Chapter 9
"What do you mean it's inoperable?" Gabe pitched forward in his chair, itching to crawl across Dr. Sumner's desk and wrap his hands around the man's neck until he changed his diagnosis. He felt betrayed by the man he'd known and trusted for over a decade.
"I'm sorry. I know this is difficult to hear.
" The oncologist's gaze shifted to Gabe's mom who sat between him and Grace.
Except for the slight quiver of her bottom lip, her face was stoic.
"Marisol, you know I hate to be the bearer of this kind of news.
But your pancreas is riddled with tumors. As well as—"
"Then remove the pancreas and give her insulin injections." Gabe's voice was sharper than he intended, but he didn't care. The news they'd waited on pins and needles for all week was unacceptable.
"It's not that easy. Your mother also has sizable tumors in her right lung, stomach, and liver." His voice turned even more serious. "It's in her lymph nodes, Gabe."
Tightness seized Gabe's chest as his stomach turned to lead. Each beat of his heart thudded in his ears, sounding slow and sluggish. He struggled to find his voice around the sudden thickness in his throat. "How soon can she start…chemo?"
The words felt like sandpaper on his tongue. He hated the thought of his mom going through that again. The nausea and vomiting, the sleeping all day, being unable to care for herself because she was too weak. But she'd have to in order to beat this.
And he'd do whatever was necessary to take care of her and Grace. Just like he did last time. He'd move home, even though it would add thirty minutes to his commute. He'd hire a maid and a chef, if need be. Not that Mom would be able to keep anything down.
"No chemo." Mom's words were quiet but filled with determination.
Gabe reeled back as though she'd struck him. His eyes burned. "Mom, it's the only way—"
"She has stage-four pancreatic cancer, Gabe." Dr. Sumner's blunt words packed a powerful punch right to Gabe's gut, stealing his breath and making him want to vomit. "Chemotherapy wouldn't be effective. It would only make her weaker and more miserable."
Gabe shook his head so violently it started to pound. He couldn't accept that answer. There had to be something they could do.
I can't lose my mom.
He pounded his fist on Dr. Sumner's desk. "How did this happen? It's only been eight months since her last set of scans. They were clear. How did this get so advanced in such a short period of time?"
"Gabe, that's enough." Mom put a hand on his arm.
He would have considered her grip firm if he couldn't feel the tremor in her hand.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he slumped back in his seat.
As terrifying as this was for him and Grace, it was much worse for his mom, and his anger and denial weren't helping.
He rotated his wrist and clasped her hand in his.
Grace, pale faced and eyes brimming with tears, held her other hand.
Dr. Sumner lifted a paper from his desk and studied it.
"Eight months ago, her white blood cell count was elevated.
Not severely, but enough that I felt it necessary to do some scans.
And you're right, those scans showed nothing, but this very aggressive cancer was likely in its beginning stages back then. "
"How long do I have?" Mom's voice was so quiet Gabe almost didn't hear her, but his chest constricted at the resignation in her tone.
Dr. Sumner gave them each a sympathetic look before answering. "It's hard to say. Three to six months maybe. Although I've seen people with stage four pancreatic cancer live twelve to fifteen months."
Three months?
Gabe struggled to draw in a full breath under the weight of the elephant that sat on his chest.
"No." Sobbing, Grace spoke for the first time since they entered Dr. Sumner's office. "There has to be something we can do. Aren't there drugs that slow the growth of cancer cells?"
"There are. I don’t know how effective they’ll be when the cancer is this aggressive, but I'd like Marisol to take them.
" Another sympathetic look accompanied his next words.
"They might buy you a little time, which I encourage you to make the most of.
Make lasting memories and…" his gaze returned to Gabe's mom, "get your affairs in order. "
A little more time is not enough!
Mom let out a heavy sigh as she slowly nodded.
Grace's sobs intensified.
Gabe felt his face crumble as pain, sharp and swift, pierced his chest. He sucked in a deep breath and schooled his features. Mom and Grace needed him to be strong. He could let out all these horrible emotions that threatened to suffocate him later. When he was alone.
The three of them were quiet, their footsteps slow and heavy as they left the oncologist's office. Mom carried the card of a trained professional who could help them navigate this horrible nightmare they'd been thrust into. Why anyone would choose to go into such a line of work was beyond Gabe.
