The Witch and her Wolf

Chapter 2

I pull up to the Marisons Center and I park in the closest spot I can find to the entrance. I take my white faux leather purse and start rushing into the center. I feel so bad for being late. I’m only fifteen minutes late but still. My mother doesn’t need any more stress than she can handle. 

I’m running into the building but I slow down because the wind is blowing up my sunflower cami dress. Thank god I wore my favorite jean jacket today. It is chilly! I get into the building to see the same old receptionist, the same old patients, and the same old doctors. 

I walk up to Jannet, the receptionist, and I check into the center. After I sign my name, I walk to the back room, where they keep all the chemo patients. I find my mother on the far end of the room reading a magazine. I steady my shaking hand, and work my way to her. Every time I’m in the Cancer center, I always get so nervous. I’m scared. I’m scared that the doctors will tell me something that I won’t ever want to hear. The words from the doctor that I'm dreading. The words that will tell me that my mother will never get better. I know that she hasn’t been getting better. I can see it, no matter how hard she tries to hide how much pain she’s in. 

My mother and I haven’t ever really been close. Up until two years and 79 days ago. I have counted everyday since she was diagnosed with leukemia. I have worked my tush off at two jobs to help pay for chemo, and try to keep my grades up at school. It's kind of messed up how you never know how much you love and appreciate someone until they’re being taken away from you. 

I reach to my mother's chair and she looks up at me with that million dollar smile. She’s wearing her favorite red beanie to cover up her balding head from her chemo. I love that hat. It always smells like her strawberry kiwi shampoo even after she lost all her hair. 

“Hey, honey! I thought you were tutoring?” she asks. You’d never know how much pain she’s in by her smile. 

“I was, but the student never showed up.” I lie through my teeth.

“Oh, ok.” she says and goes back to her magazine article.

I walked over to the side of her large chemo seat, and sat next to her in the regular wooden chair with torn red leather cushioning. I pull out my phone to check my snapchat feed and it's full of pictures and videos of my old friend group having a good time at the beach. Once my mom was diagnosed, I had to keep turning down their invites to hang out, and two months later, the invites just stopped. 

Not even two minutes later, my mom’s doctor, Dr. Pérez , makes her way across the room. She has dark thick curly hair, and a tan that I'm so jealous of. She’s wearing navy blue scrubs with a white lab coat, and those ugly sneakers all doctors and nurses wear for some reason. For comfort probably. 

“Hello ladies!” Dr. Pérez says with a warm smile in her thick guatemalan accent. I greet her with a hello and a smile. 

“Addison, you mom is all ready to be checked out for the day, I would just like to have a word with you for a minute.” she says in almost a whisper and my heart sinks. 

“What's wrong doctor?” I ask panicked 

“I would just like to discuss your mother's new pain meds.” she replies in a low voice but keeps eye contact with me.

“Ok” I say with less nerves than before but still nervus nonetheless. I give my mother a kind smile and get up to follow Dr. Pérez to her office. 

I take a seat in her office in front of her desk. Her office is as plain as it can be. Dark grey carpet, beige walls, plane grey office desk. The only bit of personality this office has is the singular picture of Dr. Pérez and her huge family in Guatemala. 

I finally have the courage to look this woman in the eyes. When I look up, I can see that what she is trying to tell me is worse news than she was leading on.

“Addison,” she begins, “Your mothers treatment isn’t working.”

For a second, the world stops. 

“W-what do you mean? She was getting better for a while, m-maybe she just has to get worse before she gets better. Like you said when we started this two years ago.” I stutter half of the sentence. I can not lose my mom. I start to feel tears form in my eyes, but I hold them back because there has to be something that can be done. There is always something that can be done. 

“That’s true, I did say that. But I apologize for my eager assumption. Your mother was getting better, but her treatments haven’t been working in weeks” she finished in one breath. 

I close my eyes trying not to cry in the office. I always save my tears for when my mother is asleep and I know that she can’t see me. A single tear escapes out of the corner of my eye, then another one out of my other eye. 

I look up to face this doctor that can’t seem to do her job, only to see that she’s looking over my shoulder. I turn around to see that my mom is standing in the doorway. She slowly walks to the chair next to me and looks me directly in the eye. 

 “Sweetie, Dr. Pérez told me this before you got here and I’m going to tell you the same thing I told her, and don't try to argue with me because I’ve already made up my mind.” She pauses for a minute and I nod in agreement knowingly I’d lose any argument with this woman. She continues, “My cancer isn’t getting any better, and it's not going to get any better. I’ve told the doctor that going off the meds and I’m no longer doing chemo.” I’m left dumbfounded. I open my mouth to argue but she raises her eyebrows and I know that I’m not going to get anywhere by arguing with her. She’s already made up her mind. “Dr. Pérez says that I’ll have less than a month left. I don’t want you to have to worry about me anymore.” she finishes.

“And I don’t want you to die,” I sob throwing myself into my mother's hug.