Before My Thirty Days End

— My mother is dead, and my father died in a car accident. There was a short pause. — Then bring all the medical documents you have with you. I promised I would bring them. The next day, I did not go to university. Instead, I went to the hospital, carrying the documents from my father’s study in an ordinary folder. They took my blood. They examined my heart. They ordered additional tests. They took a sample for genetic analysis. The doctors asked detailed questions about my biological family. They asked when my mother had become ill. They asked how old she had been. They asked whether I experienced constant fatigue, shortness of breath, and changes in my heart rhythm. I answered everything I knew. When the doctor told me that the genetic analysis would take several days, I returned home and tried to continue living a normal life. But nothing felt normal anymore. Every time my heart began beating too fast, I noticed it. Every time I became tired, I thought about the disease. Every time I climbed the stairs and had to stop to catch my breath, I thought about my mother. Waiting became a separate form of torment. I went to university. I attended classes. I helped at home. I cooked dinner. I checked homework. I laughed when my brother made jokes. I smiled when my father asked whether I had eaten. No one knew that inside, instead of days, I was counting symptoms. A few days later, the hospital called. The doctor wanted to speak with me in person. I knew something was wrong before I even entered the office. He looked at me, then opened the folder. — The genetic analysis confirmed the presence of the mutation. I looked at him. — Does that mean I have the disease? He sighed heavily. — Unfortunately, the other examinations confirm that the disease is already active. For several seconds, I could not answer. — But there must be treatment. — There are treatment options. — Then what are we going to do? He folded his hands on the desk. — Your case is extremely rare. — How rare? — Very few similar cases have been registered in our country. I waited silently for him to continue. — There is a specialist in another state who has significantly more experience working with this disease. — Then refer me there. He nodded slowly. — Additional examinations and consultations will be needed there. — Okay. — You will most likely have to see several specialists. — I can handle it. — There will also be repeated cardiac examinations, additional genetic consultations, laboratory tests, and possibly several treatment options. I looked at him. — And how much will all of this cost? He fell silent. — We cannot know the final amount yet. — At least approximately. — Very expensive. — How expensive? He looked down at the folder. — Significantly more than your family will most likely plan to spend, especially considering flights, accommodation, consultations, repeat examinations, and specialized treatment. I fell silent. Then I asked the question I feared most. — How much time do I have left? The doctor looked directly into my eyes. — We cannot give you an exact number of days. — I need at least an approximate number. He slowly inhaled. — About a month. It seemed to me that the space around me had changed. — A month? — Possibly a little more. — Possibly? — We cannot accurately predict the speed at which the disease will progress. I looked at my hands. — What if I go to that hospital? — They may find a treatment option that we cannot offer here. — And what if they don’t? He was silent for a moment. — We may not be able to stop the progression of the disease. I looked at him. — And what am I supposed to do then? The doctor was silent for several seconds before answering. — Whatever you choose, you must understand all the risks of that decision. I left the hospital without calling anyone. I sat on a bench outside the building and watched people walk past with coffee, briefcases, backpacks, bags, children, and ordinary worries. Everyone was rushing somewhere. Everyone seemed to have time. A woman held her daughter’s hand. An elderly couple walked beneath the same umbrella. Two students laughed at something on a phone. A man ran across the road because he was late. Their lives continued. ✦ And mine had suddenly been given an ending. ✦ I thought about telling my family. I knew what would happen. Mom would cry. Dad would start searching for every doctor possible. They would take me to another state. Pay for every consultation. Spend their savings. Borrow money if necessary. They would stop thinking about themselves. They would spend whatever time remained of my life trying to save me. But what if nothing worked? What if my last month disappeared in hospitals while everyone around me sacrificed everything for a treatment that might not even exist? What if I died anyway? I sat on the bench for a long time. And then I realized one thing. For twenty years, I had lived the way it was convenient for others. I had been a responsible daughter. A reliable sister. A good student. The girl who never caused problems. The girl who always came home on time. The girl who helped everyone. The girl who knew how to wait. I had spent my whole life waiting for later. Later I would travel. Later I would make music. Later I would fall in love. Later I would meet someone who would love me. Later I would get married. Later I would have children. Later I would live. But suddenly there was no later anymore. ✦ There were only thirty days left. ✦ Maybe a little more. Maybe a little less. But certainly not an entire life ahead. And for the first time, I asked myself what I truly wanted. The answer came faster than I expected. ✦ I wanted to live. ✦ Not exist in hospitals. Not become an endless medical project. Not spend every morning waiting for the next appointment. Not watch my parents spend everything on a treatment that might not help. I wanted to live. I wanted to see the ocean. I wanted to travel. I wanted to hear live music. I wanted to dance without thinking about who was watching me. I wanted to wear beautiful clothes. I wanted to try food I had never tasted before. I wanted to meet strangers and listen to stories that had nothing to do with my family. I wanted to wake up somewhere unfamiliar. I wanted to get lost. I wanted to laugh so hard my stomach hurt. