第三天晚上,我跟男主人麥克聊了聊,說要提前結(jié)束旅程,第二天就回家。
On the third night, I spoke to Mike, our host, to tell him I was going to cut the trip short and head home the next day.
“你看上去不是很好,”他說,“沒事吧?”
“You don’t look so great,” he said. “Everything okay?”
“要不我們拿瓶蘇格蘭威士忌,然后坐下來聊?”我說。
“Why don’t we grab some scotch and have a seat?” I said.
在他家的壁爐前,我說:“麥克,我覺得我得了癌癥,而且還不是那種良性的?!?br>In front of his fireplace, I said, “Mike, I think I have cancer. And not the good kind, either.”
那是我第一次把這話說出口。
It was the first time I’d said it out loud.
“好吧,”他說,“這應該不是什么精心策劃的惡作劇吧?”
“Okay,” he said. “I take it this is not some elaborate practical joke?”
“不是?!?br>“No.”
他頓了頓:“我也不知道該問你什么?!?br>He paused. “I don’t know exactly what to ask.”
“嗯,可能首先我需要說明,我的癌癥還沒有確診。我只是自己比較確定,很多癥狀都指向癌癥。我明天回家就去檢查清楚。希望是我錯了?!?br>“Well, I suppose, first, I should say that I don’t know for a fact that I have cancer. I’m just pretty sure of it— a lot of the symptoms point that way. I’m going to go home tomorrow and sort it out. Hopefully, I’m wrong.”
麥克提出幫我把行李郵寄回家,這樣我就不用受累一路拎著了。第二天一早,他開車送我去機場。六小時后,我回到舊金山。剛下飛機,手機就響了。是我的初級保健醫(yī)生,打電話告訴我胸片結(jié)果:我的肺部有模糊的陰影,就像曝光時間太長似的。醫(yī)生說,她不確定這到底意味著什么。
Mike offered to take my luggage and send it home by mail, so I wouldn’t have to carry it with me. He drove me to the airport early the next morning, and six hours later I landed in San Francisco. My phone rang as I stepped off the plane. It was my primary care doctor, calling with the chest X-ray result: my lungs, instead of being clear, looked blurry, as if the camera aperture had been left open too long. The doctor said she wasn’t sure what that meant.
她應該知道的。
She likely knew what it meant.
我知道。
I knew.