The Unwinding of the Miracle - Julie Yip-Williams Page 0,80

who is so atrocious about the finer details of life, manage? What if we had to move out of our apartment? What about the financial obligations, and what if we needed the money for some surgery or other treatment not covered by insurance? What if…what if…what if…

I instantly also saw the wonderful potential of what Josh was proposing—a phenomenal investment, an apartment where the girls would have their own rooms (because I was sure at some point they would tire of sharing their full-size bed), a place big enough to accommodate my parents and in-laws and others who can and will help me, Josh, and the girls as I become sicker and after I die, a place big enough to accommodate a hospice bed when the time comes (as I had often wondered whether I would be able to spend my last days in this home that I love given the space constraints). Four-bedroom apartments with that kind of square footage are highly coveted commodities in New York City, and if constructed well, ours would be a wonderful place in which the girls would grow and thrive, a place that could be passed down from generation to generation, a labor of love by me, and the single greatest physical and tangible legacy I could leave for my children and husband. For both Josh and me, it would represent the realization of an ambitious dream that harkens back to the precancer days and, despite the cancer, evidence that life can and does go on after an appalling diagnosis, even an incurable one; it would be a powerful symbolic affirmation of life and living and optimism for a future that is bigger than me.

But what about all the what-ifs? My mind went into problem-solving mode. We consulted with our financial advisers and pored over detailed cash-flow analyses. We spoke to architects, bankers, lawyers, Realtors, building representatives, and others. Based on those many conversations, we grew comfortable that a combination was doable from every perspective, including design and construction, legality, and financing (including the assurance that we would not need to move out of our current apartment since nearly all of the work would be done in the other apartment and would be completed before any walls were torn down between the two units).

But with respect to my paramount concern—that the cancer might rob me of the ability to oversee this project—I spoke to my brother and sister. They both instantly loved the idea; among all the obvious benefits, they believed that a project like this would keep me going. More practically, my sister is an architect by training, and I knew, and she confirmed, that if I were not able to complete the oversight of this project, she would be ready, willing, and able to step in. Of course, so much of the decision making would come initially, during the design and planning phase (especially when the right professionals were hired), and I have every intention of being around to set the plans in place. And then it will just be a matter of those professionals executing based on the plans.

As my sister told me, the most important person in this whole process would be the contractor and, fortunately for me, I have a contractor whom I absolutely adore. Now, how often do you hear that statement? He worked on the redesign of our living room last December, the month when I learned of my recurrence and incurable status. The poor guy chose the wrong time to call me, days after I received the news, and ask me how I was doing, for which he got an earful of my tears. I think he must feel really sorry for me, because since then he’s been so very kind and concerned and has even come by to replace lightbulbs. What contractor makes house calls after finishing his job to change lightbulbs?

I asked him to come by a couple weekends ago to look at the other apartment so he could give me a very preliminary cost estimate, during which I had a frank discussion with him about how I would need to be able to trust him to carry out my wishes if I got too ill or did not survive long enough to see this through to the end. He was immediately alarmed, wanting to know if there had been negative health developments. I assured him that I was stable for the moment, but I had to always prepare for the