Like There's No Tomorrow

By Amanda Erickson

Hannah is going to die.

 

Driven and ambitious, everything changes after a simple doctor's appointment. Given just months to live with a surprise cancer diagnosis, thirty-two-year-old Hannah quits her job, buys a classic Camaro, and goes to find herself through travel.

 

Hannah finds that leaving her old life behind is exactly what she needed. She's finding her love of adventure, friendship, and who she truly is. The journey towards death is healing for her spirit.

 

She doesn't plan on falling in love. She doesn't want it, especially when she's doomed to die and leave them behind. But that doesn't stop her heart from finding the person she's meant to be with.

 

There's every excuse to not love him: Jake is too young for her. He's too perfect. He's everything that she should want in a man, and in another life, they could have a happily ever after. But Hannah doesn't have a happily ever after in her future. She just has death.

 

How can she love when there's no time left? Can she condemn a man to heartbreak? Or, should she push it all away and die the way she lived- alone?

 

This book contains adult situations and explicit sex.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summer Sun Publishing
• Release date: Jun 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393339342

Book preview

Chapter One

THERE’S AN OLD SAYING, Live every day as if it's your last. An old cliché, but a good one. You never knew when life was going to throw a curveball your way. Another old saying, Seize the day. I never truly understood that one, probably because I’d never lived one day at a time. I always planned ahead, thought of the future, and made sure I made the right decisions. Yes, I was that girl. I was the ever-predictable Hannah. Always responsible, always level-headed, and always working. Some people even said I would work myself into an early grave.

It was strange how life worked. One minute you're as healthy as a horse, the next minute you're sitting in a doctor's office wondering what was going on with your body.

Hannah, I'd like to send you for a CT scan, and I'd like to draw a few vials of blood for additional testing, Dr. James said. He'd just examined my abdomen, a strange expression appearing on his face.

Additional testing? I wasn't sure what was considered routine, but something in the doctor's manner unnerved me.

Yes. He seemed distracted, and his brow furrowed. He looked concerned. Something was wrong, or maybe I was being my usual doom-and-gloom self. I was an eternal pessimist; only I didn't call it that. I called it being realistic. If I expected the worst, everything else wouldn't seem so bad in comparison.

Are you sure this is necessary? I asked, checking my watch. I had to be back at work.

Dr. James looked at me seriously. Yes. This isn't something you should mess around with. I just met a young woman your age who has stage four cancer. If she had come to me six months ago, we might have been able to help her. Instead, she's going to die. Do you want to be her?

My mouth dropped open. Right. I'll do the tests.

I had no desire to be like that woman. Cancer and the idea of being in a hospital were terrifying. I didn't like hospitals. Even just being in the clinic was making me uncomfortable. The smell of antiseptic and the fluorescent lights made me want to run screaming from the building.

The idea I could have cancer only made that feeling worse. Best to get things checked out.

A petite radiographer took x-rays of practically every part of my body, and I was poked repeatedly with a needle by a phlebotomist with alarmingly shaky hands.

In the waiting room, I glanced down at my watch. Great, I was late for my meeting with corporate. This was supposed to be a quick check-up. I should have been done by now. Geoff was going to flip.

I finished the testing, and the nurse informed me it would take a few days for the doctor to get the results.

Hannah Crowley, right? the nurse asked, putting my name on the documents.

I nodded. Yup. That's me.

You're free to go.

I quickly gathered my stuff, knowing that my boss was going to be furious I was late.

I knew I should have never scheduled this appointment. Sure, I had headaches and stomach issues. Didn't everybody? I was only thirty-two. What could possibly be wrong with me?

When I checked my phone on the way out of the clinic, I had four missed calls from Geoff. I dialed as quickly as possible.

Geoff's angry voice boomed through the speaker of my cellphone. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to tell him what was going on, but nothing else would have been excusable. He didn't wait for me to answer. He went off on a tangent about how reckless it was for me to not show up to the corporate meeting, and how all eyes were on my empty seat, and that I had most likely cost him a promotion.

I can't explain right now, I mumbled. It was all I could say. I didn't want to tell him I was being tested for cancer. That made the possibility too real, and that was the last thing I wanted.

That is not an acceptable answer! He shouted so loud that my phone's speaker crackled. I jerked away as if his fists could come swinging through the screen.

Please, Geoff. You've known me for a long time. Just know that something serious is going on, and until it's resolved, I won't be the employee you need. Give me a few days. I didn't wait for him to answer. I hit the end button and shut my phone off.

If the phone wasn't on, then no one could get ahold of me. That meant fewer people I would have to try to hold a normal conversation with. I didn't want to deal with my ad agency work. I knew what I meant to the company. If Geoff couldn't do without me until I had all of this figured out, well, he might as well start looking for a new employee.

