The taste of liquid metal. Such an odd taste. Distinct. Strong. Almost tangy.
A fizzle in her nose. A small gush of water escaped her right nostril. Then came the tangy metallic taste in her mouth.
She hunched forward and cusped her hands below her nose to catch the waterfall of blood.
“No, it can’t be.” She pleaded aloud.
She jogged to the sink and saw the blood fall from her hands and into the bowl. Just a small red splatter. No much. But just enough to incite a level of fear that reached into her chest and slithered its way into her gut.
“No, no, no.”
The cold water from the sink was soothing against her face. Watching the blood fall into the drain was soothing. But her fear of cancer was not.
“God, please.” She pleaded at her reflection in the mirror.
“You know you have it. You read the demographics. A young, Asian female, with two lymph nodes on her neck presents with nosebleeds. What does she have? Oropharyngeal cancer.” She thought.
She massaged the two small lymph nodes, trying to squeeze them away.
“God, please. I don’t want to have cancer. I don’t care what the CT of my neck said. I need you to clear me. I need to go to this ENT appointment and be cleared. My family needs me.” She was on her knees.
Salt this time. She tasted the saltiness of her tears as she leaned her head against the cabinet and listened to the water run.
She spent two months on her knees.
She spent two months catching and cleaning nosebleeds.
She spent two months re-reading her CT scan results, warning her of a possible cancerous mass in her throat.
She spent two months in fear.
But she also spent two months in prayer.
When she had a nosebleed, she prayed.
When she felt another lymph node pop up, she prayed.
When she awake at 2am with nightmares of her wasting away from chemotherapy and radiation, she prayed.
When fear told her death was coming, she prayed.
Because it was all she had. Prayer.
And on the day of her ENT appointment, she prayed every second of every minute that she waited in the lobby.
When she was told to hold still while the camera entered her nose and traveled down her throat, she prayed.
And when the doc said, “You’re fine. There’s no mass or sign of anything cancerous”, she finally breathed.
Because her prayers were answered.
Then, the lymph nodes disappeared, the nosebleeds stopped, and she finally breathed.
And what did she do next? She prayed.
I am a Physician Assistant. I am a devout Christian.
This was my story of how strong, focused, and fervent prayers overcame my fear and the devil’s attack on my health.
Because even in medicine, prayer works.