Two weeks later, Brian’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number that appeared on his screen but answered anyway with shaking hands. “Hello?”
“Brian, this is Dr. April Sasek from the dermatology clinic,” he heard his doctor’s voice reply. “I’m calling to discuss the results of your skin biopsy.”
Brian’s heart skipped a beat. “Okay…” He sucked in a deep breath and held it as the doctor went on.
“Unfortunately, the tissue sample we took did contain basal cell carcinoma, a type of skin cancer.”
When he heard her utter the dreaded C-word, Brian let the air out of his lungs and felt himself deflate. “Cancer?” he whispered. “Oh noes…”
Cancer. The word echoed inside his head, drowning out the ones that followed it. He felt as if he was sinking deeper and deeper underwater – he could tell the doctor was still talking, but her voice sounded distorted. It didn’t make any sense.
Finally, he resurfaced upon hearing his name. “Brian?” Dr. Sasek was saying. “Are you there?”
“Y-yeah,” he answered breathlessly.
“Do you have any questions about anything I’ve said so far?”
His mind raced. He hadn’t understood a word she had said. Forcing himself to focus on the phone conversation, he cleared his throat and said, “I want you to be straight with me, Doc. How… how long do I have?”
“Sir, this isn’t a terminal disease. Basal cell carcinoma is highly treatable.”
He could tell she was trying to offer him hope. What he wanted was a realistic picture of his future, no matter how grim it may look. He had to prepare himself and his family for what lay ahead. “Please, tell me the truth. I can take it. I have a wife and a son; I need to know how much time I have left with them.”
There was a long pause. He could hear the doctor fumbling around in the background. Finally, after almost half a minute, she replied, “I’d give you about… three hundred ninety-six months to live.”
Brian sighed. “So you’re saying I should get my affairs in order.”
“By your late seventies, yes. Once we remove the cancer, you should have a normal life expectancy.”
“Remove?” he repeated. “You mean surgery?” His mind began to race again as he considered the location of the cancer. “Oh my God… you’re talking about amputation, aren’t you? Am I going to lose my arm?!”
He went into a mental tailspin as he imagined life without his right arm. His arms were one of his best features. Over the years, he had worked hard to bulk up and make them as muscular as they were now. He had spent countless hours in the gym lifting weights, hours that would be wasted if one of his arms was amputated. He would never look the same in a wifebeater. To make matters worse, he was right-handed.
Not anymore, thought Brian sadly, shaking his head as tears sprang to his eyes. Not anymore.
“What?” he heard the doctor say. “No. We just need to scrape the mole off your shoulder. You’ll barely have a scar.”
“I… I need time to process all this,” he stammered, raking his fingers through his curly hair. It occurred to him that, if he had to undergo chemotherapy after surgery, cancer might take that from him, too. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
“Of course,” Dr. Sasek said kindly. “Take a day or two, then call the clinic to schedule the procedure. But don’t wait too long. It’s important that we remove the skin cancer as soon as possible, before it spreads to other parts of your body. When treated early, basal cell carcinoma has a five-year survival rate of 99.9%. The prognosis for metastatic disease is much poorer.”
Brian swallowed hard, his heart pounding. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up in a daze, then looked around his large, empty house. No one else was home to hear his side of the conversation. Leighanne was on her way to Atlanta for a girls’ weekend with a few of her closest friends. Baylee was at his girlfriend’s house. He didn’t want to bother either of them with his terrible news. He would wait until they got home to tell them. But in the meantime, he was left to deal with this devastating diagnosis all alone.
He wandered out to the backyard and slumped into his chair beside the pool. He could hear the filtration system running just feet away, the water lapping gently against the sides of the pool. But the sound, usually so soothing, brought him no comfort. His thoughts were racing, yet felt slow and restrained by the thick fog that swirled around in his brain. His backyard oasis normally relaxed him, but now his body was tense, a jumbled bunch of nerves, still trembling slightly whenever he repeated that dreadful word… cancer.
Rolling up his sleeve, he looked down at the mole on his right shoulder and tried to imagine it gone. What would it be like? What would it look like? What would it feel like?
Other questions banged against the walls of his mind as he realized how much his life would change if he went through with this. It might take him weeks to recover. How would he make hand-tossed pizza crusts with a sore shoulder? Or lift weights? Or play basketball? Or swim?
Swim.
He eyed the pool, its water rippling in the warm summer breeze, its surface sparkling beneath the late afternoon sun. It seemed to be beckoning to him.
It had been two weeks since he’d gone for a swim. Worried about sun exposure, he had mostly lain around indoors or lounged under an umbrella overlooking the pool, never once setting foot in the water.
He realized he’d taken it for granted, assuming that the pool would always be here, and he would always be here to enjoy it. If he let them remove his mole, he was more likely to live. But would he still be able to enjoy his summer at home while he was recovering from surgery? Would he be able to swim with an open wound? Or lay out in the sun with his shirt off?
But if he decided against the procedure, it was likely the cancer would kill him. And he didn’t want to die.
Desperate tears rose in his eyes, and his head ached with the weight of the many thoughts that were on his mind. What was he going to do?
Somehow, he knew this was a decision he could not make alone. He had endured so much on his own… but this was just too much. He had to tell someone, had to talk to someone, had to get advice.
Nick, he thought. I’ll call Nick. Nick was like the little brother he’d never had. Nick would be there for him; Nick would understand what he was going through.
Brian stood up slowly, his shoulder aching as he turned to go back into the house, his heart heavy at the thought of the phone call he was going to have to make. But the buzz of a dragonfly made him turn back, his eyes drawn instantly to the glistening water.
Without a thought, as if possessed by the enchanting power the pool held over him, he staggered toward it, relishing the sun’s warmth on his face and shoulders as its rays reflected off the water. He waded into the shallow end. Before he knew it, he was waist-deep, and his shorts were soaked. But he hardly noticed, nor did it matter. Nothing really mattered, after all.
And with this attitude, he hurled himself headfirst into the water, the shock of the cold water numbing his body and soul, deadening the physical and emotional pain, rendering him blind to the world above the surface and opening his eyes to the peaceful world below. How he wished he could simply sink to the very bottom of the pool and stay there, leaving his problems bobbing like cork on the top.
But as soon as he rose to the surface, sputtering and gasping for breath, his brief escape was thwarted as he was captured by reality. And though his body remained free to drift, his soul was bound, bound with the decision he knew he had to make.
He treaded water with his powerful arms, wondering if this would be the last time he would be able to swim that month. The very thought made his eyes well up again. Hot tears dripped down his wet cheeks, mixing with the chlorinated water.
He shook his head desperately, his chest heaving, his head pounding, his heart racing. This was not something he could face now.
And so, he simply plunged beneath the surface once again.
***