THE NEXT THREE DAYS dragged on. I couldn't get the fear that I might be dealing with something serious out of my mind.

I had an awful feeling about all of it.

Finally, the office called and wanted me to come in for an appointment to go over the results. I needed to see Dr. James at the hospital office downtown. I didn't like the sound of that. If it wasn't serious, they would just tell me the results over the phone. Coming in meant there was bad news.

I had cancer. I knew it in my bones. It was probably already eating my bones.

The car ride was full of thoughts and emotions, what-ifs, and regrets. Did I really believe that I would die?

I stopped at a traffic light and watched the world pass me by. I wasn't delusional—I had lived a decent life.

I clung to the hope there was nothing wrong with me. That this was just Dr. James's way of telling me to take better care of myself. I was too stressed with work. I needed a vacation, even though I knew I would never get one. If this was bad news, it was going to wreck my world.

I arrived at the parking lot ten minutes before my appointment. The last thing I wanted to do was sit in a doctor's office with sick people. Instead, I sat in my car. I fidgeted with my hair and pulled a compact mirror out of my purse to check my reflection. There were dark circles under my eyes, thanks to too many evenings spent working late and even more weekends spent at the office. But, otherwise, I thought I still looked great.

My hair was still lustrous and cropped to a sophisticated length at my shoulders. My eyes were as bright as they had ever been, shining blue. I snapped my compact shut and shoved it in my bag. I glanced at my watch. Time to go.

I WALKED INTO THE CLINIC and marched up to the receptionist's desk. I informed her I was here to see Dr. James, and I had an appointment. She peered up at me from her seat, then glanced down to her schedule.

Are you Hannah Crowley? she guessed, one eyebrow going higher than the other. I nodded quickly, feeling stupid. I had forgotten to give my name.

Third floor. North wing. First door on the right. She handed me a piece of paper to sign, then sent me on my way.

After getting lost twice, I found the correct waiting area. I registered with the other receptionist and waited to be called in. My heart pounded as a million thoughts raced through my mind. I silently prayed he would have an answer for me.

Hannah, Dr. James greeted me. Although he had only said my name, I could hear the regret in his voice—as if he'd seen a ghost. He shook my hand and motioned me toward a door. Skeptically, I stepped into his office.

Dr. James's office was a cold, sterile place. There was no hint of color on the walls. The only color in the room was his steely blue eyes looking over the rim of his glasses. Even they seemed mundanely mixed in with the grays, whites, and beiges that colored the place. It was a perfect room to reflect how I was feeling inside—cold. I wasn't sure what he was going to say, but somehow, I knew I wasn't going to like it.

The man sat down at his desk slowly, bringing his eyes to meet mine. At this point, my heart was slamming against my ribcage as he fidgeted with things on his desk.

Hannah, he said again, lacing his fingers together and resting them on the desk in front of him. I leaned in closer as if I would hear him better if I could smell what he had for lunch on his breath.

I'm afraid I have some bad news. He pursed his lips into a frown and turned his computer screen to face me. There was a picture of what I assumed to be my brain.

Bad news. I ran the words through my mind. Bad news could mean anything. It could be just mildly distressing news.

There's no easy way to say this. Your CT scan shows you have a brain tumor. He pointed to a small dark spot on the scan of my brain. I blinked. It was tiny. Surely, they could operate and have it out of there by next week. I mean, they would have to. I had a meeting with a major client two weeks from today.

It's tiny. That would be easy to operate on, right? Then a round of chemo, and I'm good? I felt like he had lured me into the room, thinking I was walking to my death. This wasn't as bad as what the tone of his voice had led me to believe.

Dr. James leaned forward as well, staring into my eyes. He had pity written all over his face, and I started to doubt what I was trying to convince myself of.

This particular type of tumor is aggressive, quick-growing, and almost always lethal. It's not just a tumor, unfortunately. Your brain is covered in cancer. You can see the shadows here.

I stared at him for a moment, speechless. He motioned toward the scan, but I didn't look. I could feel my bottom lip quivering, and hot tears pricked the back of my eyes.

I have real cancer? My voice cracked, and a wave of reality washed over me. "Like cancer, cancer? Tears pooled in my eyes as I struggled to come to grips with what he was telling me.

Yes, Hannah. At his confirmation, I closed my eyes so the tears wouldn't slip out.

I'm thirty-two, and I have brain cancer? My voice sounded strange to me, alien.

