Chapter One
I have been doing well for a while now. But it never lasts. Since beating cancer at the age of five, I have relapsed three times. I am now twenty, cancer freeÉfor now. The doctors are always talking about how lucky I have been. I have had cancer four times in seventeen years. I guess I disagree with them. Is it wrong of me to want more for my life than constant sickness and worry? Every time, and I mean every time, I see my mother, her face becomes pale. She can go from smiling to panic stricken in one second. Scratch that, one millionth of a second.
I understand why she worries. I worry too. In fact, I spend hours of my day worrying. If I have heartburn, I think it is back. If I get a stomachache, I think it is back. If I get a bloody nose, I think it is back. How does one live like this? Well, it is not easy, but you get through it. You wake up every morning, pushing the worry to the back of your head. If you succumb to the worry, then you might as well not get out of bed. There is no such thing as a good day after that. Hell, even days that I forget to worry are not that great. My body always reminds me not to be so careless. It will only be a matter of time before I relapse again.
Usually, one has a new take on life after surviving cancer. That goes away once you become cancer infected the second time. The third time you hope it takes you. And the fourth time, you stop caring either way. All you want is the morphine. At least by the fourth time, I knew exactly how much morphine to request before being pumped with poison. The nurses didn't care, though; they had to wait until I was in pain, which is so screwed up. I knew I wasn't the one in a million that doesn't get sick from chemo, which I do not believe actually exists. I think the doctors only say that, so you have hope.
Hope. You're best fucking friend when you get diagnosed with cancer. It's hope this, hope that. Prayers are all about hope. In the soup, hope is spelled out in the noodles. It is sickening. Of course, I did have hope on my first go around, and even a little the second time. The third time I gave up for good. Hope is like a happy pill they shove down the throats of the manically depressed. I became numb to it, but I swallowed it every day. If you let the nurses know you gave up, they act even more nice and cheery. You would think it was nice, but it gets unnerving. Hope for the best. Hope for survival. Hope you don't puke. Hope you see another day. Hope your mom stops crying. Hope you get to go to prom. Hope you don't die a virgin. Hope you fall in love. Hope. What a crock of shit.
Clearly, I am bitter.
Today, I have to go see the doctor to see if I am still in remission. I have been in remission for about a year now. So, this will be my second checkup. On my first one, I passed with not even a speck in my body. I feel good about today. I probably shouldn't, though; it will most likely be back today. I haven't told anyone, but I have been puking a lot lately. I mean it could be the flu. I won't think it is cancer until I know for sure. You never know what it could be. There's that hope again.
I can hear my mom downstairs making coffee. She has been up for about two hours now. I know this day is hard for me, but she always takes it worse. I have not had many clean scans in my life, so the odds are always against me. I should tell her I have been sick lately. It's cruel for me to give her so much hope, when it is pointless. But, she still has hope and I don't want to take that away from her. Sometimes, I wish I still had hope. Most times I don't give a shit, but today I wish I still did.
"Paul!"
I don't want to start the day.
"Paul!"
Please don't come wake me.
Knocking on the door, "Paul, honey, are you awake?"
"Yeah," I answer with little effort.
"It's almost time to get going. You gotta get up and shower."
"Alright, I will."
She stands in the doorway for a second and just stares at me. I can feel her eyes looking me up and down, trying to detect the cancer herself. I feel the tears starting in her eyes as she leaves. I wish I could say something that will make her feel better, but all she hears when I talk is cancer. All she sees when she looks at me is cancer. Cancer. I hate cancer.
It was time to get up. I already hit snooze three times, so I guess I need to stop hiding from it. Maybe the shower will wash it away. Maybe the water will get into my blood stream and dissolve the many cancerous cells forming in my body. Why do I have to do these every six months? These freaking suck.
I always brush my teeth after taking a shower. I don't know why, but I don't feel clean unless I do. The entire shower is pointless unless I brush my teeth afterwards. I think that's my PTSD from chemo. I became obsessed with brushing my teeth when I got cancer the first time. No matter how many times I would brush, the taste of vomit never left my mouth. Probably because all I do is puke when I get poison injected into me. I guess that is what happens. Who knew? I thought poison would be good for me. Anyway, I always brush my teeth after I shower. I think I will do it twice this morning, just to start practicing.
