When I got home from chemotherapy, I discovered my possessions on the doorstep: my daughter-in-law had kicked me out of the house because “I don’t want to catch anything from you.” 
She was unaware of the lesson fate had in store for her at that precise moment 
The most horrifying words of my life were spoken to me when I was sixty years old: “You have brain cancer.” I hardly heard the doctor as he gently explained the available therapy options. I had a roaring headache. One office and one sentence seemed to be all that was left of the world.
I was in the hospital for about a month, and we started chemotherapy right away. The nights were particularly difficult, and the days dragged on slowly. I waited for my daughter-in-law or my son to at least give me a call. For them to see me like that, feeble, hairless, and a stranger to myself, I felt was just too cruel. I did everything I could to justify them.
I went back home when the treatment was over. As soon as I stepped onto the porch, I realized something wasn’t right. By the door stood my possessions. Clothes, bags, and even old photos. I knocked. The door remained closed. My daughter-in-law then emerged. She was holding a cloth and a bottle of water. She didn’t even meet my eyes. She started cleaning everything I had touched, including the door, the handrail, and the doormat.
“You’re infectious. She stated icily, “I don’t want you to live in our house.”
I made an effort to clarify that I was still her husband’s mother and that cancer is neither communicable or infectious. I was almost completely exhausted, so I spoke softly. She didn’t pay attention. My son remained silent as he stood next to her. That quiet was plenty. I realized I wasn’t welcome there anymore.
I departed. I just turned around and left. I went back to the hospital since it was the only location where nobody was scared of me or tried to eject me.
However, my daughter-in-law was unaware of the penalty that was in store for her
Months went by. The exam outcomes got better. The tumor had then retreated, according to the doctor. It was evident from the scans. I should have felt joy, but it was cautious and subdued. Neither my son nor my daughter-in-law made a single phone call during that entire period.
The phone rang one day. My daughter-in-law was the one. She was crying, yelling, and making accusations.
“You are solely to blame. I was infected by you. I’m sick because of you.
At first, I had no idea what she was talking about. Then I learned. A tumor on her vocal chords had been identified. An urgent procedure was required. The doctors were unsure if she would be able to talk thereafter.
That’s how fate made its own decision. To be honest, though, I didn’t feel victorious. I wouldn’t want anyone to experience what I did, regardless of how vicious they may be. I understand what it’s like to live in constant fear and uncertainty about the future.
