A sobering phone call (whore route)

I had just left my introduction to sociology course when I noticed two missed calls from my mom. She normally texted, so I called back immediately.

"Hello sweetie. How are classes?"

"Not bad... I have some papers and midterms in a couple weeks. Right now it's pretty slow." I gave a smile and a nod as I passed some friends across the quad. "So, what's up?"

"Is this an okay time to talk?"

Her question made my stomach tighten. "Just walking home. What is going on?"

"There isn't an easy way to say this. Your father... well he is really sick and He has cancer."

All I heard was cancer. My arm started involuntarily shaking. Adrenaline shot through me like electrical current. My maternal grandfather had died from colon cancer; my paternal grandmother, breast cancer; my uncle, prostate cancer. The mother of my childhood friend Danielle passed away within a month of being diagnosed. Cancer meant only one thing: .

"C-, C-, C-ancer," I stuttered.

"We just found out last week. He didn't want to tell you because you're so busy, but I thought you should know. We're going to start treatment next week."

I would've been angry at him for wanting to keep this from me, but I was too stunned. "How serious? What's going to happen?

"Do I need to come home? To be with you and...?"

She cut me off before I could finish. "Absolutely not. Focus on your studies. Your father doesn't even want you to know, but you can call him and tell him I told you." I would call him. No one else in my family attended college and my dad made it his personal mission in life to make sure that me, his only child, would not only get a college degree but go to a top school. My success meant everything to him, I knew that, but I also felt betrayed that he let that get in the way of him telling me about his illness.

When the conversation ended, I rambled aimlessly back to my dorm, crashed into my bed, and stared at the white-plastered ceiling. I wanted to cry but couldn't.

Over the next couple of months, I rebounded, thanks to the seeming success of my dad's radiation and chemotherapy. When I came home for winter break, I felt reassured by his appearance. I hugged him harder than I ever had. He joked that I might crush him if I squeezed any tighter. "I'm just happy to see you!" I assured him. Despite the chemo, he was no balder than before the treatment.

The trip home for break eventually turned sour. Before I returned to school, my parents sat me down. My mother led the conversation.

"Your father is doing well, but the insurance won't cover all the treatment. We've taken out loans and a second mortgage to help pay for it, but we're running out of money."