I hear my mother pacing even harder than before now. We need to leave, but I am not ready yet. I cannot find my lucky sweatshirt. How am I supposed to beat cancer without my lucky sweatshirt? Childish, I know, but I don't care anymore. I am granted the right to have my quirks. It is not like I grew up like a normal kid, so I'm allowed to be weird.
"Paul!" my mother shouts from downstairs.
"What?" I shout back, still searching.
"We need to go, honey. Are you almost ready?"
"Yeah, I just need to find my sweatshirt. Have you seen it?"
"Which one is it?"
"It's Dad's," I stopped looking. How could I mention him today? Like my mother isn't going through enough today. Great. I suck.
"Oh," she muffles, "I think it is in the dryer."
I don't answer her because I know she is already out the door. When I was ten, going through my second round of cancer, my father died in a car accident. He was taking my condition pretty hard that time and started to drink a lot. After a night at the bar, he drove home, but never made it. He wrapped his car around a telephone pole, about a mile down the road from our house. I guess most accidents do happen when you are close to home. She found out when she was leaving the hospital from visiting with me. He was rushed in right past her. That night all three of us were admitted. They had to sedate my mother. I was already screwed up on morphine, so I don't really know all of the details. I started wearing his sweatshirt the day of I got out of the hospital after his death. Sometimes, I swear I can still smell him, even after all of these years. I miss him. I miss my mom.
I think my mother cleaned the house this morning. Actually, I think she cleaned it twice. I guess we all find our ways to get through this.
I can smell my father on the sweatshirt today. It must be the detergent.
"You ready?" my mother asked, sniffling.
"I guess," I responded. I need to be more cheerful for her.
"Alright, put your seatbelt on."
I smile to myself, finding it ironic that it is the seatbelt she is now worried about. If the cancer hasn't grabbed me yet, my lack of a seatbelt is not going to do the trick. I put it on anyway. As we pull out of the garage, I see that it has been raining all morning. Even the weather knows today is going to suck.
As we pull into a parking space, my heart drops to my stomach. My mother quickly undoes her seatbelt, but I sit there motionless. I'm not ready for this again, but I feel her staring, so I take my seatbelt off too.
"You know," she starts, "I have a good feeling about today." Hope.
"Me too," I say, smiling. I should have told her. I suck.
We both get out of the car and make our way to the entrance of the hospital. If it is actually back, I don't think I'm going to fight it this time. I mean, what is the point? I can't keep going through this, nor can my mom. I know she thinks losing me will be the worst thing that happens, but there will be some relief to it. I just wish she could see it that way. I look over at her and I can see the fear in her eyes, in the way she tightens up with each step. She knows it, too. I'm not in remission anymore. As we get to the entrance, I see a familiar face. Wow, they haven't replaced the security guard this time. That's new. He smiles at me as we walk by. Oh good, he knows too.
"Good morning," the receptionist says from the lobby's nurse's station, "What brings you in?"
My mother answers quickly, "We are here to see Dr. Copeland. My son has an appointment at 9:30."
The nurse gives that reassuring look towards me, as she new knows I'm here for a cancer scan. Dr. Copeland is the head of Oncology. I wonder if she gives the cancer stare to all of his patients.
"What is the last name?" she asks.
"Harrison," my voice cracks, "Paul Harrison."
"Thank you."
With a couple taps on her keyboard, she hands my mother a form to fill out and tells us to have a seat in the waiting area. I sit down in the corner of the room, pulling my phone out. I have nothing to check, nor am I in the mood to play a game on it. I just keep swiping between the different home screens. My mother is filling out the form, not even having to think about each question. She knows the questions and answers by heart. I should probably start doing those myself. I mean, I will be eighteen soon. Screw it.
"You would think they would have this all by now," she mutters signing the bottom of it. She looks over at me, with a small smile.
