Everything in my life was falling into place. I’d found David, the man of my dreams. We had just gotten married and moved to Hays, Kansas, where David was president of Hadley Regional Medical Center.
One Friday afternoon I went to the medical center for an appointment. David promised me a romantic lunch when I was done. It was just a follow-up to my annual physical. My regular doctor had noticed symptoms that might indicate multiple sclerosis, and he recommended an MRI to rule it out.
After the MRI, David and another doctor were waiting for me. Something’s wrong, I thought. “What’s the matter?” I said. “Do you have to cancel our lunch?”
David shook his head and sat me down in the chair next to him. “This is our chief radiologist.” David took both my hands in his. “Michelle, they found a tumor in your brain.” His voice broke. “They think it’s cancer.”
The doctor described my condition and treatment. He pointed to a white, egg-sized mass above my right ear on my MRI. The recommendation was to see Dr.Orrison, a top neuroradiologist in Albuquerque, for surgery. We had to act fast. Numb and confused, David and I rushed home, packed our bags, and headed to New Mexico.
Several days later, I was lying on a hospital gurney in Albuquerque, head shaved.
Was my life over? I was thirty years old. Death—my death—hadn’t given me a worry. I remembered the first time I had thought about dying. It was the day of my baptism.
I was ten. I lay back on my father’s arms, and he slowly dunked my body in the warm water. Seconds later, he pulled me up and helped me to my feet. I hugged Dad as he dried me off, rubbing my long blonde hair with a towel.
“God has a place for you in heaven,” Dad said. “A special place just for you.”
He made the end of this life sound so peaceful. Then Dad reached around his back and handed me a rose. It was the first flower anyone had ever given me. I buried my nose in its soft velvety petals. I carry the scent of that rose with me in my memory to this day.
I turned my head. David was standing in the doorway, talking to Dr. Orrison. I felt a knot in my stomach. Lord, if it’s my time, I know that it’s your will. Please be with David. Give him strength. Quickly I tried to compose myself as David walked back into the room.
“How’s my girl?” He kissed me.
“Well, no more bad hair days,” I said. “You loved my hair. I must look awful.”
“I love you, not your hair—and you’re just as beautiful as ever.”
I grabbed his hand. “Seriously, David,” I said, “I need to know that you’re going to be okay if I don’t pull through. You’ve got a lifetime ahead.”
“I won’t give up on us.” David paused for a moment and laughed. “We’ve only been married a year! Mrs. Carpenter, you’re still under warranty.” He gave me another kiss before the orderlies wheeled me into the operating room.
Waking up, I could only see blurry figures. My head was throbbing. “I’m cold,” I whispered. A nurse wrapped blankets around me.
“Michelle?” a man’s voice said from above. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what season it is?”
The question brought me out of my haze. David. I could see David. “It’s the first day of dove-hunting season,” I said, knowing how much he loved hunting.
“What?” Dr. Orrison said.
“I think she’s okay,” David said.
My prognosis wasn’t good. The tumor was high-grade malignant and its roots had metastasized throughout my brain. I would undergo radiation treatments five days a week for the next two months.
I got used to the hospital routine. I went into a room and lay down on a cold table. A nurse lined the machine up to the dots tattooed on my scalp and walked out of the room. The machine sent high doses of radiation through my brain. One day, on the way home, I was feeling particularly weak and nauseous. David stopped at a red light and looked at me.
“When you’re better, how about a second honeymoon?” he asked. “Hawaii?”
“Hawaii,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to learn to surf.”
“I was thinking more about a few moonlit walks on the beach,” David said. We laughed as the light turned green. We needed the dream. But I knew I was living on borrowed time.
That night I lay in bed waiting for David. The bathroom door was ajar, and I watched him washing his face. I may never see him do that again, I thought. Every moment I had left with David was a gift. He shut off the bathroom light and got in bed. I slid close to him and brushed his hair off his forehead as he drifted off to sleep. I closed my eyes.
I turned over. Must be the middle of the night. I smelled something wonderful…the delicate, sweet scent of roses. The aroma was intoxicating and heady. Two chairs and a table appeared before me. I sat down. A single rose lay on the table. I must be dreaming.
“You’re not dreaming, Michelle,” a young woman said. She glided across the room toward me. Her hair was brown, wavy and parted down the middle. Her lips were full, her cheeks flushed and her eyes the color of honey. An ethereal light glowed from within her.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “My name is Rose. I’m here to help.” She sat down.
“Am I dying?” I said. “I’m not afraid, but I am worried about my husband.”
“You’ll have more time with him,” she said. “One day I’ll show you the way to heaven. On that day, God will heal the hearts of those you leave behind. Now you have more to do, more life to live, more people to touch.”
She hugged me, and I smelled the fragrance of roses lingering on her skin. In her arms, I felt strong and healthy. Rose pulled back from the hug. She put a hand on my head. A vibration ran through me. She stepped back and was gone. Light streamed through our window. I woke David. “Something incredible just happened,” I told him.
That was fourteen years ago. Now every time I’ve seen Dr. Orrison, the MRI has been free of cancerous cells.
I’ve become a hospice volunteer. I try to ease the fears of those going to heaven and hold the hands of those left behind. Sometimes, when the moment is right, I tell them about Rose.
