The Phone Call
My phone rang. It was my good friend, Jen. We had talked earlier and it had been a bubbly, peppy talk so I wasn’t prepared for the quietness in her voice.
“Have you talked to Mary recently?”
I went on alert. I had thought I had more time with Maret. I had thought that the doctors had lied. I had thought that, since we had passed the seven day mark that we were golden. Even though I reminded myself that we all are on borrowed time and Maret more than ever, I still thought we were home free.
“Not since earlier today, before she went to the eye doctors. Is it Maret?”
“No.” She choked for a moment and my heart crashed. This much emotion and it’s not Maret? Oh. My. God.
“What is it, Jen?”
“Mary’s doctor has scheduled her for an MRI brain scan tomorrow. There is a possibility that she has a tumor.”
My world crashed down around me as the tears exploded out of me with such a force that I was certain my lungs would collapse. “NOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
We cried together and I sniffled into the phone, hiccuping and saying, “I wasn’t prepared for that news. I feel like I have been blind-sided.”
And then we laughed together because, somehow, my choice of words were ironically poetic and hilarious. Especially since it was Mary’s narrowing line of vision that had caused her concern enough to go to the eye doctor’s. I spoke with Mary later on last night. I heard the fear and the sadness and the anger in her voice. I could hear her asking questions in her mind, the same questions I was asking in mine, I suppose.
In the quiet of the night last night, while I tossed and turned in bed finding no respite from the sadness in the depths of sleep, I stared into the darkness and wondered… what am I to make of all this? I feel scared and sad and angry. It feels like too much. This week feels like too much.
I will go to Mary on Friday, in the quiet moments of the afternoon, and lay my hands upon her head. In the stillness we will find some peace and, perhaps, a miracle or two.