“We think you’ll live about two years,” the doctor said.
When I was staying at the hospital (for almost the whole month of November), several doctors would come and talk to me every morning to give me updates.
I nodded to the man. Didn’t he know two other doctors had already come by and told me the same thing?
“Two years,” he repeated, a parrot in scrubs.
“It could be worse.” I smiled.
“I don’t think you’re understanding the gravity of this situation. This has gone to your brain. Hopefully you’ve lived a good life...”
I wondered if he expected some sort of theatrics on my part. Was I supposed to break down screaming, or clutch his collar and beg for a better outcome? Should I convulse and shiver, saying I’ve never ever thought about death?
“I know how hard it must be for you to deliver news like this,” I said, still wondering what this man wanted from me. “I appreciate that you came in to tell me. But I’ve already heard it from a couple of other doctors. I guess two years that are lived well...to some that’s worth a lifetime.”
“Well, maybe you do have it in perspective.” He kind of slumped a bit and went to walk out. “You have a good day, Elisa.”
“You too.” I couldn’t help smiling because he was a bit hilarious almost trying to scare me into reality.
After that another doctor came in. His bedside manner was much better. We laughed and joked. He told me the same news. “I hate to tell you,” I said, “but several others doctors beat you to the punch. I get it. You guys think I’ll live two years.”
He nodded. “I’ll tell you something though! If I could buy a box of donuts for the one patient who I think can beat this, it would be you. Just keep smiling, kid!”
I promised and as he left the room I thought about how interesting people are. Two years might not seem like a lot, but we’ll just have to see how everything pans out. Two years is better than nothing. Plus, I’ve always thought I was some sort of wildcard.