Picking up the Pieces on AO3
Picking up the Pieces on FicPad
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Black. The tests indicate that you have stage IV pancreatic cancer,” the doctor said coldly, not offering much hope. He almost seemed bored with what he was saying. Asshole.
“How can that be?” Jacob asked, shocked at the diagnosis. He had been feeling off for about a year, but we thought it was just exhaustion. Jacob had started a new job as an independent contractor. He had a lot more responsibilities and it was weighing on him. “Cancer?”
“Stage IV pancreatic cancer,” the doctor corrected.
“Yes, we get that,” I snapped. “What can be done? Are there any treatments? Options, Doctor. What are our options?”
“Mrs. Black, Mr. Black, I’m going to be honest with you,” the doctor, who obviously didn’t care about us, continued. “You have one of the deadliest forms of cancer there is. It’s spread from the pancreas to the liver, spleen and bones. You can try to attack it with chemotherapy, but it would just make your remaining time with your family be uncomfortable.”
“So, this is a fucking death sentence,” Jacob growled. “I’m as good as dead.”
“Jake,” I whimpered, twining my fingers through his large, warm hands. I drew in a breath, looking at my least favorite person in the world: the asshole that doesn’t care that he’s taking my husband away from me. “Prognosis. What’s the prognosis?”