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Sunny sat in the cold, sterile room of the oncologist's office; her fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her purse. She had been at the hospital all morning for her half-yearly checkup.
Every single checkup is messing with her nerves. As she ages, she's trying to take good care of her health. After her cancer 12 years ago, she didn't want it anymore. She didn't want to go through those medical procedures again.
The ticking clock on the wall seemed to echo in her ears, each second dragging her further into the depths of uncertainty. Dr Kamal entered his face kind but lined with gravity. Sunny tried to read his expression, hoping for reassurance, but found none.
"Sunny," he began, his voice soft yet firm. "I'm afraid the results show that the cancer has returned."
The words hit her like a tidal wave, pulling the air from her lungs. The room seemed to blur momentarily, the edges of reality folding in on themselves. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus on Dr. Kamal's face, but the weight of his words crushed her.
"Returned?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
Dr. Kamal nodded solemnly. "Yes. It's localized for now, but it's aggressive. We need to start treatment as soon as possible."
Sunny's hands trembled as she placed them on her lap. She'd promised herself this wouldn't happen again. She'd followed every piece of advice, every post-treatment regimen. She'd rebuilt her life with such care, and now it felt like it was crumbling again.
"What are my options?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Dr. Kamal began explaining the treatment plan—chemotherapy, targeted therapy, and possibly surgery. His words were clinical and methodical, but Sunny's mind began to wander. She thought about her family, her friends, and the life she had painstakingly pieced back together.
When Dr. Kamal finished, he looked at her expectantly. Sunny took a deep breath, her resolve hardening.
