Today it snowed.

She checked her watch again, not wanting to be late for the doctor’s appointment. In a small conference room, she looked out of the window as a men talked on. His voice hummed in the background. For a second, she thought she smelled the fresh air through the glass window. The snow was like powdered sugar spilled from a jar, fine and sweet, however, lighter than sugar, floating in every direction. The continuous chatter in the room failed to get her attention. What was the discussion about again?

Craving for fresh air, she sneaked out during the break. It was time for her to leave anyway. The snow encouraged her; the way to the doctor was beautiful. She could hear her shoes squashing the snow. Were those cries of pain from the pressure?

There was no window in the waiting area; her mind wandered outside. The dancing snow calmed her nerves. Her conversation with the doctor was quick. The doctor told her that the lab report came back clean. The tumor was benign and no other areas were affected. No guarantee for the future though. The talking voice faded into the background and she wondered about the dancing snow. The talking voice was now as soft as the sound of snow falling. Was she okay now?

Six weeks ago a snowstorm came.

The storm took over the city. The weather forecast predicted a historic record. The heavy white particles fell nonstop from above and landed on the buildings, over the trees, on the pedestrians, on the roads, and on the windshields. The car ride to the hospital took forever. The visibility was almost nonexistent. She did not think about what was going to happen. She saw no familiar faces; she was alone.

There was no window in the preparation room for the surgery; she wondered about the storm. Was the storm as violent as her heart drumming? Lying down, she was asked if she could feel anything. What? She mumbled a response. Then she felt a knife moving through her chest, amazingly, feeling only the impact and not the pain. She mumbled again, not very audibly. Seconds later, she was knocked out senseless by the anesthesia. About six hours later she was sent home half unconscious: the surgeon calmly concluded that the operation was a clean removal and said that the large fist-size growth was sent to the lab for analysis. She got a bottle of heavy pain killers, medical packages, the instruction of what to eat, and the time for a follow-up. While she was under, the snow cleaned up the city, at least on the surface.

The storm came in a hurry covering everything in white. The neighborhood was white and soundless. No cars were on the streets to pollute the breathing and listening space; they were buried in the snow guarding the sidewalks. The houses looked smaller. The trees looked shorter. The world seemed less man-made and more magical.

The storm left as quickly as it came. Drinking morning tea, she gazed through the window to find the street filled with people: shoveling, walking, talking, and playing. One storm did not pause life for too long. People, amazing creatures, dealt with the snow in their own ways. The responsible bunches were already out shoveling. They preferred to deal with the problem head on. The older kids were out with trays searching for a nice hill to have some fun. They believed in re-charging and making the best of a timeout. However, the children knew the best: making snowman, starting a snow fight, or being an angel. The storm brought laughter.

Her thoughts wandered.

She should rest and heal from the cut.
“Is it possible to fully recover from such an experience? I almost had cancer.”
She thought about the possible medical liabilities that she would have needed to take on.
“Where is that policy booklet from the insurance that I never read?”
She tried to imagine chemotherapy and had flashbacks from the movie Dying Young.
“Why did I watch that movie? Well, I love Julia.”
She resisted quitting her job tomorrow.
“How does a deadline on life change perspectives?”

Ultimately, she did the best that she could. She told herself to stay calm and watched the snow slowly melted away.

Four months ago the snow made a mess, wet and slushy.

The falling snow was icy. She blamed Mother Nature for being indecisive that day. Wetness was everywhere. Her shoes were not surviving the challenge. The doctor wanted a biopsy done before meeting up. She had mixed feelings about that, but would never say no to a doctor’s order.

The wet snow touched her jacket and melted. A layer of water coated over her, especially the hair. With a bit of walking, the water turned into ice sticks, and icy hair sticks. People had umbrellas and raincoats, however, everyone had about the same hair look. It did not seem to matter how prepared one was.

A thin metal tub went straight into her breast aiming for the target, the man-made rock, based on a fuzzy image on the ultrasound machine. She turned her head away feeling only the impact of the stab and not the pain; local sedation saved her nerves. She wanted a window, so she could look out. She wanted to be distracted. The operator retrieved a small chip of a rock-like substance from the metal tub. Now there was a sample of this fearful unknown. She resumed to waiting once again.

This city was not built for wetness. On the way home, she came across a street corner surrounded by wet slushy snow. She was trapped. She hesitated. Then she jumped, hoping for the best for her shoes.

Half a year ago, the rain dropped.

The rain was unbearable hitting her all over. The mud was everywhere. Cars zoomed by with no regard to her pants or emotions. When she was changing last night to go to bed she felt a solid object in her chest. An electric shock went through her. She checked a few more times carefully and reluctantly. There was something solid hard. The drivers on the street were all half-blinded by the heavy rain. She felt blinded by the heavy drops and “it.” The streets were flooded. The air smelled humid and muggy. She disliked rain and preferred snow. Snow would clean things up. As she walked on, she wished for a snowy winter.

Today she got her wish. Her foot could not resist the soft snow: eager to make prints and leave marks. The neighborhood looked heavenly. She made another wish.


Writer’s note: This was my first semi-fictional piece that I liked. I was always fairly healthy growing up. When I wrote this, it was the first time that I had a health scare. Thank goodness I was lucky. Can you tell that I had fun writing this! 

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: