The doctor’s words echoed in Amelia’s ears. “You… have stage three Hodgkin’s lymphoma.” She reread the diagnostic report, her fingers tracing the words as if they were a foreign language. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden silence of the examination room. Her own file, the one she’d meticulously organized with all her recent bloodwork and scans, was a different name, a different date of birth staring back at her. A cold dread seeped into her bones. How could this be? She felt a dizzying disorientation, like being tossed in a stormy sea.
She stammered a protest, her voice thin and reedy. “But… I don’t… I’ve been feeling tired, yes, but…” She gestured weakly, at a loss for words. The doctor’s face remained neutral, offering no clue as to how this confusion could have arisen. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, pressing the weight of this information down upon her.
The elevator ride down felt like an eternity. Each floor was a new layer of uncertainty. She clutched her purse, her knuckles white. Outside the hospital doors, the world looked jarringly normal, oblivious to the upheaval in her own world. A shiver ran through her, despite the warm spring air. She didn't know what to do.