She picked up the phone. Her hand was shaking as she dialed the numbers. 4.0.4. She stopped, taking in a deep breath. The voices of her kids ran past the back of her head.
“Mommy we want you to live!” said Sheri, her six year old daughter.
“Mom, I need you.” said Ty, her twelve year old daughter.
Some would say Jackie was stubborn, but she preferred “old-school.” When she was diagnosed with cancer just a month ago, most people around her were shocked. Jackie was relieved. Life had been tough. Too tough. When her dad left her mother, Jackie was just six, her life already doomed.
At least that’s how she saw it. Sure, she was a fighter. She could make it. Always had, always would, but it was because she had to. She had no other options. No way out. So when the news of cancer broke, Jackie saw her exit.
At least I can die in peace, without being a coward.
That thought came as she read the letter in her hand, the half ripped envelope sitting on the counter behind her.
When she told her husband Ron, about the letter, he took a step back, using the bathroom counter to brace himself.
“Jackie.” He said, his deep voice quivering. “Why?”
With Ron’s head aimed up, the question seemed more directed at God then at her, so she decided, like God, to use silence as the best response.
Ron tried his prayer again. “What do we do? We have to do chemo, I have a friend-” Jackie raised her hand in the air, silencing Ron, and letting God know she had this one.
“Ron.” She said, taking in a deep breath. “It’s Ok.” She let those words sit, like the shrimp she would put in her jambalaya, letting it simmer and soak into Ron’s head. Ron started to open his mouth, but she raised her hand again.
“Ron. I am ready.”
Ron had nothing left to brace himself. He fell to the ground. Once again the wave of relief swept over Jackie. She breathed it in. Then she went over to Ron and picked him up.
Ron stuck back with renewed vigor, “If just talk to my uncle-- he is a surgeon, he deals with this all time...” Jackie let Ron continue, the words droning on like the sounds of waves hitting the shore. In and out.
--
When Uncle Todd, the surgeon, sat at the table, Ron to his left and Jackie directly across from him, his demeanor was calm and straight. He looked like a paratrooper about to make his thousandth jump, sitting patiently near the cockpit, waiting for his turn to leave the plane.
“Mrs. Smith-” He started.
“Jackie.” Ron interjected. “Call her Jackie.” Sweat was coming down Ron’s right temple. His right knee bounced up and down rhythmically like the pulse of an EKG machine.
Todd turned to Ron, as if he had forgot that he was still there, then turned back to face Jackie. “Jackie.” He said. Jackie looked at him, just as calm and cold, as if she was his pilot, navigating the sky for his thousandth plane drop. “I have reviewed your file.” Todd pointed to the paper on the middle of the table. “It is going to be tough. And expensive.” He looked at Ron and then back at Jackie. “But if you want to- I assume you want to.”
“Yes!” Ron interjected again. This time, the other two people at the table looked at him with such piercingly cold eyes, Ron instinctively leaned back, put hands in the air, and shut his eyes.
“If you want to,” Todd began again, “It will take a lot of work... chemo, hair loss, weight loss, money, doctors 24/7, the works. And a lot of luck.” He took a breathe in, the first signs of his humanity showing, the ground in sight. “I can understand why you are hesitant to do the procedure. The whole thing can be tough on a family. I can see why you are considering doing nothing, letting the cancer take you your separate way.” He looked into Jackie eyes, seeing if anything he said had hit its target. Her eyes were still brown, dark and cold, like the waters where the lost paratroopers drop into. Quiet. Alone.
He began again. “I think there is a chance you can still live. And that is something you should consider.” Todd then leaned forward, Ron joined in, eyes open, waiting to hear Jackie's response.
The clock in the hallway ticked heavily.
Ron jumped in. “Jackie. Why is this so tough? Why won’t you say yes? If we can fight this, we should. Not just for us, for Ty and Sheri too!” He slammed his hands on the table, “God dammit Jackie! Think of the kids.” Jackie seemed to move the clouds out of her mind. She looked at Ron, then Todd. She took a deep breath in, and began to speak.
“I have lived a long, long life. Not easy by any means. I have watched my father get up from the table, mid-dinner, and never come back. In his eyes I could see it. I have seen my mom crying, heroin needle on the table, looking at me to save her, blaming me for her pain. I have seen my children born, my husband’s first sparks of love, my mother’s last breath and my children’s first steps. I have seen pain, suffering, life and happiness. I have lived a life that I am happy with. I see this cancer as a way to say good bye. My last song on this Earth. Lord knows I’m ready to go." Her eyes met Ron's. "Even if other people aren’t ready to let me.” She paused. Ty had just walked into the room, hearing the last of Jackie words. She stood, barely three feet, tears streaming down her face.
“Mommy!” She cried. “Why don’t you want to love me anymore? Why do you want to die?” This time, Jackie’s eyes betrayed her emotion, filling with tears that overflowed to her cheeks, and then down her dark, crackled skin. She put her hands out.
“Come here baby girl.” She embraced her daughter, a forgotten smile spread across Jackie’s face.
After a moment, Jackie looked at Todd, determination in her eyes. “I have lived a long and tough life. And I’m gonna keep on living it.” She looked at Ron, as he wiped up his tears, smiling, nodding, exhaling. Jackie looked back to Todd. His eyes were just as watery as the ocean's floor.
The next day, Jackie pulled out the scribbled number of the hospital Todd had recommended. Jackie, phone in her hand, doing her best to keep the screen steady dialed the first three numbers. 4.0.4. Jackie summoned a deep breath, as she continued to type the next three numbers. Her lungs filled. A vision, Ty in front of her, the warmth, her cheek on Jackie's check, fresh tears. Jackie put in the final four numbers. 4.3.3.0.
The phone rang twice. A young man picked up, probably in his early twenties.