Page 3 of Welcome Home

My head angled because I understood what she said, but the other side of my brain wanted to determine if her comment was ignorant or rude. It didn’t seem like it was either, so I was conflicted.

“Mazikeen Phillips.” The nurse finally came out to usher us to the back.

When we got into the room, it was cold like I expected. The room wasn’t an examination room. It was a room that they took you in to tell you bad news. At least that was how I felt about it.

Lula Ann nor I said anything as we waited. She tried so hard to play it cool, but I knew in my heart that she was probably more worried than I was. When she was quiet, she was worried.

About five minutes into our wait, Dr. Metaphor walked in with a folder in his hand. His smile was warm before he sat on the stool. He glanced into the folder before he spoke.

“Miss Phillips, I hope you’re having a good day. I want to get right into it. We’ve received all your lab work and I’ve reviewed it extensively,” he said.

I peeked at Lula Ann who was tuned in. I nodded. “Okay.”

His hands folded together the way people who wanted to tell you something that would alter your entire life did. “There are several markers that are concerning. The diagnosis is that you have systemic lupus erythematosus.”

Systemic lupus erythematosus. The only word that I semi understood in that sentence was lupus. Everyone heard about or knew someone with lupus. I didn’t personally know anyone directly, but I heard about it.

As Dr. Metaphor continued to talk, I zoned out. I heard words like autoimmune, inflammation, kidneys, medication, risk, immune system, monitoring, and a whole lot of other words. I prayed Lula Ann was listening, too, because if I was given a quiz on this later, I would fail.

“There are also signs that your kidneys have already been affected.” My ears zoned back in when he said that. He paused for a moment, then continued. “Systemic lupus erythematosus with lupus nephritis.”

I had no idea what any of those words meant, but what I did know was that something in those words was affecting my kidneys. What did that even mean? My eyes blinked rapidly.

When he pushed the box of tissues toward me, I looked down at them. I’m not crying. That was when I felt the tear hit the back of my hand. Oh, I guess I am. My eyes dropped to the feeling of Lula Ann’s hand that covered mine. She said nothing as she gazed at me with all her love and support.

I took a deep breath. “Um, so is lupus like something that I take medication for, and it eventually goes away? Or is it something that I will have forever now?”

With a tilted head and warm smile, he answered. “We currently do not have a cure. This is something that you will have to manage from here on out, Miss Phillips.”

My breathing hitched, and my head turned to the only person in the room that I knew would pick me up if I passed out. She was calm and present just like I knew she would be. She was the strongest person that I knew.

“Okay,” she said. “Dr. Metaphor, what are her treatment options? What’s next for us?”

Us, not me. This was not her battle, but she didn’t care. As my best friend, my sister, she would stand in it with me because that was who she was. For the rest of the appointment, she was my voice. She would have to give me all the information after the shock of today wore off.

It felt like I blinked, and we were back in my condo. I didn’t remember the end of the appointment, the walk to her car, the drive to my place, or anything. Now, I sat on my couch while I heard her in the kitchen. Cooking was my best friend’s coping mechanism.

There was no other sound in my place other than her moving around my kitchen. The television was off, and there was no music. The silence was deafening.

She came around the couch with a plate in her hand. After she set it on the coffee table in front of me, she sat next to me. “Eat, Maz.”

I felt the tear fall that time. I glanced at her. “I’m sick, Lula.”

She shook her head and her finger went up. “Nope, that is not what we are going to do.” Her hands cupped my cheeks. “Mazikeen Joy Phillips, you are not sick. The lupus is sick. You are and will always be Mazikeen Joy Phillips.”

Something in her words broke through like a sledgehammer on a brick wall. Every tear that I held back came out in the ugliest of ways. This was the hard breathing, shoulder shaking, snot leaking cry. “I don’t want to die, Lula. I don’t want⁠—”

With her arms wrapped firmly around me, she shushed me. “That’s not what we are going to do either. There is no funeral that you need to plan. You have movies on the lawn in a few weeks at one of your properties. That’s what you’re planning.”

I sniffled before I responded. “You don’t know that, Lula. You can’t know that.”

“No, but I know your stubborn ass. There is no way that you are going to let something like lupus win.” She pulled me out of her arms. “Girl, do you remember when you were, what, thirteen, and Darius Cooker said that he could beat you in a race down the street from your house to his?”

The memories brought forth a chuckle. I nodded, then said, “Like he really could. He tried to cheat and still lost.”

We both laughed. “Right. That nigga tripped you, and you went down. I thought it was over, girl.” We continued to laugh, then hers subsided before she continued. “It wasn’t over, though. You jumped your ass up, scraped knee and all, then took off behind him. He wanted to fight you when you won.

“I know that girl. The one who, even when it looked like it was lost, fought to the end. I know the girl that pours into everyone around her to the point that she sometimes forgets to pour into herself.”