"Exactly what I was thinking," I return the smile.
As soon as my mom returns from giving the receptionist the form back, I hear my name being called by a nurse. She looks familiar too. "Dr. Copeland will see you now." She is smiling at me, the cancer smile. I follow her to an exam room, with my mom right behind me. Not one minute in the room, and Dr. Copeland walks in. He is always punctual, which I like.
"Paul! How are you doing?" he asks.
"I'm good. How are you?" I respond, not forgetting my manners.
"Good, the Giants won last night. Finally." He puts my chart on the desk and looks at us. "So, we are doing an MRI today and some blood work. Did you eat anything this morning?"
"Nope."
"Good, and how have you been feeling? Any nausea or stomach issues?"
"No," I lie, blushing.
"Nothing at all?"
"Nope." He knows.
"Ms. Harrison, can I have a second with your son? I need to ask him some private questions." She looks at him, puzzled. "About sex and drugs."
"Right, I will be right outside," my mother responds. I can tell she is pissed. This is new.
"I'm not doing either," I say, as soon as the door shuts. I figured I'd save him the interrogation.
"Oh, I don't care about that. It's okay to have some fun," he responds. "What symptoms are you having?"
Crap, he really did know. "I've been pretty nauseas lately. Been puking a lot." I look at the floor when I say this, embarrassed about lying.
"How long has this been happening?"
"About two weeks now."
"Okay," he sits down at his chair, "why didn't you call me as soon as it started?"
"I wasn't ready to tell my mom."
"Paul, you have very aggressive cancer. You know this. Every day can help with your survival. Two weeks is like two years for your cancer to become stronger."
I look at the ground, knowing that he is pissed. Why does he care? He isn't the one that will be dead.
"Of course, it doesn't automatically mean it is back. You can have a stomach virus. You can have anything."
"We both know what it is, so let's leave the hope for the children." I surprise myself by what I just said. He looks back down at my chart and doesn't respond. Great, now I'm an asshole.
"I'm going to have the nurse come get your blood and then someone will be in to take you to the MRI," he says matter-of-factly, "You are the strongest person I have ever treated. So, if you don't like hope, hold onto your strength."
I look up at him, dumbfounded. He has never spoken to me like this and I don't know what to say, so I just smile up at him.
"Also, your mom can handle it. Leaving her in the dark is cruel."
"I know," I look back down. "Thank you, Dr. Copeland."
He walks out with a final nod and I am alone. What the hell was that? I never knew he regarded me like that. He was always the guy who fed me my poison and cut the tumors out. Small talk and forced laughs. Cancer makes everyone different. I start to wonder where my mom is. She said she would be right outside. Crap, he must be talking to her. That's messed up.
As my panic starts to grow, the nurse walks in. He has needles in his hands. Great. I look from his hands up to his face. Wow, he is gorgeous.
"Hello," he says with a smile, showing his teeth, "My name is Jorge, but you can call me Jay."
"Paul," I respond, blushing. Shit.
"I'm going to take some blood. Do you have a preference on the arm?"
"The veins cooperate more on my right," I barely whisper. I need to pull myself together. This is not happening right now.
"Right it is. I like a patient who keeps track of that. Makes my job much easier."
"I've had a lot of practice." I say, coolly. I have it under control now. I really need to work on not letting emotions show on my face. Though, he didn't seem to notice. Phew.
"Practice?" he asks. Oh good, he is one of the nurses who appreciate small talk. This shouldn't be difficult at all.
"Cancer. First diagnosed at five. My body had separation issues with it, so twelve years of cancer helped me know which veins like the needle better. Great for my heroin addiction." Did I really just say that? Why do I always have to be socially awkward?
"Nice," he smiles, "I'm more of a meth head myself, but to each his own."
"Breaking Bad?"
"Yes," he says laughing, "Can you take off your sweatshirt?" I don't want to part with the good luck, but he needs to do his job. I quickly rip it off and he sets to work. He sterilizes my inner elbow, and ties the blue thing around my upper arm. I really need to start remembering what these things are called.
