Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I wish him well.
Oscar encourages me every day to love myself enough to continue what I “originally came to Savannah to do.” I remind him that I came here to die on my own terms. His response is always the same: “Exactly.” I think I finally understand what he means. Death is inevitable for everyone, but we can make choices in life that increase our chance of taking lots and lots of breaths before our time expires.
I have juice. I have tea. Meditation starts my days, followed by physical therapy. My ankle is better, not perfect, but close. With my new and affordable car, I drive to Tybee several days a week to walk along the shore. It’s difficult with my ankle still healing, but I feel better when I can walk by the house where it all began. Sometimes I think I see Theo swimming in the distance but it’s never him, just wishful thinking. I guess if I have 70,000 thoughts a day, I might as well make as many of them as ‘wishful’ as possible.
“How was work?” Oscar asks as I come through the door. He’s sprawled out on the sofa that he’s been sleeping on for the past several months.
I told him he could get rid of the sofa and haul his bed back in, but Nellie picked out the sofa, and he doesn’t want to get rid of it.
“Just fabulous.” I smirk with an eye roll.
“You’re a genius, Ruby. What more could you possibly want to achieve in life?” He keeps his gaze on his book. It’s Tolle. I told him there’s a lot of comfort in Tolle and Dyer.
“I’m not sure tech support at the Apple store really qualifies as being a genius.”
“But they call it the ‘Genius Bar.’”
“True.” I ease into ‘my’ chair on a long sigh.
“It’s a waste of your potential, Ruby.”
“It’s temporary, until I literally get back on my feet. And I’m close.”
He flips another page. “Then what?”
“Well, according to the oncologist—anything.”
Oscar slaps the book shut, raising a single eyebrow. “You saw the oncologist today?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And?”
“They can’t find any cancer. Blood tests, scans … everything looked perfect.”
Oscar Stone doesn’t cry, but I swear I see tears in his eyes. “Ruby, that’s …”
“Crazy? Insane? Incredibly unlikely? Inexplicable? Those were the words the doctor used. He couldn’t explain it, not that I was asking for an explanation. He kept asking me if I was sure I hadn’t had some form of treatment. Like a round of radiation or chemo could slip my mind.” I grin.
“I wish your mum—”
I shake my head. “Don’t say it. She made the decision she needed to make. If a hundred people with the same diagnosis I had did the same thing I did, I don’t know how many, if any, would still be alive.”
That will always be the hardest part for me to explain. I had terminal cancer. Surviving it, no matter the means, is a miracle. Over eighty-five percent of the world’s population believes in a higher power, yet very few people believe in miracles. It makes no sense.
“For me, it worked. Today it became my truth. I’m not going to write a book about my story, or make any miraculous claims that I’ve figured out the cure for cancer.”
He throws the book aside. “Well, you could. You’re a genius.”
I laugh and like always, it quickly fades. I’m existing. I haven’t had a single suicidal thought since being in Lexington with Theo, but what I’m doing is far from truly living and that’s okay. Visiting the cancer wing of a hospital and sitting in the waiting room of the oncologist’s office has given me some much needed perspective.
Not every day is a parade with fireworks, but every breath counts. Life is incredibly fucking hard, rarely fair, and always unpredictable. Most days, surviving is as good as it gets. Today I watched a healthy little girl sitting next to her mum, with a lovely pink scarf wrapped around her head, give her doll to another little girl sitting across from me, with no hair and a portable oxygen pack on her back. I shall never ever forget the smile on her face.
Love. It’s why we are here.
*
Spring.
I’m ready to put away my jumpers and dig out my flip-flops. Oscar took off two weeks ago for an epic “bucket list” road trip. I asked if he’s dying, and he winked at me. I know the answer. “We’re all dying, Ruby.”
As soon as I’m within a block of my flat, the skies open up. Yep, it’s definitely spring. I sprint—OK, a slow jog with my ankle—then I put on the brakes just enough so I don’t slip on the stairs leading to my flat. Once I reach the top, where I’m protected by the roof, I shake the water from my hair like a dog and glance up while pulling the key from my handbag.