The doctors office was bright with light. A big leathery brown chair set behind the cluttered desk. In front of the desk were two upholstered blue seats. The sound of the air conditioner gently roamed the room.
My husband and I cautiously entered the room. Our hands firmly clenched together. We sat and waited for the doctor to arrive. My thoughts wandered off into nightmares of cancer...the what ifs and whens.The time felt as if it were standing still. I didn't want to see the doctor. I didn't want to know the results. I had to know one way or the other. I've waited days for the reports. My husband put his hand around mine and with a whispering gentle voice said, "we can do this!"
The doctor walked into the room. His pleasant demeanor and white coat increased my anticipation. What would he say? What will I do? Please help me Lord.
The words slipped through his expressive mouth...."You have lung cancer." ...
WHAT? it can't be! No, not me! I'm only 38. My husband grabbed me and held me tight while I listened to my death sentence.
The doctor was talking about a plan...what? I didn't hear him. I had no hope. I was 38 with two children and I was going to die.
The airconditioner now sounded like a whirlwind in my ears, the voices louder and louder...the room so bright I had to close my eyes. I wanted to run.
As Tom held me, I settled down a bit. I settled down enough to hear the Plan...Surgery, right upper lobe, intensive care, oxygen...I just am too overwhelmed to think to act or to capture the meaning of those words.
Am I to Realistic? Help!
One thing after another.
Fighting to Survive 
