How long?
What are the chances?
What happens next?
Will I lose my hair?
Will I be able to work?
Will I see my children grow up?
That last question was the one she couldn’t bring herself to ask out loud.
Treatment began.
The first chemotherapy session was terrifying.
Sarah sat in a chair while medication slowly entered her body through an IV.
She stared at the bag.
She couldn’t stop thinking:
*This is what is supposed to save me.*
The following days were brutal.
Nausea.
Weakness.
Headaches.
No appetite.
Then her hair started falling out.
One morning, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror and watched strands of hair fall onto the sink.
She touched her head.
Then she sat on the floor and cried.
Her daughter found her.
“Mom?”
Sarah wiped her face.
“I’m okay.”
Her daughter looked at her.
“No, you’re not.”
Sarah hugged her.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
Then her daughter whispered:
“Please don’t leave us.”
Those words stayed with Sarah.
From that day forward, she stopped thinking about fighting for herself.
She was fighting for them.
Months passed.
There were good days.
There were terrible days.
There were days when Sarah felt almost normal.
And there were days when getting out of bed felt impossible.
Then came the scan.
Everyone was waiting for good news.
But the doctor didn’t smile.
The treatment wasn’t working as expected.
The cancer had progressed.
Sarah felt the room become silent.
Daniel asked the question neither of them wanted to hear the answer to.
“What can we do now?”
The doctor explained the options.
Another treatment.
More risks.
More side effects.
And no guarantees.
Sarah agreed.
She had already decided something.
She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
But several weeks later, her condition suddenly became much worse.
She developed a severe infection.
Her fever climbed.
Her blood pressure dropped.
She was rushed to the hospital.
That night, her family was called.
The doctors were worried.
Very worried.
Daniel sat beside her bed holding her hand.
Sarah could barely keep her eyes open.
Her daughter stood at the end of the bed.
Her son was crying quietly.
Sarah looked at them.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Her husband leaned closer.
“Save your strength.”
She smiled weakly.
“I just wanted to say it.”
Later that night, the doctors spoke privately with the family.
They warned them that Sarah’s condition was critical.
They didn’t know if she would survive the next few days.
Daniel walked back into the room.
He sat beside his wife.
He didn’t know what to say.
So he simply held her hand.
Hours passed.
Then something unexpected happened.
Sarah’s fever began to fall.
Her blood pressure stabilized.
The doctors repeated the tests.
Then repeated them again.
Her condition was still extremely serious, but she was responding to treatment.
The medical team decided to continue aggressive treatment.
There was no guarantee.
