Diagnosis

March, 2017; Thursday at 5 am; out for our regular weekly walk

"I think I pulled something, like my ab muscles.  I blame you."

"Of course you do."

Vicki was being serious but sarcastic, and I was deadpan and flip.  This was an old sisterly schtick, a familiar and loving way of speaking to each other.

"What hurts?  What did you do?" I asked more earnestly, putting on my fitness trainer hat.

"One of the seated workouts that we always do.  It's right here," she said, pointing to her ribs and waving her hand back and forth over a large area.  "I told Kathi I couldn't work out yesterday.  It hurts."

"Okay.  Taking time off of workouts is all you can do if you've pulled something.  We'll just walk slower today.  You'll be fine."

April 13, 2017; Thursday at 4:30 am; on a long walk, training for the Bay to Breakers

"The doctor said it's pleurisy."

"OMG, that's so painful!  Remember when Dave had that?  It was awful, he couldn't breathe and he was in so much pain!  I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, this sucks."

"We can walk slower.  It's okay."

Late April, 2017; Thursday at 4:30 am; walking

"I feel really bloated and uncomfortable."

"What's going on?  Are you drinking enough water?"

"I drink...  I don't know.  Like five or six of those big" - she pantomimed with her hands, indicating a huge serving size - "like, Big Gulp sized cups at work.  Plus one or two more at home."

"Holy shit!  Are you serious?  That's waaaay too much water!  Victoria!"  My voice was rising and I was getting worked up.  "You know you can DIE from drinking too much water, right?"

Early May, 2017; Thursday at 4:30 am; walking

"It just feels like I can't catch my breath.  I can't breathe in all the way."

I didn't know what to say.  I didn't know what could make her feel like that.  We kept walking and I listened while she fretted.

"It hurts, but it's not like a sharp pain.  It feels like it's everywhere" - she waved her hands over most of her torso, and then suddenly stopped walking.  "It feels like this."

She wrapped her arms around my ribcage and pressed against me.  Not hard, but firmly.  Unrelentingly.

"It feels like I'm constantly being squeezed."

I didn't reply, but I put my arms around her shoulders and hugged her back.

"Pahla, I'm just afraid that it's going to be cancer."

"What?"  Finally, I had something to say.  "That's ridiculous!  What makes you even think that?"

"I don't know.  I'm just worried."

May 15, 2017; Monday at 8 am; getting ready for the day

"fuck" read the first text.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK" came the next one immediately, followed by the screen shot of the email she had received from her oncologist with the results of an ultrasound of her liver.

"... enlargement of the liver, consistent with cancerous growth..."

"... innumerable lesions, consistent with cancerous growth..."

"... recommend biopsy to confirm..."

I called her, and she answered right away.

"Fuck."

May 18, 2017; Thursday at 5 am; walking slowly

"Pahla, there's no way I can do the Bay to Breakers."

"I know.  I already put it out of my mind.  I know."

"Next year.  For sure."

"Definitely."

May 21, 2017; Sunday near noon; walking into my mother's apartment

"Mom, I'm about to drop a bomb on you and then leave.  I'm really sorry."

"Okay.  What's wrong?"

"Vicki spent the night in the ER.  She was in a lot of pain and could barely move.  Wally is bringing her home right now, and I need to borrow the wheelchair you used when you broke your leg."

"What?  What's going on?"

I looked her right in the eyes and delivered the bad news the same way I would do it again and again (and again) over the next seven months:  like a punch to the gut, swift, merciless and without hesitation, because this shit was happening and if I started to cry now, I probably wouldn't stop.

"They think she has cancer."

"What?" she cried, sitting back onto the arm of the couch and wailing, "No! No no no no no!  What?  How?"

"I don't have more details," I said, hugging her.  "And I need to go so I can be there when they get home.  Can you handle this?"

There was a long pause while she wrapped her head around my words.

"Yes," she finally said.  "I can handle it.  Go take care of your sister."

May 21, 2017; Sunday near noon; walking into my sister's garage; she is in the front passenger seat eating Taco Bell and has rolled down the window

"No.  I don't want to see you.  You're going to make me cry."

I plopped down in the wheelchair to wait and rolled over to the side of the car.

"Go ahead and eat first.  Then we'll cry together."

May 21, 2017; Sunday near noon; sitting in the swivel chairs in Vicki's family room

"Nate and Julia will always have a home with me."

"They shouldn't have to!" she wailed, sobbing.  She was bent over at the waist with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.  I was crouched in front of her, holding her as tightly as I dared.  She was in pain, but she was also sad and not hugging her was not an option.  My legs were cramping, and sweat was pooling behind my knees.  I wanted to change position, but I stayed where I was, rubbing her back and helplessly listening to her cry.

"Okay.  I have to stop crying.  It hurts to cry."

May 24, 2017; Wednesday at 6 pm; with concerned family and friends in Vicki's living room

"The doctor today confirmed what we already knew," Wally announced.  "It's metastasized breast cancer in Vicki's liver, which they are saying is incurable."

Vicki and I were silent.

There was no comedy routine for this one, nothing to say.  So we sat across the room from one another and listened to Wally relay the information about chemo, prognosis, pain meds and other details from the doctor's visit.

Early June, 2017; Thursday at 8:30 am; sitting on the barstools in Vicki's kitchen

"You'd better not fucking haunt me.  That is not okay with me."

"Whaaaaaaaat?  I am totally going to.  It'll be fun."

"Fun for you, maybe.  Not for me," I said, lightly.  "And fuck you for leaving me alone to take care of mom.  You suck."

"Nyah, nyah!  I finally get my revenge.  She's all yours."

I rolled my eyes.

"You are such a bitch."

"Right?"