“I wish they’d just take it,” her mother said. “It can’t be worse, can it?”
Julia looked from her coffee cup to the fridge. A myriad of notes, all A4 with no post-its in sight, sat plastered all over the appliance, the lettering dark and big and bold. Too big and too bold. It was nothing like the neat and cursive script that Julia remembered from her childhood, branded onto birthday card and sick notices.
“You’d be the One-eyed Wonder,” she replied and sipped from her cup, scalding her throat.
“Mmm. I could use a wonder.”
“When’s the next appointment?”
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
My Dad died of complications related to cancer one day short of his 85th birthday. A few years before that, he was diagnosed with carcinoma of the eye. In the bad old days, they’d just take the eye, but he went to Salt Lake City and had radiation treatments directly on the eye. I had to fly there because my Dad actually thought he’d be able to drive afterwards.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can feel with you, James. My dad lost the use of one eye, too, as a result of cancer. He smoked for years, developed a cancer tumor in his sinus that ate up his eye socket. Doctors wanted to remove that eye and he wouldn’t agree, but there was no point. They soon discovered the tumor had spread to his brain. Radiation gave him another year, but his face was a mess.
LikeLiked by 1 person