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted to kiss someone. I wanted to know what it meant to be desired. I wanted to have memories that belonged only to me. And most importantly, I wanted, at least once, to make a decision without thinking about whether it would make things easier for everyone else. I remembered the money I had been saving for years. My parents gave me small amounts for food, transportation, university, and personal expenses, and I secretly saved everything I could. They did not know about these savings. I had been saving them for my own dream. I wanted to buy a piano. I wanted to make music. I wanted to have at least one thing in my life that existed only because I had chosen it myself. Now part of that money had already disappeared on examinations and consultations. The money that remained was no longer going to buy me a piano. ✦ It was going to buy me freedom. ✦ That evening, I returned home and told no one anything. My family still thought I was simply tired. No one knew that I had been given an estimated thirty days. No one knew that I was not going to tell them the truth yet. No one knew that I had already decided to leave. I bought a simple black notebook from a small stationery shop near our home. When everyone had gone to sleep, I sat down at the table and opened it. At the top of the page, I wrote the date. Then I wrote: ✦ DAY 30 ✦ I stared at those words for a long time. Then I wrote: Today I found out that I may have about thirty days left to live. My hand was shaking. But I continued. I wrote about the elderly woman in the rain. I wrote about the adoption certificate. I wrote about my biological mother. I wrote about my biological father. I wrote about the accident. I wrote about the disease. I wrote about the hospital. I wrote about the specialist in another state. I wrote about the money. I wrote that treatment might not work. And then I wrote the most important thing. ✦ I don’t want my last thirty days to belong to hospitals. ✦ I wanted them to belong to me. I decided to write down everything that happened to me every evening, because I was afraid that if I did not preserve those moments now, they would disappear along with me. I wanted to remember every city. Every road. Every stranger. Every sunrise. Every mistake. Every laugh. Every frightening moment. Every first experience. I wanted to write down everything I had been putting off for the past twenty years. And on the last day, if I lived to see it, I would send this notebook to my family. They would finally learn what had happened. They would understand why I left. They would know that I loved them. But they would also know that, for the first time in my life, I had chosen myself. The next few days passed quietly. I began planning the trip without telling anyone anything. I did not know exactly where I wanted to go. I only knew that I wanted to move. I wanted to follow the road, not a schedule. I wanted to see the country. I wanted to stop in small towns. I wanted to sit in places where no one knew my name. I wanted to see the ocean. I wanted to listen to music. I wanted to find at least something that would make me feel alive again. The evening before I left, I sat with my family at the table and looked at them completely differently. Dad was telling something funny about work. My younger brother was complaining about homework. My sister was laughing at something on her phone. Mom was reminding everyone what needed to be done in the morning. Everything was completely ordinary. And that was exactly why it hurt so much. I knew this might be the last ordinary evening we would ever spend together. — Can we sit at the table a little longer tonight? — I asked. Mom looked at me. — Why? — I don’t know. I just don’t want everyone to leave yet. Dad smiled. — That’s unusual for you. — I know. Mom laughed. — You’ve become too sentimental. — Maybe. After dinner, I helped Mom wash the dishes. She looked at me carefully. — Are you sure you’re feeling okay? — I’m fine. — You’ve been different lately. I smiled. — I guess I’m just growing up. She ran her hand through my hair. — You’ll always be my little girl. I had to turn away because tears appeared in my eyes. Later, I sat beside my father in the living room while he watched television. For several minutes, we were silent. Then I asked: — Dad, can I ask you something? He turned toward me. — Of course. — Are you happy with your life? He smiled. — Serious question. — I know. He thought for a moment. — Sometimes. — And the rest of the time? He laughed quietly. — The rest of the time, I have children. I laughed too. Then I rested my head on his shoulder. He did not ask anything. He simply let me stay there. I listened to his breathing. Memorized the warmth of his shoulder. Memorized the smell of his clothes. Memorized the sound of the television in the background. I knew I might never have exactly this moment again. Before bed, I hugged Mom too. She laughed quietly when I stayed in her arms longer than usual. — What’s gotten into you today? — I just love you. She smiled. — I love you too. That was where it ended. I went to my room and cried quietly because I could not tell them that I was already saying goodbye. That night, I barely slept. I listened to the familiar sounds of our house, sounds I had never truly noticed before because I had always been certain they would stay with me forever. My father’s footsteps. My mother’s voice. The bathroom door. Someone laughing in the hallway. The old floor creaking beneath footsteps. Everything suddenly became priceless. Early in the morning, I got up before the rest of the family woke. I quietly got dressed, took the bag I had packed in advance, and checked once more that I had everything. Several changes of clothes. Toiletries. A charger. Documents. Medicine. My notebook. Then I opened the drawer where the jewelry my parents had given me for my eighteenth birthday and for finishing school was kept.