I did the ladder, and I shouldn't have.
"I can't handle this. I just can't," she said, pressing her head against the wheel as we sat in the parking lot of the hospital. My mother. She was beautiful once. I guess years of having her heart-broken by the dirt bags she seemed to attract and having to raise a child took a toll on her looks. She had sunken eyes, outlined by dark circles, accompanied by wrinkles that added about ten years to her forty-six year old face.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't know," I said. I wasn't really sure what to say to comfort her.
"I know, Janice. I know," she said, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. What a day. She lost her job and found out that her eighteen year old daughter was dying from breast cancer. One of the leading killers in women today, and you still think it could never happen to you.
It's not as common in my age group. I guess I'm just special. I won't be able to receive treatment, because I waited too long to tell someone and go to the doctor. The cancer is spreading as we speak. Point blank, I'm dying. I'm not going to be a 'breast cancer survivor' telling of my experience on Lifetime, or on some walk for a cure commercial. This was it for me.
You're probably wondering why I'm not freaking out. Or crying. Or breaking things. I don't know, really. I've just never been the kind of person to freak out. Even when I find out I'm dying and it's too late for treatment. I know nothing about this disease. Everything they told me in that hospital went in one ear and out the other. The only thing I got out of it was cancer. I'm not afraid of dying, and I probably wasn't even going to make it past twenty five. I'll try anything, so I figured I'd be hooked on drugs or something dangerous by then. I haven't been given many opportunities for anything.
It's almost as if I was meant to die.
Then I felt it. I furrowed my eyebrows and touched it again. I wasn't really sure what to think right then. Should I tell my mother? Should I ignore it? I did the ladder, and I shouldn't have.
"I can't handle this. I just can't," she said, pressing her head against the wheel as we sat in the parking lot of the hospital. My mother. She was beautiful once. I guess years of having her heart-broken by the dirt bags she seemed to attract and having to raise a child took a toll on her looks. She had sunken eyes, outlined by dark circles, accompanied by wrinkles that added about ten years to her forty-six year old face.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't know," I said. I wasn't really sure what to say to comfort her.
"I know, Janice. I know," she said, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. What a day. She lost her job and found out that her eighteen year old daughter was dying from breast cancer. One of the leading killers in women today, and you still think it could never happen to you.
It's not as common in my age group. I guess I'm just special. I won't be able to receive treatment, because I waited too long to tell someone and go to the doctor. The cancer is spreading as we speak. Point blank, I'm dying. I'm not going to be a 'breast cancer survivor' telling of my experience on Lifetime, or on some walk for a cure commercial. This was it for me.
You're probably wondering why I'm not freaking out. Or crying. Or breaking things. I don't know, really. I've just never been the kind of person to freak out. Even when I find out I'm dying and it's too late for treatment. I know nothing about this disease. Everything they told me in that hospital went in one ear and out the other. The only thing I got out of it was cancer. I'm not afraid of dying, and I probably wasn't even going to make it past twenty five. I'll try anything, so I figured I'd be hooked on drugs or something dangerous by then. I haven't been given many opportunities for anything.
It's almost as if I was meant to die.