Written by: Melissa L. White
Margo sat in the waiting room, lost in thought, staring out the window at the morning rain. It was August 16, 2018, and the airwaves were exploding with nonstop Aretha Franklin hits in honor of her passing. Margo watched the rain drizzle down the window and glanced over at her husband, Trace, wondering how much time they had left together. All of the uncertainty since his diagnosis last summer seemed to culminate in this precise moment as Margo sat in the hospital waiting for the oncologist to give them the reports from Trace’s latest MRI and PET scans.
Countless memories flooded her mind, intertwining with the nagging fear that it would be their last summer together. One thing she knew beyond the tiniest spark of doubt was that cancer didn’t discriminate. It was an equal opportunity nightmare.
Background music played softly from the speakers overhead. Aretha’s seminal anthem flooded into Margo’s conscious awareness, and she found herself humming along with the words as Aretha’s soulful voice told the story of how she used to look out on the morning rain and feel uninspired; and then when she had to face another day, it made her so tired. Oh, how she could relate to this—feeling uninspired, drained, and so very tired.
Margo closed her eyes and tried to block out everything but the song. She listened intently as Aretha sang about how her soul was in the lost and found, until her lover came along and claimed it. Most importantly, how her lover made her so happy and content, he made her feel like a natural woman. She opened her eyes and glanced over at her husband.
She watched Trace as he slept, filled with a tenderness so complete she felt suddenly calm and at peace. She smiled, remembering how he had proposed—how he planned the event for weeks, enlisting the help of several close friends in order to pull off the surprise at the BATS Improv comedy show in San Francisco. Casey, the theatre director, had stood on stage after the curtains had closed and announced that his dear friend, Trace, was in the audience. He shared with the crowd that two years prior, Trace had brought his girlfriend to the show for their first date and was back with an important question to ask. A spotlight had suddenly shown on them as Trace stood up, pulled a ring out of his pocket, and asked Margo to be his wife. The audience broke into wild applause as she hugged him and told him she’d be proud to be his wife.
That seemed so long ago after a multitude of procedures—needle biopsies, a colonoscopy, a lung resection, various surgeries, and almost a year of immunotherapy treatments. Accompanying Trace on the journey through the world of cancer had all but consumed Margo, and then hearing that song on the day of Aretha’s death felt like a physical and spiritual slap in the face—a true wake-up call.
She reached out and touched Trace’s hand, longing to comfort him and assure him everything would be okay—that she would take care of him no matter what happened.
She had no intention of abandoning him. She and Trace had met late in life—she was 50, he was 65. Trace was still reeling from his divorce five years earlier, when his first wife had left him the day after his prostate cancer diagnosis, because she, “didn’t want to be his nurse.” Trace had endured his chemo and radiation treatments on his own and had beaten prostate cancer, being cancer-free for several years until he and Margo met and fell in love. Yet his all-consuming fear of abandonment was so pervasive, he’d wept with this latest diagnosis last year, so afraid that Margot would abandon him too. Margot had hugged him, as they sat in Dr. Rivers’ office, listening to him describe Trace’s condition, treatment options, and prognosis. Trace had wept, unable to contain his emotions. Margot had kissed him, clutching his hands, assuring him she had no intention of ever leaving him. “I’m in it for the long haul. For better or worse…I’ll never leave you, Trace.”
Margo watched him now as he slept, and she wanted to write down her thoughts, so she searched through her purse for a piece of paper. She pulled out her copy of the PET scan preparation instructions warning Trace not to eat or drink anything but water for at least six hours prior to the scan. She scribbled her thoughts on the back of the page:
Gazing at the rainbow,
I don’t remember the storm.
I look at you sometimes,
and think how our love
has grown stronger over the years, and I don’t remember the pain
of growing older with frail health
and waning strength.
Instead, I remember the laughter, the quiet moments shared
with sweet companionship, a knowing glance,
a look of appreciation, and gratitude
for loving me back
the way that I love you.
Tender, silent, strong…
Now and always.
Margo folded the paper and stuck it in her pocket. She wanted to ponder her poem overnight, then print it out and frame it for Trace on his birthday. Seeing Disneyland again was first on his bucket list, so she’d been planning to take him on his seventy-first birthday. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend the day other than soaking up the sunshine at “the happiest place on earth.”
Margo reached out and touched Trace’s hand again as he stirred in his sleep. He yawned, opened his eyes slowly, and smiled when his eyes met hers. The nurse stepped into the waiting room and called out, “Trace Black?”
