"Lady, I got two months to live," I explain. My legs trembling beneath me like some stoner just caught his buzz and can't stand on his own two feet.
"That may be, but I can't let you on there with this," she argues. Her voice firm, and her eyes confirm she is unconvinced. She whispers into the mouthpiece of her walkie-talkie something garbled that I can't make out; my hearing obscured by the drugs taking their toll on my body. I lost my sense of smell earlier this year. Suddenly food lost its flavor; the doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong until an assistant asked if maybe I just lost my sense of smell, then suddenly it became clear that it wasn't anything serious.
"Get me your supervisor," I demand. She squares off her footing and places her fists on either hip, standing firmly as if waiting for backup. Sure enough, not a moment later two other men show up, armed and just as serious.
"Sir, he'll tell you the same thing," she insists.
"That may be, but let me hear it from him," I boldly ask. Her eyebrows mocking my request with contempt.
"Sir! You are trying to board an international flight with a giant bag of marijuana," she shouts in horror. One of the men standing on either side of her grabs the bag, opens it, and smells the contents. He jerks his head back from the pungent aroma then shakes his head in disbelief.
"Without it, I won't live two weeks. The leukemia is ravaging my body," I explain in more detail.
"Sir?" she's speechless. The man puts the bag down. It becomes clear to her that I wasn't lie when I said I only have two months to live. The injection marks and bandaids covering some of them up now become more obviously the cause of medication and not self recreation. Her hand covers her mouth as blood begins to drip out of my left nostril. My nurse returns from the restroom to witness the confrontation. As she approaches, the security lady and other two gentlemen take their attention away to look at her waving at them from over my shoulder.
"I just want to see my mother in my home country before I go," I finish explaining, tears forming, but I pull them back as one slips onto the top of my lower eyelid, almost afraid to take the jump onto my cheek.
"I'll get the supervisor," she answers, tears forming in her eyes as well. The nurse finally arrives and pulls out a baby wipe from her shoulder bag to wipe my nose for me, unaware of the blood pooling upon my upper lip.
The nurse covers her mouth as a tear rolls down her cheek.
"I'm sorry I took so long," the nurse apologizes to me, but looks over at them as she finishes speaking, "I have the documents for that." The lady whispers over her shoulder to the man on her right. He nods to the other men and they walk away.
"Here you go sir," the lady says, as she returns my bag of lifesaving flowers to me without reviewing the document my nurse now holds out with her right arm outstretched; her left hand wrapped around my frail bicep, holding me up with her clasp. "Next please!" the lady states as indifferent as she can pretend to be, then wipes her eye before any tear could safely form inside of it.
"Okay thank you," the nurse speaks loud enough for the other two men to hear before they disappear out of earshot. She places the folded papers back into her shoulder bag then takes the bag of potent herbs off of the table and hands it to me to put back in my carryon. "Next time wait for me before letting anyone search you," she tells me.
"I didn't have a choice," I answer.
"I know Kevin, it's not your fault," she says, comforting me as much as anyone can as I pray I make it through the flight without any other issues arising, but I know it's a long flight ahead, and there's no smoking on flights anymore, and definitely not marijuana. "I'll make you a nice tea when we're in the air. Would you like that?" I nod.