Bad Dream

I’m in a small, futuristic room full of monitors. I get the feeling we’re on some kind of space shuttle, or at least what looks like one. And although it seems like we’re in the future, I still look the same. I must age well. My family and Dr. P are in the room with me.

The room has all the makings of a hospital and I’m lying on the bed because I have cancer, again. Luckily, this time there is no year of treatment and no two-month hospital stay. The entire treatment regimen is two extremely intense days of chemotherapy.

“Is it really only two days?” I ask.

“Yes,” Dr. P replies. “We’re going to pound you into oblivion.”

“Ah, whatever. I’ve had worse. So, when do I begin?”

“Right now, actually. I’m going to put you to sleep for this, and you’ll awaken in a few hours. Is that okay?”

“Sure, let’s get started.”

And just like that, I’m asleep as new chemotherapy targeting my third cancer courses through my veins.

Hours later I am awake. I check out my surroundings.

Everything looks the same. Did I really just get chemo?

“How are you feeling?” somebody asks me.

“Fine. Is it over?”

“Yeah, for today. After tomorrow you’ll be done.”

Dr. P walks in my room to take some blood. She says she’ll have the results late in the afternoon.

I watch TV until she calls me into her office a few hours later. She has a large desk made of dark brown wood. I think it’s mahogany. From behind the massive structure she tells me something.

“Ben, you’re good to go. You don’t need to stick around tomorrow.”

“Really? That’s awesome. But, I thought I was going to get more chemo tomorrow.”

“No, you don’t need it anymore.”

I stood up and started moving toward the door. Then I stopped and looked back.

“I’ve changed my mind. It was supposed to be only two days, and I’m ready for more tomorrow. Then I’ll be done.”

“That’s the thing…you can’t get anymore chemo.”

“…What do you mean?”

“I mean your organs can’t take anymore. I’m sorry Ben.”

I paused to think about the meaning of her words.

“But if it was supposed to be two days and I’m only getting one, then the cancer is still alive. What are you trying to say, Dr. P?”

“I’m telling you that’s it…it’s over.”

Then, I wake up and look around. Everything looks pretty standard. Computer to the right, TV in front. No fancy monitors and no space shuttle.