Trace’s smile vanished, and a look of sheer panic washed over his face. Margo squeezed his hand, stood up, and called out to the nurse, “Right here.”
Margo held Trace’s arm and helped him to stand. She steadied him, then gave him his cane. They inched toward the nurse, Trace moving at his usual, excruciatingly slow pace while Margo held onto his elbow, taking baby steps beside him. Trace stopped suddenly in the doorway, clenching and unclenching his fist.
“What is it, honey?” asked Margo.
“I don’t…” Trace’s voice cracked as he fought back tears.
Margo squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. I’m here.”
He looked at her and nodded, his eyes desperate and afraid. “But what if it’s bad news?”
She hugged him gently. “Whatever Dr. Rivers says about these scans, we’ll just take it one day at a time and make each day the best it can be.”
Trace sighed. “You’re right. I’m panicking like a little kid on a high dive. I’d give anything to climb back down the ladder and play in the kiddie pool.”
Margo laughed. “Come on. I’ve got a feeling it’ll be good news.”
They followed the nurse into the examination room, and neither one spoke as the nurse took his vitals. When Dr. Rivers entered, Margo glanced at Trace. His face looked pale and gaunt. She watched her husband shake hands with his oncologist, then she quickly whispered a little prayer for good news.
“Good news today!” said Dr. Rivers.
Margo laughed out loud, so relieved and elated.
Trace grinned. “Really?”
Dr. Rivers pulled up the digital scans on the monitor. “Look here. This was the MRI of your brain tumors six months ago, and this is yesterday’s scan. See the difference?”
Trace laughed. “It’s like a miracle!”
“The miracle of modern medicine. You’re in the 33 percent of the population who respond like this to nivolumab. You’re lucky. The cancer is all but gone from the brain, the spleen, the liver, and both lungs. The only remnants are in the bones. So, we’ll continue the treatments every two weeks for another six months, then rescan. Any questions?”
Trace sat in shock. Unable to formulate his words, his hands trembled in his lap. Margo spoke up, “So the only cancer left is in the bones?”
“Yes, this gray area on the tibia. See here?” Dr. Rivers scrolled through the images, then double-clicked to enlarge the selected image.
“That’s all that’s left of it?” Trace sounded skeptical.
“This immunotherapy is saving your life, my friend.” Dr. Rivers patted Trace on the shoulder.
“Does this mean he’s in remission?” asked Margo.
“No, these areas in the legs are still active.” Dr. Rivers glanced at Trace, then back at Margo. “But with another six months of treatment, we may find him entering total remission. It’s just too soon to tell right now. We’ll keep doing what we’re doing.”
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Trace clapped his hands.
Dr. Rivers laughed. “It’s always nice to hear that, especially in your case when the cancer was so pervasive on the previous set of scans.”
Margo beamed at Dr. Rivers. “Thank you, Doctor! We’re so very grateful!” Margo kissed Trace on the lips and hugged him. He held onto her for several moments.
“You were right, after all,” Trace whispered.
Margo grinned. “That’s the power of prayer.”
“Prayer is a powerful medicine,” added Dr. Rivers. “So is laughter.”
Trace, Margo, and Dr. Rivers all laughed.
“Congratulations, Trace. We really couldn’t have asked for better results. If there’s nothing else, I’ll send you out to Shannon to set up an appointment for scans in six months.” Dr. Rivers stood and shook hands with both Trace and Margo.
“Thank you, again. We owe you so much, Dr. Rivers. You’re our hero!” she gushed.
Dr. Rivers chuckled. “You’re very welcome. Take care now.”
He left the room, and Trace’s shoulders shook as he started to weep.
Margo embraced him. “Honey! Why are you crying? We should celebrate! Let’s go get a chocolate milkshake. Doesn’t that sound good?”
Trace wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just so relieved.”
“I know. Me too.”
As they walked slowly down the hallway hand in hand, Margo felt a warm glow on her face. In fact, she felt a bit light-headed with so much elation. She wanted to do cartwheels and somersaults. It had been ages since she’d felt this good inside. Over the previous year since beginning their journey through this black hole in the vast universe of cancer, Margo had lost almost all of her inner joy—but not today.
It was the start of something new—a chance at recovery. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude as she walked past the nurse’s station. All the nurses, doctors, PAs, and technicians had helped them in so many ways; they were like family. They called Trace by name and always asked how he was doing. They genuinely cared about him.
As Margo watched Trace make his appointment for the next series of scans in six months, she felt so incredibly grateful for all the healthcare workers and their dedication to every single one of their patients. They made Trace feel important, as if he were more than just a medical record number with charts and digital files. He had a name, a future, a place in the world. His time wasn’t up yet; he still had so much to live for, so much for which to be grateful.
