"Congratulations on graduation," he said, settling onto his stool. "Valedictorian I hear?"
"News travels fast," I replied, fidgeting with the paper covering the examination table.
"Small town." he reminded me. "How are you feeling? Truthfully."
I considered lying, but there was little point. My test results would tell the real story. "Worse. The tightness is constant now. Coughing fits are more frequent. I'm using the supplemental oxygen at night."
He nodded, making notes. "Any hemoptysis?"
"Some." I admitted. "Small amounts."
His expression remained neutral, but I'd known him long enough to see the concern in his eyes. "Let's listen to those lungs."
The examination was thorough, as always. When he finished, he sat back down, reviewing my chart with a furrowed brow.
"Your FEV1 is down to 39%," he said finally. "That's an 8% drop since your last visit."
I absorbed this news silently, having expected something similar based on how I'd been feeling. FEV1— forced expiratory volume— measured how much air I could exhale in one second, a critical indicator of lung function. Normal was above 80%. I'd been hovering around 50% for years, but this new drop was significant.
"We need to adjust your treatment plan," Dr. Aaron continued, his tone gentle but serious. "I'm going to increase your antibiotic dosage and add another breathing treatment. And Samantha..." he hesitated. "I think it's time we discussed listing you for transplant."
The word hung in the air between us. Transplant had always been the distant last resort, the option we'd consider ' someday' when things got 'really bad'.
Apparently, someday was now.
"What's the timeline?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
"For listing? We can start the evaluation process immediately. For how long your current lungs can sustain you?" He sighed. "That's harder to predict. At this rate of decline, without transplant, we're looking at months rather than years."
Months. The word echoed in my head, both terrifying and strangely liberating. At least now I knew.
"What about the bucket list?" I asked. "Can I still...?"
Dr. Aaron gave me a searching look. "Is this about that boy? The one who always waits in the parking lot for you?"
"Rafael's just a friend," I said automatically.
"Hmm.." he replied, unconvinced. "To answer your question, some activities may be inadvisable given your current lung function. Skydiving, for instance, with the altitude and pressure changes...."
"But if I'm careful? If I use oxygen before and after?" I pressed.
He studied me for a long moment. "Samantha, you're an adult now. I can advise you, but I can't forbid you from living your life. Just promise me you'll listen to your body. If something feels wrong, stop immediately."
"I promise." I said, relief washing through me.
"And please consider telling Rafael about your condition," he added gently. "From what May has told me, he cares about you deeply. He deserves to know."
I looked away.
"I'll think about it."
But I'd already thought about it. Endlessly.
And every time, I reached the same conclusion: the truth would only hurt Rafael more in the end. Better he remember me as his reckless friend who died suddenly than watch me wither away, knowing it was coming and being helpless to stop it.
"Alright." Dr. Aaron said, clearly unsatisfied but respecting my decision. "I'll see you in two weeks. Call immediately if anything changes."
"Thanks Dr. Aaron," I said, gathering my things. "For everything."
In the parking lot, I paused to use my inhaler, leaning against a light post as I caught my breath. The summer air was thick with humidity, making each inhalation an effort. As I stood there, a familiar motorcycle rumbled into the lot, pulling up beside me.
Rafael removed his helmet, concern etched across his features. "Sunny? What are you doing here?"
My heart seized with momentary panic before I remembered my cover story. "Asthma check-up," I said smoothly. "What about you?"
"Oil change," he replied, gesturing vaguely towards the garage across the street. "Need a ride home?"
I hesitated, weighing my fatigue against the desire to be close to him. "Sure," I decided. "But drive slow, okay? I'm not in a rush."
"For you? I'll practically crawl," he promised, handing me the spare helmet.
As I climbed onto Persephone behind him, wrapping my arms around his solid warmth, I rested my cheek against his back and closed my eyes. Months rather than years. The clock was ticking faster now, each second precious.
"Ready?" Rafael called over his shoulder.
For our midnight swim? Yes. For what came after, the slow deterioration, the inevitable goodbye, the final separation? Never.
But I tightened my hold on him anyway and called back, "Ready!"
After Dr. Aaron's appointment, I sat on my bedroom windowsill, staring at the crescent moon and trying not to think about the word 'month' . A soft thump and familiar meow pulled me from my thoughts as Midnight landed gracefully beside me, his green eyes luminous in the darkness. He butted his head against my arm, demanding attention.
"Hey there." I whispered, running my fingers along his sleek fur. "Did you bring me any good news?"
Midnight purred and settled into my lap as if he knew I needed the comfort. I'd been feeding him since sophomore year when I found him huddled under the bleachers during a rainstorm.
Now he came and went as he pleased, sometimes disappearing for days before returning as if he'd never left.
"What do you think about my bucket list?" I asked, scratching under his chin. "Is it stupid to want these things when I'm running out of time?"
Midnight just blinked slowly, offering the simple wisdom of creatures who live fully in each moment, something I was desperate to learn before my time ran out.