He explained how it originated in my brain, which was the cause of my headaches, and that it had spread to my liver, hence the swelling in my abdomen. He also said some other things, but I was too shocked to retain it all. All I heard was my heartbeat thundering in my ears. The knot in my stomach grew stronger. I felt nauseous. The world spun around me, and I felt powerless.

I'm sorry, Hannah. The blood roaring in my ears got louder.

What are my chances of survival? I finally spoke, looking up from my lap.

Looking at the size of both primary and secondary tumors, your prognosis isn't very good. Even if we started treatment immediately, I'd estimate a ten percent chance of survival.

I was shocked. Ten percent! Is that all? How much time do I have?

It depends entirely on you. There are a couple of treatment options or an experimental trial, but to be frank, a miracle is what you need. We might be able to slow the growth, but I can't make any promises about what your quality of life will be during the treatment.

Oh? I said softly.

Dr. James scribbled down a referral to an oncologist in Long Island, Dr. Marx, a specialist in his field with the highest success rate of treatment in the country on the type of tumor I had.

Dr. Marx will have better information.

He was telling me in the nicest way possible that I was going to die, he just wasn't sure when.

I left the doctor's office in a fog. I don't even remember getting home. I crawled into bed and closed my eyes.

The next day I sat in bed, treatment brochures sprawled out in front of me. I had wanted options when I went to see Dr. Marx, but now I wasn't so sure. Chemotherapy, targeted therapy, surgery, radiation therapy, experimental trials, the list went on. I'd heard enough tragic tales of cancer patients and the horrible things they went through while undergoing treatment. Some were unable to eat, and some vomited all the time. Most of them lost a lot of weight, lost their hair, or spent their last days in so much pain.

It might have been worth it if I knew I would get better. Going through all that, with absolutely no guarantee the treatment would work, was not the way I wanted to spend my last days. Yes, I wanted to get better and continue my life, but would that even be possible?

Not only that, but I also didn’t think I was mentally strong enough for that kind of fight. Feeling sick, vomiting, having no strength, and for what? A few extra months, weeks, days. I couldn't do that. It wasn't worth it. With shaky hands, I gathered all the brochures, walked to the trashcan, and dumped them in.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't waste my time left on Earth hooked up to machines and in hospitals. More than anything, I wanted to experience the world and everything I had missed out on when I was busy trying to get ahead in life. My diagnosis wasn't fair, but it's what I had to deal with. It was my life now.

I sat back on my bed and let my head drop into my hands. Emotions bubbled up, and tears welled up in my eyes, and I finally let them out. I sobbed for the life I would never live, the husband I would never meet, and the children I would never have. My heart ached, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my chest as if to keep it from falling out.

I sat up abruptly. Tears still streaming down my face, but my mind snapped into focus. I didn't want to spend my time crying about the life I could have had. I wanted to go out and live the life I had left.

Right at that moment, I decided that this cancer was not going to get me down. It was not going to have me bedridden and weak. If I was going down, I was going to live until I hit rock bottom. I could accept my fate, but that didn't mean I was going to sit around waiting for death to come knocking. I was going to listen to that saying for once in my life and live life to the fullest— I was going to seize the day—while I still had the chance to do so.

I picked up my cell phone and checked it for the first time since getting home. I had two messages. They were both from Geoff, of course. The first message read: If you're not in the office tomorrow morning with a good ass reason for your behavior, you will be terminated. I chuckled to myself, knowing he wouldn't need to fire me after all. I was going to quit.

I scrolled down to the second message: That was harsh. I apologize. You have been a reliable employee, and I trust you. But you must know that your behavior was unacceptable, and I need to be assured that whatever you're dealing with won't affect your work. Please give me a call to let me know you're okay and that you understand.

My heart softened a little. Geoff had a bit of a soft spot for me, especially after an encounter at the company Christmas party two years ago. We even entertained the idea of becoming a couple but were both married to our jobs, and that was a relationship neither of us was willing to give up.

I replied with a short message: I'll be in tomorrow morning. We need to talk.

Tears welled up in my eyes once more at the thought of quitting a job I had poured my soul into. Truly, I hated to leave him like that. He had been a great boss and a stand-up guy, but I couldn't spend my last days working. I needed to be free.

Chapter Two

THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up, turned over in bed, and stared out the window. I sighed heavily as I stared at the bright day awaiting me. My brain was racing, and I had a slight headache. This pain was tolerable for now. I slid out of bed, dressed into something comfortable but entirely out of character for me, then tied my brown hair in a ponytail.

I walked into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, popped a couple of ibuprofens, and washed my face. I stared at myself in the mirror and saw a laid-back girl from the city who liked to walk on beaches, enjoyed margaritas and called her mother every week. It was the girl I used to be before I let work take over my life.

I smiled into the mirror.