The Switch

The Switch Chapter 1- Diagnosis

"I agree, this will be terminal, I'm so sorry." Dr. Tian offered consolingly as you laid there in shock and felt completely numb from the news.

"How long does she have?" Your mother asked.

"If she was feeling fine months ago but her pain has increased in such a short time and the tumor has grown this much in such a time. And since she has shown such a steep decline in health, she could live for another 3-6 months without issue, but in a year, her abdomen will swell like she is with child and then it may be a matter of weeks after that." Dr. Morad speculated.

"If that long, my diagnosis is she has 6 months to a year at the most, maybe three months at the soonest." Dr. Tian professed.

"What can be done? Surely there is something that can be done- magic, medicine, I don't care how, but she can't die! Too much is... " Your mother pressed.

"Duchess, there is no medicine for this, there is no magical cure. Even the strongest, most powerful Wizard or Witch would die from this and even fully collared mouras have great difficulty in trying to heal this ailment. And it would cost you and your family everything you have ten times over to even try to buy a moura's cure for this. I'm sorry but this condition is always fatal and the moment it's detected, it's already too late. Surgery would kill her. She is already so weak." Dr. Morad explained.

"But surely there is something that can be done!" Your mother insisted.

"We can prescribe some herbs and healing teas to preserve what life she has left. Some medicine for pain and discomfort. But otherwise, we need to keep her comfortable. But from now on- no more corsets, that will make it worse and possibly progress it faster." Dr. Tian suggested.

"I second that council. I have some medicinal oils to press into her skin that will help with the pain. And help her have an appetite so her body doesn't waste away before her spirit can. But yes, no more corsets and she must be kept comfortable. Turn her frequently so she does not get bed sores. And medical rubbing is a must to keep her comfortable and preserve her body and her spirit. And make sure she gets fresh air and sunshine from now on. But otherwise, all you can do is try to keep her comfortable." Dr. Morad urged.

And just like that it felt like you were in a coffin and the nails were being driven in and you felt like you couldn't hardly breathe as everything fell out of focus as your mind stopped your ears from hearing and stopped paying attention to their words as you looked out the window at the tree where a bird was over it's nest and you felt so jealous of the bird. To have wings and to fly freely, to be slave to no will but your own. All you could hear is the bird's chirps and whistles to it's mate who had come to feed it a grub so it could stay sitting on the nest before the male left again.

You were all of 20 and your whole life had been controlled. Every breath, every movement, every step, carefully calculated and measured before it could be taken. And now you were facing death when you had never really lived.

Then a thousand and one regrets came barreling over you. Maybe you should have run away with that stable boy when you were 16, or even that elven hybrid merchant's son at 17, or even that dashing blacksmith in town with the large, muscular arms and eyes that while dark, burned bright like the coals he worked with at 18. Or any number of suitors that had come up since then. At least you would have had a few years of happiness. Of course, if you had gotten sick with any of them, both would have had to resort to begging to pay for your care now and it would have been looked at as the gods punishing you for running away from your responsibilities and duty with the betrothal.