I said, “I do not fear death, child. I know where I’m going when I die, so you don’t have to worry about me. You also don’t have to make that miserable sad face. Have you been sucking on lemons for lunch?”
Dr. Kristina squeezed my hand and said, “I admire your faith. I really do. But it’s my job to inform you of what’s to come, and I’m afraid it’s not happy news.”
She went on to describe at length all of what I will inevitably endure, and then she spoke of medicines that she could offer to help with the pain.
“How about some medical marijuana, Doc? Can you get me any of that good wacky tobacky stuff?” I said, just to break the tension, thinking the idea of a nun who smokes “reefer” would make her laugh. I had recently heard something about the legalization of marijuana on the news.
But she took me seriously. “We can certainly look into that, Sister, if that’s the route you wish to pursue.”
“It was a joke, Doc,” I said. “I’m a red wine girl. Always have been. Always will be. Although vodka’s good too.”
She looked at me for too long before she finally said, “Sister, it’s my job to make sure you understand the gravity of the situation here. You are going to die. It’s amazing that you haven’t already felt the effects of the cancer more strongly. These effects will be severely debilitating. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”
“Are you a religious woman?” I asked her, knowing full well the answer before I posed the question.
“No,” she said—at least telling the truth. “I’m sorry. There are people here who can talk to you about religious matters. I can get Father Watson if—”
“No need to be sorry. I’ll pray for you,” I said. “And no need for a priest just yet. Do you know who my husband is? He’s quite famous.”
“I didn’t know nuns were permitted to have husbands,” she said, appearing very confused in her fancy white doctor coat with the stethoscope around her neck and one of those things they use to look into your ears sticking out of her breast pocket along with a few tongue depressors. She was so young, her outfit almost looked like a Halloween costume.
(Sin though it may be, I envied her thick mane of hair that was like the tail of a beautiful black stallion.)
“We nuns all have the same husband—his name is Jesus Christ,” I said. “And I’m going to trust in Him to sort this out for me. Just like always. He’s had much more practice than you have had and can heal without the help of a medical degree, no offense. He’s been doing it for thousands of years.”
“Sister,” the doctor said, a bit more sternly this time, “I would be remiss if I didn’t make it abundantly clear that you may only have a few weeks left. How you are not already in remarkable pain is a mystery to me, I admit, but you need to know that you don’t have a lot of time.”
“With all of your education and expensive medical equipment, it’s still a mystery to you, eh?” I said to her and then had myself a bit of a chuckle. “Well, my husband just so happens to traffic in mystery quite a bit.”
“I don’t think it wise to believe that you will be miraculously cured,” the doctor said. “Statistically speaking, you have already received a bit of a miracle, making it relatively pain-free this far without any interruptions to your life. Science cannot explain—”
“We all die,” I said to young Kristina. “And I’ve actually been looking forward to heaven, where I can finally spend some quality face time with Jesus.” I winked, but she didn’t laugh at my joke, maybe because she was one of those serious big-brain types, so I got back to business. “Exactly how much time do I have?”
She took a deep breath and said, “There’s no gentle way to break this to you.”
“Just give me a number,” I said.
“You will most likely go downhill very soon, and rather quickly. If there is anything you need to take care of, you should do it immediately. Maybe a few weeks at the most. That’s the best-case scenario. Again, you should already be failing. You’re living on borrowed time, so to speak.”
I nodded and thanked young Kristina for all of her good work, told her I was going to pray for her, ask my husband to work a little harder on saving her soul, and she smiled politely and wished me luck, because she didn’t know that I have no use for luck. I have the awesome power of God—who created her science and the entire universe—in my corner.
Mother Superior was waiting for me, reading her iPad in the waiting room. She claims to read the Old Testament in Hebrew and the New Testament in Greek on that gadget. “It’s much lighter than carrying the actual paper Bibles,” she says. Every year, on her birthday, her brother sends her the latest computer product, which she shows off ostentatiously every chance she gets. I often wonder if she actually reads the Bible on that thing, or just wastes her time watching secular movies and playing mind-numbing Internet games. She never lets me see the screen.
“So?” Mother Superior said.
“I’ll be with Jesus Christ within weeks and maybe sooner, according to Little Miss Doctor Kristina in there.”
“There’s nothing to be done?”
“Medication for the pain.”
“Are you in pain?” Mother Superior said.
“Not yet. It’s apparently coming, and in a big way, she said.”
“We will pray,” Mother Superior said.
“We always do,” I answered, and then we made our way to the convent’s trusty old Dodge Neon.