He'd planned to take them out for a celebratory lunch after they got the news that his mom's latest scans didn’t show anything to be concerned about. But that didn't happen, and now, he didn't think he could eat if his life depended on it.
The twenty-minute drive home felt like an eternity as they each processed the shell-shocking news.
The silence in the car grew heavier with each mile and so did the ache in his throat and burning behind his eyes.
Grace's soft sniffles drifted from the backseat occasionally, but Gabe couldn't bring himself to look at her in the rear-view mirror.
If he did, he would lose it. He was barely keeping it together as it was.
Seeing his mom wipe away silent tears every couple of miles didn't help.
When they walked through the front door of the small home Mom rented—and eventually purchased—after the divorce, she gave them a weak smile.
"I'm not hungry, but you kids make sure you get some lunch.
I'd like to rest for a bit, then we'll talk about what needs to be done over dinner.
" Her soft footfalls shuffled down the hall.
The click of her bedroom door sounded as lethal as the cocking of a gun.
What needs to be done.
The ache in his chest expanded, creating a massive void. How did he help his mom get her affairs in order? And how was he supposed to be strong for her and Grace when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry?
"Why?” Grace dropped onto the couch, huddled into the corner with her knees hugged to her chest. “Why Mom? Why does it have to be cancer again?" Anger and resentment deepened her voice.
Gabe didn't even try to answer as he sank down beside her, because his own angry thoughts echoed hers. Despite everything she'd been through in her life, his mom had always taught them to put their faith and trust in God. But Gabe wasn't sure he could do that anymore.
Why had God allowed this to happen? This time there wouldn't be a remission. A cold chill swept over him as the beat of his heart slowed to an agonizingly painful drumming. How were he and Grace ever going to cope without their mother?
The pain in Grace's big brown eyes tore at his heart. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head.
Great wracking sobs shook her shoulders, and her tears soon soaked his shirt. Her pain magnified his own, and he let go of the control he'd been fighting to keep on his own emotions.
At first his tears were silent, then before long, his angry sobs rivaled Grace's.
"We should make a list of things that need to be done." Mom's quiet voice sounded like a thunderclap around the silent kitchen table.
Grace's fork clattered to her plate as she clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle yet another sob.
Gabe's stomach clenched. He set down his own fork. He'd only taken a few bites of his enchiladas—their favorite comfort food—but his appetite dissipated with his mom's words.
Mom had yet to touch her food.
"I talked to Mr. Henessy this afternoon and told him about…my diagnosis. He was shocked and quite upset, of course."
Welcome to the club.
She had worked for the family-owned furniture company for over a decade, serving as Mr. Henessy's personal assistant for the past six years. He'd been good to her, to their family.
"He wants me to work as long as I feel I'm able," Mom continued, "and he'll make sure I have insurance until the end. We'll hire my replacement soon, so I have plenty of time to train them."
Plenty of time? Replacement?
Mom didn't have plenty of time left. He and Grace wouldn't get a replacement mother. Not that he wanted one. No one could measure up to his mom, who’d probably spent very little of her afternoon resting, but seemed to be weathering this terrible storm—this category five hurricane—with a queen's grace.
"I don't want a lot of fuss or anything fancy, but we should contact a mortuary soon—"
"Mom, stop." Gabe held up a hand. "I can't—" He swallowed hard to force the lump from his throat. "I can't do this yet."
"But you heard Dr. Sumner, we don't know how long I have."
"I know, but I need a little time. Please?" He felt like a child begging to stay up past his bedtime.
"Okay." Mom slowly nodded. "But we can't wait too long, Mijo."
"I know." He doubted he'd be ready anytime soon, but he wouldn't let his mom down. It would kill him, but he'd help her plan her funeral and make the necessary arrangements. He couldn't bear to let anyone else do it.
Mom finally picked up her fork and took a bite of enchilada.
Gabe forced himself to do the same.
"I've had a good life," she said after a single bite. "I've raised two wonderful kids who have turned out to be amazing adults." Mom held her head high, but her chin lacked its usual determined tilt. "I don’t have any regrets, and I'm not afraid to die."
Grace dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, and Gabe had to once again force down the emotion that clogged his throat.