第三天晚上，我跟男主人麦克聊了聊，说要提前结束旅程，第二天就回家。
On the third night, I spoke to Mike, our host, to tell him I was going to cut the trip short and head home the next day.

“你看上去不是很好，”他说，“没事吧？”
“You don’t look so great,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“要不我们拿瓶苏格兰威士忌，然后坐下来聊？”我说。
“Why don’t we grab some scotch and have a seat?” I said.

在他家的壁炉前，我说：“麦克，我觉得我得了癌症，而且还不是那种良性的。”
In front of his fireplace, I said, “Mike, I think I have cancer. And not the good kind, either.”

那是我第一次把这话说出口。
It was the first time I’d said it out loud.

“好吧，”他说，“这应该不是什么精心策划的恶作剧吧？”
“Okay,” he said. “I take it this is not some elaborate practical joke?”

“不是。”
“No.”

他顿了顿：“我也不知道该问你什么。”
He paused. “I don’t know exactly what to ask.”

“嗯，可能首先我需要说明，我的癌症还没有确诊。我只是自己比较确定，很多症状都指向癌症。我明天回家就去检查清楚。希望是我错了。”
“Well, I suppose, first, I should say that I don’t know for a fact that I have cancer. I’m just pretty sure of it— a lot of the symptoms point that way. I’m going to go home tomorrow and sort it out. Hopefully, I’m wrong.”

麦克提出帮我把行李邮寄回家，这样我就不用受累一路拎着了。第二天一早，他开车送我去机场。六小时后，我回到旧金山。刚下飞机，手机就响了。是我的初级保健医生，打电话告诉我胸片结果：我的肺部有模糊的阴影，就像曝光时间太长似的。医生说，她不确定这到底意味着什么。
Mike offered to take my luggage and send it home by mail, so I wouldn’t have to carry it with me. He drove me to the airport early the next morning, and six hours later I landed in San Francisco. My phone rang as I stepped off the plane. It was my primary care doctor, calling with the chest X-ray result: my lungs, instead of being clear, looked blurry, as if the camera aperture had been left open too long. The doctor said she wasn’t sure what that meant.

她应该知道的。
She likely knew what it meant.

我知道。
I knew.