Tone: witty

A man sits by his wife’s bed in the oncology ward. She has Stage IV throat cancer, and the prognosis is dark. She’s scheduled for a radical, life-saving surgery the next morning, but the doctors have been blunt: they have to remove a significant portion of her throat and vocal cords. She will never speak, swallow, or use her throat the same way again.

She looks at her husband, her voice a raspy silver. “I want to do something for you,” she whispers. “One last time, while I still can. I want to give you oral sex.”

The husband is taken aback. “Honey, no. You’re weak, you’re in pain… we don’t have to do that.” But she insists. She tells him it’s the only way she can feel like a “whole woman” before the surgery changes her forever. She begs him until he finally, reluctantly, agrees. It is a quiet, bittersweet, and incredibly emotional moment in the dim hospital light.

The next morning, she is wheeled into surgery. The husband sits in the waiting room, bracing for a ten-hour ordeal. But after barely an hour, the lead surgeon walks out into the waiting area.

The man’s heart sinks into his stomach. He stands up, trembling, his voice breaking. “Is she… is she gone? Did I lose her?”

“No, no,” the surgeon says, looking like he’s seen a ghost. “We didn’t even pick up the scalpel. We did a final localized scan to map the margins, and the tumors… they’re just gone. There isn’t a single malignant cell left in her throat.”

The surgeon asks if the husband had any possible explanation, anything at all to do with the woman’s throat. Though it’s embarrassing, the man tells the surgeon about what his wife did for him the night before the surgery. It’s the only thing he can think of.

A week of tests follows. The hospital’s research team eventually brings the couple into a private office. “Sir, we’ve discovered something miraculous. Your body produces a rare, localized enzyme. When it makes contact with cancerous tissue, it triggers immediate, total cellular necrosis. You are a walking, biological cure.”

The doctor sighs, looking at his notes. “We’re going to try to synthesize it, but the molecular structure is volatile and it seems to be more complex than we understand, because your sperm isn’t nearly as effective in lab conditions. It’s going to take us months, maybe years, to replicate this effect without the… direct involvement of your penis. But your wife is fully cured, and this could save millions more in the future.”

The wife is beside herself with joy, clutching the husband’s hand. But the husband is staring at the floor, his face turning a sickly shade of grey.

“Honey?” she asks, her voice now perfectly clear. “What is it? This is a miracle!”

The husband looks up, his eyes filled with a thousand-yard stare.

“My father called this morning… he was just diagnosed with Stage IV rectal cancer.”