Chapter 42
One year ago, Pops had had his last treatment with the new drug. Over the months, his doctor had gone from weary to cautiously optimistic. I’d never met a more pessimistic medical professional than Dr. Green, who refused to take out even the smallest victory in advance.
Today, we hoped the tests would confirm what we suspected: that Pops could celebrate an entire year as cancer-free.
Of course, we knew better than to say the cancer was cured, and it was a long road ahead to the five-year hurdle. Dr. Green had drummed that into our heads.
I understood. Just like my depression, cancer wasn’t a disease that was easily cured with a magical pill and never returned. On the contrary, we were told to expect the complete opposite: be prepared for a relapse any time.
Secretly, I hoped Pops would be as fortunate as I’d been. I hadn’t had a setback in nine months, and the last one had been brief. Maybe that luck had rubbed off, and we would get good news?
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Asher said.