Before I Die

prologue

Hospitals: I've always hated them.

Maybe it’s the way dreams were crushed here; maybe it’s the stench of death that always seemed to poison the air, or maybe it’s because its pristine, white walls were all I had been seeing for the past few weeks. Well, whatever the reason, whenever I thought of them, shivers crawled down my spine.

So, here I was, in my private hospital room, watching my mother as she spoke to the doctor through the door’s window. Noah, my older brother, was holding my hand, rubbing soothing patterns into my skin in an attempt to calm my nerves. Sadly, it wasn’t working.

The doctors that came in last week had told me that it was probably a bad throat infection that had affected the rest of my respiratory system. Nothing to worry about, they said, the infection should heal itself within a few more days of rest. Then, I would finally be released from this damned prison. However, as I watch my mother breakdown before my very eyes, I began to fear the worst.

Doubt clouded my thoughts, hundreds of possibilities swarming. What if something serious is happening to me? What if the doctors were wrong and I wasn’t okay? Slowly and painfully, I forced myself to think rationally. It was my only escape at this point.

Nora, it’s a throat infection – stop worrying.

But still, these unanswered questions haunted my mind until a small tear dropped down my cheek, leaving a salty trail in its wake. And despite the fact that I wasn’t looking at Noah, I knew he was watching me in concern.

I turned my head slightly, staring at him intently. He was the best brother I could ever ask for, always there no matter what. His eyes, a vibrant shade of green, now seemed duller than usual. The livening expression they had once held was gone, replaced by a flat look that carried no emotion. Another tear fell.

“Do you think I’m going to die?” I asked quietly, so much so that I was surprised that he even heard me.

Warm arms suddenly brought me into a tight embrace, and I instantly knew his answer. Noah forced a smile onto his face and then began to rock me back and forth soothingly.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” he replied, his voice horse from worry.

“Promise?” I pushed, knowing that this was incredibly hard for him. See, he and I were alike in so many ways. If one was sick, so was the other. And in my heart, I knew he was trying his best, but sometimes our best efforts simply aren’t enough.

All I had left was hope, and little did I know that that would soon leave me too.

“I promise,” Noah says in a new found strength. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m here.” He paused. “Always.”

My eyes closed at his words, finding comfort in his words. I buried my face into the crook of his neck, where the curve of his shoulder began, my breath fanning against his skin. Noah’s heartbeat it steady; a slow thumping sound that is enough to reassure me for just a few more seconds.

Then, I heard a knock at the door. It was my mum, a doctor standing behind her; he was not the one who concluded my throat infection. A rush of adrenaline pumped through my veins; nervous was an understatement as to how I was feeling. I was terrified, nauseous.

They strode in slowly, with looks of utter death. So this was it, I had thought, my fate decided by a white coat clad physician who introduced himself as Dr. Barnes, conveniently leaving out what he specialized in. Noah stood, quickly shaking the doctor’s hand before returning to my side. Mum stays silent the entire time.

I crossed my arms expectantly; ready for whatever he had to say.

“Nora, the further diagnosis of your respiratory system has revealed some complications, some temporary while others lifelong.” He paused, rechecking his chart for reference. “First of all, your voice will return to its full potential within a few weeks, a maximum of three. While it is healing, you’re required to take medicine that your mother will pick up from the pharmacy. Secondly, no intake of solid food until the swelling of your throat has cleared, which should only be a day or two.”

Dr. Barnes then glanced at my mother for confirmation, and she nodded, blowing her nose into the crinkled tissue she held.

“Thirdly, no sweets for two weeks, and, lastly…” I clutched the bed sheets tightly, expectant. A surge of hope rose from within me, because I found that I could deal with these conditions. However, what he said was neither heard nor accepted by my brain.

Dr. Barnes lifted his glasses, placing them on his head. “I’m sorry to say this, Nora, but we have found a tumour in your lungs. It’s at stage three.”

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- Katie and Danicus .x