Finding Home, Chapter 1

It was a warm spring morning in late March when I received the diagnosis that would change my life.

I sat sullenly by the window of the clinic, staring into space. I thought bitterly how utterly pointless this was. I was supposed to be at the Church council meeting deciding on the jobs for the Easter Service this year. My parents sat on either side of me. Father, a tall, blond, handsome man, was reading a new post on his phone from Fox News. He was wearing a pair of khaki slacks and a checked tee-shirt. Mother, a beautiful, thin, fashionable woman, was re-applying her makeup in a pocket mirror. She wore her favorite flowy blue dress with some black heels. She was ready for the council meeting, too. We had been waiting for an hour for some news on the pain I had in my left shoulder. I was just thinking of standing up and leaving when our family doctor, Dr. Robberts, burst into the room. I sat up and stretched grumpily. This had better be good, I thought, cracking the joints in my neck and getting ready to listen.

"Well, doctor? What is it? Some kind of sprain, I suppose?" Mother asked, stiffly.

Dr. Robberts cleared his throat and said gravely, "Missus and Mister Wilson, I'm afraid that your daughter's contition is a bit more serious than we had previously thought."

I suddenly noticed how pale Dr. Robberts was, and how the front of his shirt was soaked in sweat.

"Well, then, spit it out, man! What has Magdalene got?" My father grouched. "We've been waiting for an hour to hear. Don't make us wait any longer."

Dr. Robberts took a deep breath to center himself and said, "I'm very sorry, but... it's cancer."

Time froze. I stared into the doctor's face, unable to really process what he had just said. Mother gave a loud sob and buried her face into Father's shirt. Father made a pathetic groaning noise and hugged me close, like I was in danger of floating away up to Heaven right then and there. I just sat there and stared. Cancer? Me? No, no, that was impossible. There must have been a mistake. I couldn't possibly have cancer. It was inconceivable. The doctors couldn't be right. I realized that hot tears were rolling down my cheeks. It was suddenly very hard to breathe. The air turned to soup in my lungs. I was drowning, drowning...

The doctor went on, though we were barely listening. "Anyway, because you first thought the pain was just a pulled muscle or something of the like, the tumor has gotten very developed. We may have just caught it in time. As it is so far along, we cannot risk having her travel, and because we have no cancer institute here, we will have to revert to the simplest method: amputation."

I broke out of my stupor just enough to ask him, in a quavering voice, "Wait, what'd you mean, 'amputation'? You can't mean..."

Dr. Robberts looked at me with pity and sadness etched across his face. "I'm sorry, Magdalene. It means we will have to cut your arm off."

Mother broke down completely, howling onto my shoulder like a wounded beast, tears soaking through my shirt. Father bowed his head and let himself finally start to cry. It was the most painful to watch. He was just sobbing silently, tears trickling down my face, the picture of defeat. His fingernails dug painfully into my arm, he was holding me so tightly. 

All I could do was sit there in my oversized soft chair, feeling cold. I stared down at my hands, feeling hollow and cold inside. I felt so empty, so fragile. I hadn't realized before how barely connected to life I was. I looked down at my pale hands laying across my lap and furled my fingers experimentally.

How could I have taken all this for granted? I wondered. Pumping heart, streaming blood, gasping lungs? In a few days, this could all be gone. I could be dead.

I realized that Dr. Robberts was still talking. I looked up at him again. He was in the middle of saying, "...and when she has recovered after the surgery, she will need therapy. We don't have a therapy center of any description around here. So, there are two options. You could send her to a therapist I know of in Charleston, South Carolina. It's decent service, and she wouldn't be so far away. Then there is a place I know of in New York City. Best therapy money can buy. They have people from all over the world coming there. It's methods are specifically for amputees."

My parents glanced at each other. "Will you go to New York as well, Doctor? You can have a separate apartment, of curse, but we'll need someone to check on her every day," Mother asked, wiping the last of the tears from her face.

"Of course. I will need to do regular medical check-ups on her anyway," he replies. "We don't want it metastasizing."

After another meaningful glance, Father nods. "New York it is, then. Magdalene needs the best therapy we can get her."

I gasp. "Mother, Father, you can't be serious! I- I've never left Georgia in my life!"

"It's for the best, honey," Mother whispered, hugging me close.

"Now," Dr. Robberts said briskly, "you will have a few days, maybe a week, to sort out the paperwork before we can operate, but it would be best if Magdalene went to the hospital now." 

"You can't be serious!" I say, tears beginning to fall again.

"I most certainly am. One of your parents will come with you, of course. We haven't got time to wait. I've called the ambulance, and it should arrive shortly," said Dr. Robberts.

There was an eternity of silence. "I'll go with Magdalene," said Father, squeezing my shoulders gently and scooting closer.

This was too much. My eyes swam with tears again. Our family's rule that you had to call your parents 'Mother' and 'Father' went out the window. "Mommy? Daddy?" I whimpered in a very small voice. It was like I had gone from age eighteen to age eight in a matter of seconds.

Mother clasped my hand and whispered, "It's OK, Honey. I'll see you soon. Your father will be with you the entire time."

"I'll take good care of her, I promise," said Father, pecking Mother on the cheek and giving her a weak smile.

"Goodbye. I love you, Mother," I muttered, feeling horribly sick. 

I grabbed Father's hand as we through the intimidating double doors to wait for the ambulance. As the door slammed shut behind me, cutting off my last view of my sniffling mother, I realized that nothing would ever be the same.