The Greatest Gift

Usually when I step into my doctor’s examining room my stomach turns. Sometimes I am able to breathe deeply until the nausea subsides or I relieve my stomach if its burden in the toxic container.

I’ve been like this since I was a child, long before I lost my grandfather and my mother. My genes carry the memories of those before me. After generations of Tilliards have transitioned to the embrace of the mysterious universe, I did not need to be informed of my family’s medical history to know it in every cell of my being. But, today the year is 2050 and as I sit in a patient’s gown atop the examining table I feel the air through the immodest openings of my gown against my skin instead of a churning in my stomach. I listen to the sound of soft paper crinkle as I ensure I am comfortable in my seat instead of gage my level of discomfort to know when it’s time to stand and deliver my partially digested breakfast to the company of dirty syringes and damp tongue depressors.

No, today I hear my grandfather’s words- “The Tilliards may be down, but we will never be out.” At the tender age of 10 I could only see my grandfather’s euphemism of a softball match, not the disease that has plagued my family.

Today it finally feels as if my grandfather’s words were true. I certainly didn’t feel that way when the disease held my mother within its grips and I watched as she whithered until her final rest. Today it is 2050 and after taking part of a clinical trial it finally feels like the Tilliards may not be out of the game.

I wept on the phone with my father as I told him the news. The joy we felt was tangible. It embraced us like a long-lost relative we’d only heard of in tales had returned to the flock. But with the joy also came feelings I never expected. Why did I deserve to survive after most of my mother’s side of the family suffered and passed, why now, in 2050, do I get to have the hope they never did.

“Lauren Anderson…” my doctor greets me with his nose in my file.

“Yes,” I say as his eyes meet mine.

“Well your news keeps getting better and better. Your immune system is bolstered accompanied by the effects of the drug and your body is fighting off the disease like a vehicle on autopilot.”

His words are bittersweet and I am unable to reply with my heart in my throat.

“Now the bad news…” I catch my breath, “I’m still going to need to give you a physical examination.”

“Of course,” I say tersely on the exhale. “I’m not wearing paper mache for nothing.”

The doctor puts my folder on the countertop and places his tepid fingertips on my thyroid.

“I would like to thank you on behalf of everyone involved for your participation in this clinical trial. You’re helping the world to heal and become a healthier place. In a few years this disease will be as significant as the flu.”

“Glad I can be of service.”

“With your family’s medical history you were a prime candidate for the study. I cannot express our gratitude enough.” He says as he places his stethoscope against my chest.

“Step onto the scale,” he says after listening to my heartbeat for a few moments.

I step onto the scale and watch his face light up.

“You’ve gained weight, that’s even better news, you are a success story.”

I giggle nervously as his words have made me uncomfortable.

“Get dressed and we’ll see you back here in two weeks superstar.” He leaves the examining room.

“Success…” “Superstar…” I think to myself. My stomach is finally at a level of discomfort. My doctor speaking to me as if I have made some sort of achievement boggles me. I’ve done nothing to be worthy of praise. My parents praised me when I graduated college summa cum laude. That was hard work, that was sleepless nights and immeasurable discipline mixed with my God-given talents. But taking a trial medication, as a part of a test group, when this horrendous disease has taken the lives of so many before me didn’t take much courage, discipline, and forget about sleepless nights.

As I pull on my jeans I can feel a shift, is it because I am healing? Is it a change in my consciousness from sick to healthy?

“No matter how many lives this disease takes life will always be the greatest gift, and your life is a blessing. Never forget that.” My mother’s words sound in my mind. It was hard to fathom as her delicate life was slipping away before me.

My doctor’s words start to sink in. As I slip on my jacket I pause. Is this what we’ve been waiting for? Are my ancestors looking upon me from the heavens with pride? This life is a gift, and in this way I am giving the gift to others. No matter the strife, the hardships and the heartaches I’ve endured, this gift is priceless.

I make my way to the waiting room and stop at the receptionist’s desk to schedule my next appointment.

“Hi miss Anderson, the doctor would like to see you in two weeks, which day works best for you?” She asks.

“Thursday afternoon works best if you have a time available.” I respond.

“We can see you at 1:30, how’s that?”

“That’d be great, thank you.”

“See you at 1:30 pm on the 22nd of 2050.”

I head out the door and savor the crisp breeze along my cheeks once outside. My family’s life story has finally changed, and it is the greatest gift of all. The only thing left to do is keep living and appreciate every moment. I can do that now in a way I never could before. Yes, 2050 is a very good year.