There are some things in life that are inexplicable. Unpredictable. Unpreventable. Some of these may be moments of great jubilation. Others, horrific, of insupportable pain. I experienced both at the same time.

At 47 years old during a frigid winter, I broke my arm – a pathological fracture – a break of the bone at the site of a tumor. In 24 hours, a bone biopsy diagnosed that I had a very rare cancer – an angiosarcoma of the right humerus.

Within five days, my doctor-husband took me to every chief of Oncology and chief of Orthopedics in Manhattan’s leading hospitals. Their diagnosis was the same: amputate the arm and follow with intensive chemotherapy for one year. If not, the patient will not live.

I was in shock. But I knew I could not accept that fate. I had two sons who needed me. My older son was going to graduate Princeton. My dream was to see him that Spring celebrate with his friends. I wanted to be intact as a complete human being. I didn’t want him to feel ashamed or self-conscious because of his arm-less mother.

My younger son had been tapped to be the youngest fencer to represent the United States at the Atlanta Olympics. My dream was to see him march out with Team U.S. in the Opening Ceremony and cheer for him as he fences.

I had so much to live for.

One of the doctors following my case offered me a deal. I could become his guinea pig in his first clinical experiment in America’s Association of Oncology. In return, he would create the treatment so I could keep my arm.

How could I refuse?

But he omitted to say that that in his 50 years of chief of chemotherapy at New York’s leading hospital, he’d give me more chemo than he had ever given any other patient.

I put up with the 8-hour surgery with three surgeons to replace my cancered arm with a prothesis made from a cadaver-bone. All the nerves, muscles, tendons, ligaments of the humerus and shoulder were removed.

I put up with the beginning of chemotherapy through my portacath, that resulted in a total loss of body hair, burnt esophagus, inability to swallow food, vomiting, weakness, absence of sleep. My mind put up with it all. But my body was not as strong as my will power. My red and white blood cells were wiped out. My bone marrow dropped to zero. My bodily functions rebelled. I fell into a coma.

There I was in the hospital, between life and death, when I heard a ringing from a telephone. Not a real telephone, but a telephone in my unconscious mind. I couldn’t pick up the phone with my heavily bandaged arm and shoulder, but I heard a message. A voice was telling me, “Virgin Air calling. Virgin Air calling.”

Slowly, very slowly, I opened my eyes. My mind woke up. I became conscious. I remembered that my fifteen-year-old son was to take his first international plane flight alone. My husband had chosen to stay near me, and my son was encouraged to go to his tournament, alone, in London. I realized he needed to reconfirm his flight, or he could miss it. The mother in me woke up to remind my beloved son what he had to do. My son, without ever realizing, had saved my life.

I believe that everything we do has a consequence. Some highly negligible and forgettable. Some significant, even years later. When I was three months pregnant with my to be athletic son, I had toxoplasmosis. It went undiagnosed and I continued my busy life. But during pregnancy, my blood tests indicated an unusually high titer from toxoplasmosis. After more tests and consultations, my doctors suggested that I have an abortion and get pregnant soon afterwards.

No! I wanted this child. This one. My insistence was strong despite that I do believe in abortion if wanted or needed. I took the risk. And loved this baby so much!

Fifteen years later, this baby gave me back life. “A life for a Life.” The opposite of the Code of Hammurabi - “an eye for an eye.” His fencing eye stuck a chord in my unconscious brain to ring in my mind that “Virgin Air is calling.”

I am a writer of Fiction, winning for my Transylvanian Trilogy the Indie Winner for Best Series in Fiction 2022. Yet, MY REALITY has been more creative than any novel I could ever write.

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