The specialist seated across from me raised his eyebrows, “Ovarian cancer is serious,” he said with no emotion, “you have two choices, hysterectomy or death.”
That’s it? Those two horrible choices? Years of pain and a desperate search for the best doctor had brought me to this renowned specialist. And this was his solution?
How could he be so insensitive? Anger started to build in me. But his words did not intimidate me.
Swallowing hard, I said, “I do not accept those choices.”
His frown framed the fire in his eyes. Had I challenged him? Rising from his chair, he leaned over his desk. He pointed his finger inches from my face.
“Then, lady, go home. Suffer. And die.” His spit splattered my cheek when he spoke.
