Chapter 6: Olivia Receives Devastating Health News

Dr. Patel's office was a study in soft blues and muted blues, an attempt to sooth anxious patients. For Olivia Greene—perched on the edge of an uncomfortable chair—it felt like a holding cell. Her fingers twisted the strap of her purse—a nervous habit she'd never outgrown. "Ms. Greene?" The nurse's voice was a comforting representation of slicing through the soft murmurs of the waiting room. "The doctor will see you now." Olivia wobbled and staggered to her feet, following the nurse down the sterile white corridor. Every step felt like a march toward some unknown doom. She made every effort to stiffen herself up for whatever news awaited her on the other side of those doors, but how can you really prepare yourself for the unthinkable? Dr. Patel sat behind a huge oak desk with a folder opened in front of her. She looked up at Olivia's entry and tried to keep her face very blank. "Olivia, please, you may sit over there," Dr. Patel said as he gestured towards the chair in front of him. Olivia sank into the chair, her heart racing. "Is it. Is it terrible?" she mumbled down to the ground. Dr. Patel sighed and looked at Olivia with very sympathetic eyes. "I'm afraid I don't have good news, Olivia. The tests have shown a tumor in your brain. It's called glioblastoma multiforme." The words hung there, heavy and suffocating in the air. Olivia felt all of the oxygen suddenly pulled from the room. "A brain tumor?" she parroted. "But, but that can't be right. I feel fine. Mostly." "Glioblastoma is an aggressive type of cancer," Dr. Patel spoke softly. "Likely, it is causing the headaches, seizures, and other symptoms you have recently developed. I'm so sorry, Olivia." Olivia's mind searched desperately for something to hold on to. "Okay," she said, her breath shaky. "So what do we do? Surgery? Chemo?"said Dr. Patel's face was a picture of the pause. "Well, what we can discuss now is treatment," she ventured. "The fact is, I have to level with you. Glioblastomas are nasty to treat. The outlook is not very good." "How bad?" Olivia demanded, anger cutting through her shock. "Just tell me, Dr. Patel. How long?" Dr. Patel's eyes locked onto Olivia's. "With aggressive treatment, we usually have survival rates of twelve to fifteen months. Some patients live longer, but—" The rest of the doctor's words faded into an indistinct roar as Olivia's world imploded: twelve to fifteen months. A year, maybe a little more—was that quietly possible? But she was only 34. She had some plans, dreams, and a whole life ahead of her. "Olivia?" Dr. Patel's voice cut through the haze. "I know this is a lot to take in. Do you have somebody who can be with you? Any friend or family member?" Nathan. Olivia's thoughts flashed instantly to Nathan. Dear, solid Nathan, who made her feel safe and loved, but she could not call him. Not for this. Not when it wasn't his burden to bear. "I'll. I'll call someone," Olivia heard herself say. Dr. Patel nodded sympathetically. "I would like to schedule you for some follow-up scans to get more detail on the tumor. We should discuss treatment options as soon as possible. In a case like this, time is of essence." The next hour blurred through a haze of medical mumbo-jumbo and pamphlets. Olivia nodded mechanically, form after form, appointment after appointment. It all seemed surreal, like watching someone else go through those motions. Gradually, Olivia walked outdoors into the medical building, blinking into the bright afternoon sun. How could the world look so normal when everything had changed? She fumbled in her bag for her phone, hesitating over whom to call. The idea of having to tell someone else right now, of just looking at the pity in their eyes, of having to deal with their well-meaning but far too suffocating concern, tightened her chest into a panic. She hailed a cab before she could think again. "Where to, miss?" asked the driver. Olivia paused just for a moment before sharing Nathan's address. She knew she should be stronger than that and go do this on her own. But all she wanted was to find herself in Nathan's arms, to get lost in the security represented by his embrace. The lights whisked past, and Olivia was looking out of the cab. How do you tell someone you love that you're dying? How do you say goodbye when you've only just found each other? The cab stopped before Nathan's place—a glassy high-rise downtown. Olivia paid him and crawled out onto an oddly heavy sidewalk, toward the entrance. In the mirrors that lined the climbing walls of the elevator, Olivia got a good look at herself. She was rather pale; her eyes were big and haunted. Otherwise, she appeared supple and well. How could she be dying if she looked so attractive? Her heart plunged into her chest as the elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to Nathan's floor. She had known she shouldn't be there—the fact that she was going to complicate Nathan's life in ways he couldn't be prepared for. But as she lifted her hand to knock, Olivia realized something. Confronted with the reality of mortality, all the reasons they shouldn't be together seemed to blur out of focus. Life was short—brutally, unfairly short. And if these were to be her last months on earth, she wanted to spend them with the man she loved. She took a really deep breath and knocked. Waiting for Nathan to open the door, she pulled herself together for whatever was storming her way. Finally, the door opened, and she was about to tell him everything—her diagnosis, her fears, her thinking, and just loving him. They would face whatever came up next, all hand in hand. For if Olivia has learned anything in the past few hours, life is precious, and really, love is all that matters. Everything else just proves to be noise.