It’s been five years since I last saw my cousin Nicole and I’m nervous to see her. Knock, knock, knock. I can feel my hands sweating as I stand waiting in the porch of a bright yellow house with flowers that seem to bring life to the dying community that surrounds it.

A short chubby woman peeks out from behind the door with a suspicious look on her face. Her expression slowly melts into a grateful smile as she gestures for me to come in.

“I thought you were one of those pesky motorized scooter salesmen. Ever since word got out about Nicole, people have been trying to sell us the craziest contraptions.” My aunt said.

“I’m sorry to hear that Auntie, how are you guys holding up?” I say as I look around familiar room.

My eyes flutter around the house as I try to remember how times used to be in the now empty room; Boastful arguments, blaring music, and the sweet smell of seafood being boiled to perfection. It feels like it was just yesterday when things were normal.

“We’ve been keeping ourselves busy but ever since Robert died it’s been hard to go out. I can’t lift Nicole like I used to and we just can’t afford a new scooter right now.” My aunts face twisted into a scowl as she attempted to open a can of beans.

I cringed when she mentioned his name. Robert was not just Nicole’s father, he was the glue that held our extended family together.

“Well, I’m not exactly the strongest but I think I can manage a few trips. Why don’t we all go out tonight?” I suggest as I make my way over to the kitchen counter. I proceed to take the can and open it.

“That’s nice of you honey. Nicole would love that. Lately all she’s been doing is cooping herself up in her room and watching God knows what. Why don’t you go in and surprise her. She’s been waiting so long to see you.”

My body tenses and I can feel my throat closing up. I’ve been trying to stall the whole time because I don’t know what to expect. Nicole has been living with MS for over 6 years now and all I keep hearing is that as people progress through the stages, they eventually lose brain function. People with MS undoubtedly become living vegetables. I cannot bear to watch her body tremble like an earthquake without an assertive voice yelling out orders and witty comments. The silence would be deafening.

I walk into the back room, entering an abyss of darkness and uncertainty.

“Nicole?” I call out shakily.

I hear a gurgling noise followed by breathing. I start to panic and turn to walk away but just as I’m about to leave I hear a comforting sound. The word quivers and struggles to make itself heard, but the voice is sweet and assured.

“T-t-t-tas-s-s-sno-o-o….v-va-h?”

My heart begins to race and like a trance my body carries me into the room. Light, Light!! Where are the lights? I frantically stretch my arm out against the wall searching for a light, for her light. My fingers fumble over the switch, and for a second I’m blinded.

“Nicole?” I call out desperately.

My eyes adjust and there she is. A delicate doll violently shaking in the center of the bed. Her body is frail, and her skin seems to hug her bones.Where has her hair gone? She’s balding. All I can think about is how different she looks until I reach her eyes, her eyes are the same. They are sharp, attentive, wise. They soften as I match her gaze.

“H-h-ho-ow ar-r-re y-you?” The sweet voice builds with strength.

“I’m good Nicole, how are you?” My voice cracks as my eyes fill with tears.

For the next five hours we talk about everything; life, death, love, sadness. Her memory is sharp as she spits out details and dates readily. I begin to realize that her illness hasn’t done anything to her mind, rather it has only mutilated my own. With any illness, people will tell you the worst possible outcome that could happen, and it can scare you away. You begin to dread the thought of watching your loved ones suffer when in fact you should be the shoulder they lean on when in need. All this time I convinced myself that Nicole was going to be a vegetable when I arrived; A lifeless puppet that had no thoughts, memories, or feelings. It came to the point where I went as far to show up at her house to almost turn my back on her because of my own selfish feelings. My interaction with Nicole however, has taught me that I can only judge an illness based on what I see- even if it is undesirable -it is better to treasure a loved one for who they are rather than be scared of them for what they have.

This is in response to the prompt : Think about illness as metaphor, and the cultural and personal illness symbolism that you have encountered in your own life.