There was a noxious smell around me, a mixture of disinfectant, sweat and death, making me rather anxious. It didn’t help that I had been asked to come into the hospital as soon as possible, after I had come in a week ago, to get a diagnosis because of persistent headaches and was now waiting in a patient-room, breathing those fumes, not sure just what was going on. When two people, clad in white coats, entered the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach intensified, one of the two was the doctor I had talked to before, the other was unknown.
“Good Afternoon, Mr. Javier. Let me introduce you to Dr. Leir and then we discuss what is going on.” Doctor Kent, the doctor who had seen me last week began. There was a short handshake with the woman introduced as Dr. Leir and then it seemed to go into the meat and potatoes of the talk.
“I’m afraid there were some irregularities in the previous blood-sample, which is why Doctor Kent asked me for a second opinion.” Dr. Leir began and the clenching in my gut reached peak levels. She sounded compassionate, exactly like one imagined a Doctor delivering bad news.
“We’ll have to schedule a couple more tests before we can be certain, but what we have seen so far looks concerning.” she continued and I felt myself start to sweat.
“Concerning, in what way? It’s just a migraine, from the stress at work, right?” I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.
“We cannot be certain at this point, but I’m afraid it’s not just a stress-induced migraine. Why don’t you come with me and we can get a better idea what we are dealing with?” she asked and I realised that Doctor Kent had been mostly silent, letting his colleague do the talking.
Knowing that I needed to know, I nodded and Doctor Leir shepherded me deeper into the hospital and far too soon, I was asked if I had any metallic implants and to please place all metal objects into a box before getting rolled into a large donut, right into the middle. An MRI, they called their Donut of Doom and the fact that it mostly centered on my head did not help my anxiety. For a few minutes, I endured the boredom while the donut worked around me and then it was back out and a technician sent me back to Doctor Leir.
When I ended up in an office of the Oncology-Department, my worst fears seemed to manifest and the calm, compassionate voice in which Doctor Leir explained that the MRI seemed to have confirmed her concerns was strangely distant, as if my mind was finally catching up.
“Can you tell me, in terms that even a stupid engineer like myself understands, what that means?” I asked, needing to know the facts, the metrics. Not the couched, careful language that wanted the patient to keep their spirits up, even as the reaper entered the door but the cold, hard truth.
Doctor Leir seemed to hesitate for a moment, before nodding and walking over to the wall, switching on a screen and showing me images. I could understand that I was looking at my head, or rather the brain inside, happy to see that it wasn’t as tiny as my ex-girlfriend had suggested, my mind laughing as the headsman slipped the noose around my neck. Meanwhile, the Doctor explained what I was looking at, that there was a suspicious spot on the image,showing it to me, even if I hardly understood the significance. While she still couched her explanation in careful language, the simple truth was, there was a growth in my brain, still small but located in such a way that operating it was nearly impossible and while other treatment-options, meaning chemo and radiation, had progressed over the years, my chances were grim. She didn’t come out and say it but I had a feeling that I shouldn’t make any long-term plans, other than my own funeral.
Something inside me died when she asked me to come back the next day, for another round of tests to nail down what the best way to proceed was.
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Walking out of the hospital, my mind was going every which way, trying to make sense of my suddenly changed reality. But it hadn’t been reality that had changed, merely my outlook on it. With death a sudden and very real possibility, not just the distant knowledge that one day, I’d die, I started wondering about the things that had mattered to me just a few hours ago.
My job, freshly promoted in the engineering firm, new, admittedly exciting, responsibilities and tasks, doing my best to make sure our clients got the best solutions for their problems, it was a good job, maybe even great. But would anyone care in a few years who had designed the supporting structure of some office-building? Not unless I made a mistake and it came crashing down.
My relationship and my fear to fully commit, to talk about marriage and children, hearing horror-stories of guys getting taken to the cleaners in divorce-proceedings, of spouses using their children to hurt their former partner, did it matter? Wasn’t it more important that I loved my Sonja, that I wanted to be with her? But did I want her to be tied to a guy who had good chances to die before the wedding, even if I proposed today?
I had to think of my father and brother, the conflict I had with them about not joining the family law-firm, instead going into engineering as I had wanted. I had said a couple of very hurtful things about lawyers and their morals, causing a rift that had never fully healed.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. It caused me to stumble, almost fall but it also jolted my mind back into the present only to hear loud car-horns and squealing tires. I had almost wandered into traffic and just the hand on my shoulder had stopped me.
Turning around, I came face to face with a concerned looking woman, dressed in a slightly strange black garb, for a second reminding me of something between a doctor’s coat and a nun’s habit but maybe that was just my mind making connections due to the recent exposure to white lab-coats.
“Are you alright?” the woman asked, her voice gentle but sounding worried.
I wanted to say yes, that I was alright, that everything was fine but when I opened my mouth, no words came out. It was as if my vocal cords refused to lie, as I knew that I wasn’t alright.
“No, not really.” I admitted, feeling tears make my voice hoarse. I thought that my admittance would cause the stranger in front of me to recoil, going back into the din of indifference to strangers that surrounded us but instead she gave me serious look before nodding.
“Do you want to talk about it? Maybe not with me, but I’m on the way to a sermon, you would be welcome to join me, maybe the Goddess can help what weighs on you.” she suggested and I just didn’t have it in me to mock the idea that praying would help me. I had been an atheist ever since seriously examining just what faith was and the only reason I had entered a church in recent history had been my brother’s wedding. But somehow, the idea seemed to be a good one, certainly better than to wander around with my head in the clouds and turn into a smudge on some poor guy’s windshield. That would just ruin someone else’s day. A small part of my brain twigged to the suggestion that ‘The Goddess’ might help, but I just didn’t care.
Without even knowing the woman’s name, I walked with her, a strangely comfortable silence around us, a silence that told me that she would listen if I wanted to talk but wouldn’t ask questions.
It only took us about five minutes to get to our destination, a building that I wouldn’t have identified as a church on first glance, utilitarian and solid, without any great signage to proclaim their message. It could have been some sort of office-building, if not for the welcoming, open door.
At that point, my inner snark decided to come forward, in a last ditch attempt to keep me out of their clutches.
“So, how much is the prayer-session? Or do I need to sign up for the membership, with assorted fees?” I asked, feeling almost embarrassed when I realised just what I had asked.
“There is no cost here, for none of us. You can donate, if you wish, but you don’t need to. Our Goddess is quite practical, you see, she only asks us to think for ourselves and to be decent people.” my guide retorted, her voice taking a slightly scolding note.
“But you will see for yourself and if afterwards, you think it is some sort of scam, why, in that case you just never come back and the only thing you have lost is half an hour of wandering around in the cold.” she continued, before walking inside.
Despite my misgivings, I followed her, not sure what to expect inside.
“Church of the Holy Mother” a small sign in the entrance proclaimed, greeting me in the name of the church.