Page 119 of I’m Already Gone

“What does that mean?” Lily asks, her voice trembling, mirroring the tremor now running through my body.

The doctor’s face turns solemn, her lips pressing into a thin, downward curve. “I’m so sorry, Lily, but the cancer is still present, and it’s progressing.”

Lily

Still present. Progressing.

Those words run through my end with the speed of a bullet.

“Wh-what does that mean?” I ask.

“You have metastatic breast cancer,” she adds.

“English, please,” Ethan says in a hoarse voice.

She offers him a comforting smile. “It is also known as stage IV breast cancer. In other words, an advanced form of the disease where cancer cells have spread from the breast to other parts of the body.”

Her gaze shifts back to me and she says, “In your case, Lily, it has spread to your lungs.”

My heart drops. “But…but I don’t have any symptoms that would make me think I have lung cancer.”

She nods in understanding. “Unfortunately, when breast cancer spreads to the lungs, it often doesn’t show any immediate symptoms. We only found a small tumor during your imaging scan.”

I swallow hard and try to process what she’s telling me. Ethan reaches for my hand and holds it close to him, offering me comfort and support through his touch.

I close my eyes and hold back the tears from falling. How the hell has this become my life? I have children who need me. An ex-husband I found my way back to and who I have learned to love even more. And my sister? Oh, God. How will she be able to move forward? And my parents?

“Is there something you can do?” Ethan pleads, causing me to open my eyes. “I mean, money is not an issue. I want her to have the best care in the world.”

The doctor keeps her eyes on me, and without having to say it, I know this is where it ends for me. That there is no going back from this.

“How long?” I ask.

Ethan’s head whips in my direction. “Lily.”

I steel my spine and exhale. “How long?” I repeat.

The doctor nods respectfully. “I cannot predict how long a person with final-stage breast cancer will have because the disease progresses differently for everyone. But in my experience, I can provide a prognosis based on survival statistics for people with similar cases. Patients can live up to five years, but please understand how long that final stage of life is different for everyone. But five years isn’t a guarantee.”

“And symptoms?” I ask.

“You will experience pain or discomfort in the lungs, shortness of breath, wheezing, a persistent cough, and coughing up blood. In some cases, it can feel like having a common cold.”

“Are there other treatment options available?” Ethan asks quietly.

She turns to him and responds, “There are alternatives to slow down the spread of the cancer, relieve symptoms, and give Lily the best quality of life for as long as possible.”

“Like what?” Ethan asks.

“Hormone therapy, for one. It can take two to three months before any benefits are seen. Another option is radiotherapy. It uses high-energy X-rays to destroy cancer cells. And⁠—”

I raise my hand to stop her. “I don’t want further treatment.”

“What?” Ethan gasps in horror. “What are you talking about? Think about this, Lily.”

I turn to him and offer a small smile. “I have thought about it. Since the moment I was diagnosed.”

“But there are options, Lily,” he argues.