“I’m sorry,” the oncologist said. “It is cancer. I know that cancer is scary, but I need to be honest. It is worse than that.”
My tear filled eyes locked onto him. How could it possibly be worse?
“The cancer is in your eyes. It’s rare, but it can happen. The only solution to stop the cancer from spreading everywhere is to remove both your eyes.
“I’m sorry that there is no easy way to tell you this, and you will hate me, but I scheduled your surgery for tomorrow. You have 24 hours before the operation.”
I wiped the tears from eyes. Then I was hit with the reality, I might never wipe away my tears again. Whether they were tears of joy or sorrow, I’d never cry again. I’d never see again.
The doctor started rambling about a trust that donated a lot of money for people with this rare cancer, giving them a chance to see whatever they wanted in the world before it was all over.
The only thing I wanted was to see my wife. My daughter. My son.
Then my heart broke. I would never see them grow up, never see them grow old.