Laura stepped onto the stage wearing a navy dress and low heels, but when I looked at her, I still saw the nurse who had brought cards and crackers into my hospital room fifteen years earlier. I saw the woman who had stayed through chemotherapy, court hearings, school problems, college applications, medical school, and every frightening moment between them.
Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the white coat behind me. Then she asked the same question she had asked before medical procedures, court dates, college drop-off, and my first day of medical school.
“Ready, Emily?”
I nodded, and Laura helped me into the coat. When the fabric settled across my shoulders, I stepped toward the microphone with the graduation speech I had carefully prepared, but after seeing Karen, Thomas, and Megan sitting in the audience, I knew I couldn’t deliver it exactly as written.
“When I was thirteen, a doctor told me I had leukemia.”
The auditorium became silent.
“I was also told, that same day, that my life was not worth the cost of saving it.”
