CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - TARA
My oncologist’s office was cold and terrifying. I sat shivering in a chair, waiting for her to arrive. This appointment wasn’t an exam. I’d already had multiple tests done in the past few weeks. Now, finally, we were going to discuss my treatment plan. I was nervous but also excited. I was ready to get started. I was ready to fight this thing.
“Tara,” Dr. Young said. “Good morning.”
“Hello,” I said. I tried to smile, but my face felt tight.
“I know you’re nervous,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. This is all scary as hell.”
“It is,” I said, nodding. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“Well, that’s why we’re here,” she said. She shuffled a few papers and then looked back up. “I think our best option is to start with Chemo. Then, if that doesn’t do what we want it to, we’ll consider surgery.”
“You don’t think surgery would be better now?” I asked.
“It would be more aggressive,” she said. “Which, isn’t always better.”
“But,” I began.
“Listen,” she said. “With this kind of cancer, we can never be sure we’re doing the right thing. We just have to start somewhere and push forward.”
I nodded. She wasn’t saying anything that calmed my nerves, but at least we were moving forward. Besides, my cancer was rare. I couldn’t blame her for being uncertain. I also appreciated the fact that she wasn’t trying to blow smoke up my ass and hype me up with false hope. I was a medical professional and I knew I needed to be realistic.
“What are the chances I’ll survive this thing?” I asked boldly. My voice was stronger, much stronger than I felt.
“We caught it early,” she said. “These headaches are the first sign, so that’s good. If the treatment is successful, then I don’t see any reason why you can’t live out your life in remission. But if it’s not, well, we can never really know for sure.”
I nodded again. I felt like there wasn’t anything left to say. My chances of survival depended entirely upon luck. If things worked, I would be okay. If they didn’t, I would die. There was no middle ground.
I listened to Dr. Young tell me the details of my treatment. She walked me through exactly how many chemotherapy sessions I would undergo and what we would do after each one. She tried to be encouraging and positive, but I knew better.
When I left her office, I was exhausted. I had the day off, so I got in my car and drove to my apartment. My mind was blank until I walked through my front door. My phone rang, jolting me back to consciousness. I pulled it out of my pocket and smiled when I saw Caleb’s name flashing across the screen.
“Hi,” I said. “I just got home.”
“How’d it go?” he asked. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you.”
“It was okay,” I said. “The doctor walked me through her plan.”
“Which is?” he asked.
“Chemo,” I said. “She wants me to start as soon as possible.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah,” I said weakly. “Yeah, it’s good.”
Caleb paused. I could practically hear how worried he was through the phone. I sighed and sunk down on my couch, taking deep breaths and trying not to cry. If I broke down, then Caleb would only feel worse.
“Come over,” he finally said. “You have the day off, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m off all day.”
“Then, come over,” he said. “I just got back from the station. I’m here for the rest of the day.”
I smiled. “Let me shower first, then I’ll head that way.”
“Hurry,” he said.
“I will.”
We said goodbye, and I took a step toward my bathroom. Before I could make it another, there was a loud knock on my door. I groaned. This day already felt endless, and it wasn’t even noon.
I walked toward the door and pulled it open, my eyes widening in shock when I saw my father standing before me. His eyes were lighter today, and his face was devoid of any anger. He looked nervous.
“What are you doing here?” I asked sharply.
“I’m here to talk to you,” he said softly. “Can I come in? Please?”
I wanted to slam the door in his face. After our last conversation, I couldn’t imagine what he possibly had to say to me. Still, he didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look upset. I sighed and stood aside, gesturing for him to come inside.
He walked quickly to the couch and sat down, tapping his foot nervously. My father was never a jittery person. He was always strong and confident. He didn’t shy away from things, and he never got scared. Seeing him shake with nerves was disconcerting. I sat down across from him and waited.
“I was wrong,” he said quickly, spitting out the words as if they hurt. “What I said about Caleb. I was wrong.”
“What?” I said. I’d waited a long time to hear him say those words, and now that he had, I couldn’t believe them.
“I’m sorry I was so angry with you,” he said. “Honey, I was just worried. Most of your life, it was you and me. You were all I had, and when Caleb came along, I saw you change.”
“You got scared,” I said.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Caleb wasn’t the best kid. I know he’s different now. As much as I hate to admit it, I can see how much he’s changed.”
“He has,” I said.
“I want the best for you,” Dad said. “I don’t always show it in the right way, but that’s all I want. All I want is for you to be safe and happy, Tara. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Caleb makes me happy,” I said. I smiled. “He’s the best person for me, Dad. There isn’t anyone better.”
Dad sighed and finally relaxed. He sunk into the couch and smiled weakly. I could tell it took a lot of strength for him to come over and see me.
“I’ll stay out of your way,” he said. “It won’t be easy for me, but I’ll adjust. If Caleb is who you want, then I’ll butt out. I promise.”
“Thank you, Dad,” I said. I laughed lightly, relieved. “Thank you for coming here.”
“It was time,” he said. “I couldn’t let things get any worse between us.”
I smiled again, but as I looked at him, my stomach dropped. For a second, I’d forgotten all about my illness. I was so happy that my father was finally apologizing and accepting my decision that everything else disappeared.
I didn’t want to tell my dad about the cancer while he was angry with me. Now I didn’t have any more excuses. I stared at his face. He was smiling for the first time in weeks. He looked okay again. Happy. And, I was about to destroy that.
“Dad,” I said slowly. “Now that we’re okay, there’s something you should know.”
“What is it?” he asked. The smile slipped off his face. He searched my eyes, and I looked away quickly. I studied my hands and took a deep breath. There was no turning back now.
“I got my headaches checked out,” I said. “You were right, they weren’t normal.”
“What did they say?” he asked, sitting forward on the couch.
“At first, they weren’t sure,” I said. My voice was soft. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get through this. “Then, after discussing things with an oncologist, they realized what was wrong.”
“Oncologist?” My dad clung onto that word like only a doctor could. I watched fear settle in his eyes.
“I was diagnosed with brain cancer,” I said, articulating each word carefully. “It’s rare. They almost didn’t catch it, but they did. That’s what’s been causing my headaches. That’s why I’ve been so sick.”
My dad sprung off the couch and hurried over to me. He pulled me into his arms and held me against his chest. His reaction was unlike Caleb’s or Cathy’s. He didn’t waste time with words. He just held me, silently rocking me back and forth until we were both crying.
It was a long time before he pulled away from me and when he did, I immediately longed for his arms. Caleb had been more right than he knew, I needed my dad. I refused to let myself admit it or even think it because it hurt too much. Now that he was here, I never wanted him to leave. I didn’t want to go through this without him.
“What are they going to do?” Dad finally asked, wiping tears from his eyes. “What’s the treatment plan.”
“Chemo,” I said. “The doctors want to start with chemo and then, if that doesn’t work, move on to surgery. I have a tumor, but it’s small. They’re hoping chemo will shrink it enough that surgery won’t be necessary.”
“How long did they give you?” he asked.
His voice was tight, and I knew he didn’t really want to hear the answer. He was terrified. Scared in a way only a parent could be.
“They don’t know,” I said honestly. “This cancer is rare. They won’t know what works until it works. And if nothing does, then at least we tried.”
My dad nodded and hugged me again. This time, he didn’t let go until I was ready.
“I love you,” he whispered against my hair. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”