Trace stood at the receptionist’s desk after making his appointment, and he hesitated a moment. Margo caught her breath. Was he feeling faint? Was it all too much for him?
“What’s wrong, honey?” she whispered.
“I want to tell Shannon something.” Trace approached Shannon, the receptionist at the far end of the desk. He was a tall, very fit man with a shaved head, mocha skin, and a deep baritone voice. Without fail, he always had a kind word for Trace.
“Shannon, you have a moment?” Trace leaned against the desk.
“Sure, Mr. Black. What’s up?” Shannon stopped typing and gazed up at Trace.
“I want to thank you for taking such good care of me these past eight months. I appreciate your kindness because I’ve been living on borrowed time for about a year now. You’ve treated me with respect and encouragement, always offering a smile, and I’m so incredibly grateful for that. Thank you!”
Shannon stood up and reached for Trace’s hand. He clasped Trace’s hand in both of his and held it there. “Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me.”
“It’s true,” Trace continued. “You make all these appointments a little more pleasant.”
Margo touched Shannon’s arm. “When people come here for treatment, they’re usually overwhelmed. But you always help ease our minds. You make such a difference, and I truly believe you’ve helped Trace in his recovery.”
“So nice to hear that, Mrs. Black. I really mean that. You take care now.”
Trace and Margo left the hospital with a profound sense of gratitude. On the way home, Margo drove through McDonald’s and treated Trace and herself to a chocolate shake. An elderly man experiencing homelessness sat on the curb by the side entrance. Trace looked at him, then reached for his wallet.
“Pull over,” Trace said. He took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, rolled down the window, and waved to the man. He approached, and Trace handed him the money. “Buy yourself something to eat, my friend. Life is short.”
“Bless you,” said the old man. He smiled, exposing his toothless gums. “Be well.”
“Same to you.” Trace waved, and Margo pulled away slowly.
They hardly spoke as they drove home. Then just as they pulled into their driveway, the sun burst through the clouds, and a rainbow shone up ahead.
“Look!” Margo pointed at the sky.
“Brighter days ahead,” said Trace. “Thank God!” Margo laughed. “Yes! Thank you, God!”
The rainbow arched across the sky from one end of the street to the other. Margo wiped a tear from her eye and listed in her mind all the many reasons she felt grateful for today—a day that had started out so uncertain as she’d sat in the hospital waiting room looking out on the morning rain.
Melissa L. White
Melissa L. White is a screenwriter, novelist, short story writer, and essayist. Her Biopic Screenplay about female artist, Georgia O’Keeffe, won BEST SCREENPLAY DRAMA, and BEST BIOPIC at the 4Theatre Film Festival in June 2023. Her LBGTQ+ rom com script, “Modern Marriage” won 4th prize in the Writer’s Digest Annual Screenwriting Contest 2021. And Melissa’s recently published essay, “Can AI Learn How It Feels to Cry?” just won Second Prize in the Writer’s Digest Annual Writing Contest 2023. Melissa lives in the Los Angeles suburb of Encino, with her fiancé, Mark, an award-winning commercial photographer.
Recent publications are listed below: Front Porch Review – Literary Journal, Vol. 15, July 2023, Essay, “Can AI Learn How It Feels to Cry?” – https://frontporchreview.com/can-ai-learn-how-it-feels-to-cry-melissa-l-white/
Sapphire Selections Online Literary Journal, “Discover,” Aug. 9, 2023, Short Story, “RISK” – https://sapphireselections.com/2023/08/09/risk/
Ariel Chart Literary Journal, February 1, 2023 – “Thank You, George Lucas,” (Short Non-Fiction Essay), https://www.arielchart.com/2023/02/thank-you-george-lucas.html
Oyster River Pages – Special Issue 5.2, Jan. 4, 2022: Breaking Bread – “Small Victories,” (Short Story), https://www.oysterriverpages.com/fiction-52/small-victories
Litbreak Magazine – Summer 2021, August 22, 2021 – “The Road Back” (Novel Excerpt) https://litbreak.com/the-road-back-novel-excerpt/
Litbreak Magazine – Summer 2021, August 22, 2021 – “To See a Huge World Outside Us” (Essay) https://litbreak.com/i-radiate-love/
She can be found here: http://www.melissalwhite.com Instagram: @melissa94901 “X” (Formerly Twitter): @maggiethecat6.
Sapphire Selections 