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praying that he hadn’t heard what he just thought he had. Spade’s six foot two frame slumped over as tears welled in his eyes. He didn’t consider himself to be sensitive by any means, but this broke him down like a fraction.
    â€œI understand how you feel.” The doctor sounded sympathetic.
    â€œNo, unless you’ve been diagnosed with cancer yourself, you don’t understand how I feel,” he snarled. Spade felt as if the air was being sucked from the room and right out of his lungs.
    Oblivious to the suffocating effects, the surgeon let the other shoe drop. “We’ll make an oncology appointment for you as soon as possible.”
    Spade didn’t want to hear anymore. He slumped down in the chair and sobbed in his hands. All he could think about was dying young. He felt as if life had thrown him a major curve ball. This felt so unfair to him. He had so many hopes and dreams. Now this!
    He looked up at the surgeon. “Why me?” Spade demanded. “Why now? This should be the happiest time of my life. I’m twenty-five years old, engaged to be married to an incredible woman, and, on top of everything, I just signed a recording contract with a major label.”
    Seizing the brief moment of silence during Spade’s lament, the doctor said, “We’ll call you with your oncology appointment.”
    â€œHow serious is it?” Spade sniffled, wiped his now red eyes, and braced himself for the worst. “How long do I have to live?”
    The doctor cleared his throat. “That depends on what stage you’re in. I’ve known of people in the final stage to live as long as five years.”
    Spade couldn’t take any more bad news. His hands began to tremble as he stared at the white wall behind the surgeon’s head. “I just want to be alone for a few minutes.”
    The doctor nodded. “Take as much time as you need.” He then left Spade to ponder his fate.
    Spade stopped crying and started praying. “Father, I don’t know what this is about. I want to trust you. I’m going to trust you.” He sounded resolute. “I know that you will help me, but please help me until you help me.”
    He didn’t know anything about the disease he had been diagnosed with. One thing he did know was that most cancers required some sort of treatment, most likely chemotherapy. He wasn’t big on chemo because he and Bria often talked about having two or three kids. He knew that Bria wanted to be a mother someday, and he believed she’d make a great one. With this disease hanging over his head, how was that going to work? He could freeze his sperm in hopes that he’d beat the disease and still be able to become a dad. But the thing with cancer was that it was a beast within itself. It may or may not respond to treatment. Even if it responded to treatment, it was vengeful enough to sometimes come back. How could he live like that?
    He was in a daze until his cell phone rang. It was his fiancée. He cleared his throat before answering.
    â€œBaby, I want to see you,” Bria said.
    He wasn’t in the right state of mind to see anyone, but Bria insisted. He had a hard time telling her no, especially when she sounded so sweet and upbeat. Against his better judgment he agreed to go over her house.
    He sat in the doctor’s office for five more minutes before composing himself enough to walk out. Whether real or imagined, he felt as though everyone in the doctor’s office knew about his prognosis. He didn’t want their sympathy. Not wanting to speak to anyone, he kept his eyes stayed on the ground and hurried to his car where he banged on the dashboard and hit the steering wheel.
    He rode in silence to Bria’s house. That was highly unusual for him. He would normally have music playing from the time he got in the car until he arrived at his destination. He’d even critique his own music during his drive