The test came back and she could feel her fingernails biting into the palm of her hand as she listened to the doctor explain what the tests meant. Her worst fears were confirmed and now she had to decide what to do. “Charlie,” Dr. Monroe said gently. “It’s not a death sentence, it just means you have the genes for cervical cancer, that’s all. You could live a long life without even having anything but an abnormal pap-smear.” Charlie looked up and tried to keep the tears at bay. “My mother died at forty-two with cervical cancer, Barbara. I know my chances, and I don’t want to die like that, how she suffered.” “Then you can have the surgery and cut your chances in half.” Barbara had been her doctor since she was a teen and the oncologist that cared for her mother until the end. “We can take your cervix and your uterus, leave your ovaries so it doesn’t thrust you into menopause.” “I want children,”
