The Unwinding of the Miracle - Julie Yip-Williams Page 0,79

to take the girls to Target to pick up a Mother’s Day gift for me. I did not go with them. My sister later recounted how she instructed Isabelle to pick a card for me (not that the child can yet read). Belle sat in the shopping cart and pointed to one card and one card alone, screaming that she chose that one. When they came home, my sister handed me the card adorned with a golden butterfly and told me that Isabelle alone had chosen it. Of course, it would be Isabelle who selected a card out of hundreds that had such meaning, as if she knew what thoughts I had been thinking, as if she knew what I had told my oncologist only hours earlier.

The card read, “From both of us, Mother, The memories we make—the laughter we share—These moments mean more when our mother is there.” It seems Isabelle wants me to fight harder and for me to be here for as long as I possibly can. I just don’t know if I can do that…

27

Dreams Reborn

Nothing says “commitment to living” quite like taking out a mortgage. At the beginning of summer 2015, Josh and I had some very exciting news. And no, unfortunately, it was not the shocking discovery that the scans showing mets in my lungs were in fact someone else’s—I wish. The news was that Josh and I signed a contract to purchase the apartment next door for the purpose of combining it with our current apartment to create a 2,529-square-foot abode that will likely feature four and a half bedrooms (two of which will be master bedrooms) and three and a half baths. For those of you who are not aware of the nature of New York City real estate, the opportunity to purchase a neighboring apartment and create a proper living space is a rare occurrence. That opportunity is even more unique in a well-constructed and landmarked building, as is the case here. The influx of money from foreign investors who find New York real estate to be a safer depository for their wealth than their home countries’ banking systems has driven real estate prices to levels that are unfathomable to those who do not live in this city. It has also pushed purchasers out of Manhattan and into the less expensive surrounding boroughs, particularly Brooklyn (which is where we live).

Already feeling the need for more space with two little girls, Josh and I were daydreaming about the possibility of buying a neighbor’s apartment right around the time I was diagnosed, as unlikely as that was (although I had not asked Josh to lay precise odds on just how unlikely). But what was improbable two years ago has come to pass—our neighbors have outgrown their apartment and are selling their two-bedroom home to us.

Even though I had had this on my mind for more than two years, when I learned that the neighbors were going to sell their place, the thought of purchasing the apartment didn’t cross my mind. Instead, I thought, Oh no, Mia and Belle will lose another playmate in the building. I didn’t even think to say anything to Josh for an entire week. But when I did tell him, “H and T are selling and moving,” Josh’s eyes opened wide, and he asked excitedly, “Are you serious? This is our chance!” I looked at him blankly, not understanding what he was saying.

There is a condition known as chemo brain. Any patient who has been subjected to prolonged infusions of chemotherapy knows it well. Chalk my momentary incomprehension up to that.

In the time it took for me to understand what Josh was saying, and before I could allow myself to envision a gloriously expanded apartment, all the horrible complications that cancer might bring to bear on an ambitious construction project like this flashed through my mind. As much as I can push cancer to the recesses of my consciousness, especially when I’m on vacation or otherwise truly living in the moment, any action or consideration that requires even the slightest contemplation of the future is always burdened by the movements and behavior of my cancer and its impact on my mind and body.

What if in the middle of renovations, I needed surgery and could not oversee the project (because it would be me, and not Josh, who would be wearing the hard hat). What if, worse yet, I died before the new apartment was done? How would Josh,