We arrived in Baton Rouge, Louisiana just in time for a monumental, once in a thousand year flood. I know how Noah felt as the rains fell. While our particular neighborhood did not flood, others, including our nephew and his infant daughter, were not so lucky. His neighbor woke him, and he took his daughter and a few baby supplies and fled to our house where they would remain until the end of September. He had almost four feet of water in his house before the flood receded.

My scan was scheduled for the tenth, and I managed to get the scan done despite the rain. I drove to the cancer center and joked with the technician who did my scan. I was feeling upbeat and positive.

The results were longer coming than expected because nobody could get to the cancer center because of flooded roads. Wayne was on pins and needles, wanting to get the results so we could determine our course of action. I laughed at him.

"What difference does a few days make? The results won't change."

"I know, but I'll feel better once Dr. Hanson tells us that there's no change in your lungs."

Two days after the initial appointment, I finally saw the doctor. As usual, he came through the door smiling and asking, "So how are you feeling lady?"

I knew immediately that the smile was false. It did not reach his eyes. Something was amiss.

"I'm feeling good."

"No shortness of breath or weight loss?"

"None. We walked for an hour every day. I'm feeling great."

"Glad to hear it." He countenance sobered. "But your scan tells a different story. The nodules in you lungs have grown. The one that was seven millimeters is a centimeter. The ones that were 4mm are about 7mm. And there are new small ones. We need to start chemo."

I looked at the Doctor and shook my head. "My blood levels are still low. My feet are still numb. My body is not ready for chemo."

"Are you certain it's cancer?" Wayne asked.

"As certain as we can be without a biopsy."

"Since the largest one is a centimeter, won't it show up on a PET scan if it's cancer?" I asked.

"It will. But PET scans cannot be used to diagnose cancer. We track cancers with them once they're identified, but a PET alone cannot be used as a diagnostic tool. I can certainly schedule you for a PET. We can also try to biopsy the lungs. Only a biopsy will give us a definitive answer, but it might not work."

'Why not?"

"It's barely a centimeter. I will send your scan to the doctor who does biopsies for us to see if he thinks he can reach any of the spots. But you must understand that lung biopsies pose a danger. In about ten percent of the cases, the lung collapses, resulting in a hospital stay."

"And if the biopsy is inconclusive?" I asked.

"No matter what, I recommend we start chemo as soon as possible."

"I don't want more chemo," I said.

"We we'll chose one that doesn't have the same side effects as the ones you already had. Your neuropathy will not get worse."

"I'm more concerned about my blood. All the levels are still below what they were before I started chemo, and it's been over a year since my last treatment."

"True. But they are all in the low normal range. You're strong enough to withstand chemo."

"I don't want more chemo. It's my body. I know what chemo has done to it. Can you guarantee me that I won't be so sick while taking chemo that I can't enjoy life?"

"There are no guarantees."

Wayne had been sitting in his chair watching the exchange. I could tell that he was struggling to take it all in.

"What she means is that she doesn't want chemo without knowing it's cancer," he finally said.

"Then let's schedule a PET scan and a bone scan. I'll contact the lung specialist. With the backlog of surgeries because of the flood, it will probably be some time before he can do the test."

When we got to the car, I turned to Wayne. "I told you I wasn't willing to do more chemo."

"Well, I thought you meant if the cannabis oil worked. It didn't."

"No, you misunderstood. I have watched women try chemo after chemo, desperately trying to prolong life. They died fighting, but they wasted the last few months and years of their life as chemo ravaged their bodies. I don't want quantity. I want quality."

His eyes moist, Wayne looked at me for a long time. "I can't stand the thought of living without you."

"Don't focus on living without me. Focus on enjoying every day you have with me."

"Can we wait until the biopsy results to make a decision about chemo?"

"I suppose." But I knew deep in my heart that my decision would not change. If I had six months or five years, it didn't matter. What mattered was that I live that time enjoying each day that God gave me.

The surgeon was able to get me on the list for a biopsy surprisingly quickly. Within a week, I was at the hospital. They placed me in a CAT scan machine. Going by what he saw on the screen, the doctor poked a needle into my lungs and withdrew some fluid from an area where one of the nodules was situated.

Afterwards, he told me my doctor would have the test results within a few days. The operation was outpatient, and since there were no complications, Wayne took me home.

On Monday I called my doctor to set up an appointment to get the results. His nurse told me he was going on vacation and would be out of the office for two weeks, starting Wednesday.

"He should have the results before then. Can I come in on Tuesday?"

She put me on hold. "He's booked solid, but we have the results."

"Can I see his nurse practitioner to get the results?"

"Nurse practitioners aren't allowed to give results, only doctors."

"I can't wait in suspense for two weeks. I am planning to return to Mexico. There are decisions to be made."

"I tell you what. I'll have him call you."

When I hung up, Wayne said. "We need to make a list of questions to ask him when he calls."

"Like what? Is it cancer?"

"That's a given. But you need to ask him what the prognosis is if you do nothing."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Ask him about quality of life if you have chemo."

I raised my eyebrows. "Is that it?"

"I think so."

"Look. There are cancer doctors in Mexico. I have the name of one who combines alternative and traditional medicine as needed. If we decide on chemo, I can get it there. Let's go ahead with the offer on the house."

"Let's wait until after you talk to Dr. Hanson."

Late that afternoon, Dr. Hanson called. "The biopsy was inconclusive. There are abnormal cells in the sample, but they didn't get enough cells to say conclusively that it's cancer. We can try again next week."

"No. One biopsy was enough. He gave it his best shot. Nothing will have grown enough in a week to get a more definitive answer."

"You're probably right. When I get back, make an appointment, and we'll discuss chemo."

"If I have chemo can you assure me that I won't be so sick that I can't enjoy life."

"You know I can't. You can hope for some quality of life. Chemo is always hard on the body, but it won't be like last time. You won't be getting three aggressive agents at once."

"If I refuse chemo, what is the prognosis?"

"If you don't have chemo, at the rate the nodules have been growing, you will have from six months to a year-and-a-half before the cancer will overtake you."

"And if I have chemo?"

"It should add up to two years to your life expectancy."

"Up to... And for how many months of that time will I be too sick to enjoy life?"

"There's no way to know."

"Thank you, Dr. Hanson. I appreciate your honesty. We are making plans to move to Mexico. I'll have my doctor there contact you for my medical records."

"I'll be glad to send them. And if you ever change your mind or need anything else, do not hesitate to contact my office."

After I got off the phone, I shared Dr. Hanson's information with Wayne.

"He didn't try to get you to change your mind?" Wayne asked.

"No."

Wayne hung his head. "That says a lot. He obviously knows you're fighting a losing battle and respects your right to live your last months or years in any way you chose."

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. I knew he needed time to digest the news. He's never been a talker when it comes to feelings, and when he's under stress, he internalizes things to work them out.

One by one, I called the boys and told them the news and my decision to refuse chemo. All of them understood why I had made that decision. They were determined to be supportive in whatever I chose to do. Later, they would all call Wayne and tell him they supported my decision. I think it was especially telling to Wayne that Aaron and Katherine understood. They had been through the final stages of cancer with Katherine's Mom.

Two days later, Wayne told me as we went on our afternoon walk, "I've made a decision. I am not going to grieve for you while you're alive. I'm going to take each day as God gives it and try to live it to the fullest."