Chapter 1

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The Diagnosis

POV: Layla

"Do you understand what that means?"

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"Do you understand what that means?"

No, I don't, I don't understand what that means. The doctor looked at me with a bit of pity, even though he tried to hide it. And I have to give it to him, he really is good, but I am even better at reading people's faces. After I passed out, my manager called me an ambulance. Then they did a bunch of tests and sent me home. Said they would call me when the result came back. And now I'm sitting here in front of the doctor, basically frozen.

"Do we need to call somebody? A parent or a friend? Boyfriend?" I swallowed. My mom... She's a neurosurgeon, how ironic.

"No! No. I'm sorry. It's all just a little bit of a shock, you know? But I'll be fine. How do we proceed?" I tried to sound put together even though I wasn't.

"Glioblastoma is a fatal form of brain cancer. With treatment, I'd say you have the chance to live 16 months. But without...around 6 to 8 months, so I'd say we schedule an appointment for some more test. That gives you some time to tell your loved ones and to digest the news. We do have a councilor in the building if you want to talk to a professional about your diagnosis." He put a sympathetic look on his face, and I did consider it for a moment. But I couldn't before I told my mother.

"No, thank you. I think I'd like to go and talk to my mom. Yeah, I need to tell her," I said a bit absently. I got up and walked towards the door. "I can schedule the appointments another time, right? Like I can call...?" I was playing with my hands nervously. I hated talking to doctors. One would think that growing up around a doctor would make me comfortable in their presence, but somehow it had the opposite effect.

"Yes Miss Madi. I'll be expecting your call within the week." I thanked him and nodded him goodbye, hastily leaving the room.

I can't believe this is happening to me. Brain cancer. As I walked through the hospital corridors, I started to feel sick. Putting a hand on my stomach, I looked around for a bathroom. The last thing I needed was to puke in the middle of the corridor. I finally found the bathroom, quickly slipping into the bathroom. I emptied my gut into the toilet, tears pricking in my eyes, and stayed there for a moment. I didn't start to cry because of the diagnosis, but because I hated throwing. I always cry when I throw up.

"Ehm, hey. Girl next to me? Are you okay?" A voice in the stall next to me sounded. Shit, I didn't even check if anybody was in the bathroom.

Getting up, I cleared my throat and tore off some toilet paper to clean my mouth. "Yes! Yes, thanks, I'm alright. I guess." I flushed the toilet.

I stepped out of the stall to wash my hands when the girl who was in the stall next to me appeared next to me to wash her hands. Girl wasn't the right word, more like a young woman. A very pregnant young woman. "Congratulations."

She put her hands on her stomach with a joyful smile. "Oh, thank you! My husband is thrilled. It's gonna be a little boy. So, are you...?" She didn't finish the question, but I know what she was insinuating.

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