Chapter 3 - The WordMy father's hand stopped on my jacket.
"What is that?" he asked, nodding at the pale shape on the screen.
Dr. Anoka's voice was calm, measured, the voice of someone who had delivered difficult news enough times to know exactly how to pace it. "This is a mass. Based on its location and the pattern of your headaches, I'm concerned this could be affecting the pressure in your skull, which would explain the fainting."
"A mass," my father repeated, like the word tasted strange in his mouth. "Like a — what, like a cyst? Kids get cysts."
"It's possible. I won't know for certain until neurology reviews the full imaging and we get a clearer picture. But I don't feel comfortable discharging her tonight. I'd like to admit her for observation and get a neurosurgery consult first thing in the morning."
My mother made a small sound, half gasp, half sob, and gripped my hand harder.
My father's face had gone through several expressions in the span of about four seconds — irritation, confusion, disbelief — and finally settled on something I'd never seen on him before. Fear, plain and unguarded.
"You said mass," he said. "Just — say the actual word. Is it a tumor?"
Dr. Anoka met his eyes without flinching. "Yes. Based on what I'm seeing, I believe it's a tumor. I can't tell you yet whether it's cancerous, and I don't want to guess in front of you and frighten you unnecessarily. But it needs immediate attention, and it needs a specialist, tonight, not a follow-up appointment next week."
The word sat in the small curtained space like something physical. Tumor. My father sat back down in the plastic chair beside my bed, slowly, like his legs had simply stopped holding an opinion on the matter.
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"I told her it was stress," he said quietly, mostly to himself. "I told her to just push through it."
Dr. Anoka picked the phone back up. "I'm calling neurosurgery now. We're not going anywhere tonight."
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