Personal Narrative: Is There A Family History?

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The fear shrouded in confusion. Knowing that something is wrong, horribly wrong, but not knowing what. The terrifying premonition in your gut that your entire world is fading and that life will never be happy again.
The white walls and floors, color unable to hold onto anything. Footsteps of nurses and doctors echoing down the hall that was closing in and cavernous all at the same time. The hard pleather covering of the most uncomfortable chair, or maybe it’s just that my nerves ache from the worry, fear, and confusion. The doom that I’m unable to shake prodding them like a soldering iron.
A seizure. Tests.
The chairs in the doctor’s office weren’t much better. Although plush and fabric instead of flat and plastic, they offered no surrogate comfort. He sat behind his large desk, the practiced lines scarring his young complexion. …show more content…

A mass. Cancer.
Is there a family history?
I shook my head, mumbled that I didn’t know. Even if there was, I doubt she knows. All the things we don’t know – won’t know – trampled through my mind.
Treatment available. Surgery. More tests.
Success isn’t guaranteed.
Success. He means life. Life isn’t guaranteed. I twisted my wedding ring. Our life was never guaranteed. I’d lost her before. Twice. Saying “I love you,” making her my wife, creating a family and a home and giving her all the beauties of life she deserved… That wasn’t a good enough guarantee. All our wasted time, all the petty fights, the nights she laid curled in my arms. Safety. Love. At last.
I wanted more. I wanted to give her more. She deserved more.
Need to decide.
Anything. All of it.
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