Jillian suppressed a shudder as her tires crunched over the snow covered medical center parking lot. It had been nearly two years since a routine physical revealed an inflamed lymph node. A Tuesday, she recalled, astounded by the vividness of her memory. The weather had been much like today’s, a gray sky masking the sun, the tease of snow hanging in the air. A biopsy had confirmed abnormal cells and by Thursday, a diagnosis of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma delivered Jillian into an out-of-control tailspin of sickness.
The next two years had become a series of health checks, blood screenings, and countless energy-zapped days in bed. Committing to the process was all Jillian could do. Week after week, her best friends since college, Sarah and Arie, had driven her to the treatment center. Jillian would ingest her ridiculously described four drug cocktail knowing the prescribed cure-all mixture would make her insides contort, wrack her flesh with fever, and chase her blonde tresses from their pores. Jillian relinquished all control apart from hair loss. Her hair had always been a source of confidence and to wait and watch for the follicles to give up and fall out was not an option. The quest for the perfect wig, that she never planned to wear, had been a welcome source of levity. Sarah and Arie had modeled countless styles and colors, not to mention tested the patience of the salon staff, before Jillian purchased a virtual duplicate of her natural look. Then, in an act of defiant boldness, Jillian sheared her own head an hour after the first treatment swam into her veins. She could still feel the cold clipper blades cruising across her scalp. Lock after lock had fallen to the floor blanketing her feet in curly clumps. The recognition of her illness became an undeniable reality. The emotion that swamped Jillian’s blue eyes dried as her gaze met the fierce strength offered by Arie and Sarah who bookended her reflection. Jillian remembered how Arie had grinned and said- Damn girl, you’re still hot. - And Sarah added, We need to go earring shopping.
For months Jillian endured comments like, “Oh your eyes are so beautiful,” and “You really have the bone structure to wear short hair.” Give me a break. What idiot would willingly choose this look aside from Demi Moore or Sigourney Weaver for a leading movie role, or Brittany Spears during mental a breakdown? But Jillian had enjoyed the selection of dangling adornments that filled her new jewelry box. Every foolish, glittery indulgence had been worth it.
Jillian tossed her hood up against the weather. So far the snow/ice mix had held off and she hoped it would delay until she had gotten safely back home. Carefully she navigated the slick lot and headed toward the office, a sick woman’s routine. A trip to the annex to have blood drawn, followed by an excruciatingly long week for laboratory processing, and finally a visit with Doctor Max to learn if the wicked cancer was dead, or just napping. For a year the results had been good, but… The winter wind pushed her toward the door. Anxiety gripped her chest tighter with each step. Jillian decided she was going to tell Doctor Max his office needed two entry points: one door for bad news, and another for good. That way, patients would know what they were in for, right off the bat.
Systematically Jillian hung up her coat, signed the notepad to alert the office staff to her presence, and paged absently through the latest issue of People magazine. A celebrity, famous for her work on a television program geared to teens, was entering rehab again. The infamous idiot was facing bankruptcy following a year of difficult decisions like should she raise her child, or snort some coke. “Tough choices,” Jillian muttered, forever amazed that these articles were considered news.
The door to the waiting room swung open. “Hello Jillian,” Nurse Barb smiled cheerfully. “Doctor Max will see you now.”
Jillian tucked the magazine into the rack and walked back the familiar corridor. At the end of the hall Nurse Barb gestured to the entrance of the doctor’s private office.
Doctor Max stood, “Hi Jillian, Thanks Barb.” The door closed with a quiet click. “How’s your day treating you?”
“I’ll tell you how my day is going, after you tell me what my test results are.”
“It’s a great day, I am thinking.” Doctor Max smiled fully.
The anxiety in Jillian’s chest loosened as she sank into the soft chair beside the desk. “A good day,” she whispered quietly, “Thank Heaven.”
“I said great,” Doctor Max leaned casually on the corner of the desk. “I don’t need to see you for a year.”
“A year,” Jillian gripped the arm of the chair. “That’s a long time. Are you sure?”
His laugh was rich and robust. A hearty sound that Jillian found she’d begun to look forward to.
“I don’t see you for twelve months, then a full work up. Call with any noticeable changes but I think it’s time for you to jump back in.”
“Into what?”
“Into the vibrant woman I knew B.C. I like to say, Before Cancer.”
“Cute,” Jillian said dryly. “Who is she?”
“I have something for you to consider and I am going to ask you not to make a hasty decision.” Doctor Max fished a pamphlet from the stack of papers on his desk and handed to Jillian. “My wife’s friend just got back and said it was a life changing experience.”
Jillian glanced at the glossy cover which read, Lost in the everyday? Crippled by the lifestyle you’ve chosen? Find yourself. Discover who you truly are at the Awakening Goddess Retreat; a sanctuary for today’s complex woman.
“Hocus pocus?” Jillian shook her head, “Doctor Max, really.”
“Just take it home, web search it to death, and think it over.”