"I'm pretty good at this, so it should be quick," he says as he looks up at me. I blush again. His eyes are so perfect. I can stare at them all day.
"Good," I quickly look away. He had to have noticed that one. I have never really found a guy that I found this attractive. Even when I realized I was gay freshman year, the guys I fell for didn't have this effect on me. He is busy working on my vein, trying to get it to sacrifice some blood.
"Come on, little vein. You can do it," he says as he plays with the needle a little.
"Does that usually work?" I ask, sarcastically. What the hell am I doing?
"From my extensive knowledge of giving blood work, I have found that they just need a little cheering. It has nothing to with medicine at all." He has a smile on that takes up his entire face.
"Oh, good, I have a crazy person willing my body to working properly. Do you have a cure for cancer too?"
"I hear love is a great fighter of cancer."
"That explains why I keep losing."
He looks at me with that cancer stare. Well, there goes the small talk. Leave it to me to make everyone feel awkward. He sighs with relief once the blood begins to trickle out of my vein. We sit there in silence as the vial continues to fill up. He keeps his hand on my arm, which I swear has some form of electricity in it. My arm is tingling where he is touching. I'm sure it is just the blood moving out of my body, but I like pretending his electric touch is a sign we are meant to be together. I blush again. At least he can't hear my thoughts.
As the vial is about to be full, my mother walks into the room. She has been crying. Crap, what did Dr. Copeland say to her? She looks down at my arm and sees that I am already having the blood taken. Jay notices she has entered and looks up.
"Hello. I am Jorge, but you can call me Jay. I'm just about done here," he greets her.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Molly, Paul's mother," she responds.
"Likewise. Once I'm done, I will get someone to transport your son to his MRI."
"Alright, sounds good." She looks down at me now and I know he told her I have been sick.
"MomÑ"
"What the hell were you thinking?" She is pissed. "How could you not say anything? You know nausea is the first sign of it back. We could have been here two weeks ago, with a giant head start on this. How could you be foolish?"
"MomÑ"
"I don't even want to hear it."
I look away from her and see that Jay is staring at the vial of blood. I can tell he is cheering on my vein in his head. He wants out of this room. Can't he take me with him?
"Looks like we are done here," he announces, very quietly.
"You were right," I say. He looks down at me, with a confused look on his face. "You are good at this." He blushes.
"Oh, right. Well, I'm rarely wrong." We both chuckle lightly. I look over at my mom, and she is not amused. I really screwed up this time.
"I'm going to get this up to the lab and find out when the MRI will be ready. It shouldn't be long," Jay smiles and walks out.
As he leaves, I look over at my mom. She is staring out the window, and I can see her face is all blotchy. Why did the doctor have to tell her? I should have told him not to tell her. Surprising me, she looks over at me and hugs me.
"I'm sorry," I say as she is squeezing me.
"I know, honey. I just can't lose you. You need to tell me these things. It is my job to protect you, and I can't do that when you freeze me out."
You can't protect me from cancer. "I know, Mom. I'm sorry."
"Well, it doesn't matter. The doctor says it could just be a stomach virus anyway. We have to hope for the best. Hope for the flu." Fucking hope.
"I will."
There is a knock on the door and in walks Jay, with a wheelchair. I always forget that I can't move anywhere without that thing.
"It's time to go to your MRI," Jay says stopping at the foot of my bed.
My mom turns to me, "I'm going to go wait in the waiting room. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I assure her, smiling.
"Paul," Jay interrupts our goodbye, "I need you to change into this." He holds up a hospital gown, which I completely forgot about. I hate these things. My mom walks by, but turns just before she steps out, giving me a reassuring smile.
"Alright." I get up from the bed and reach for the gown. He hands it to me and walks over to pull the curtain, so I can have some privacy. Thank god, because I look awful without a shirt on. I think the chemo has had a permanent effect on me, not letting me ever gain any muscle. I am way too skinny to look attractive. Not that that matters. Jay would never be interested in this train wreck, even if he were gay. I wonder if he is. Am I allowed to ask him that? Surely, I can get away with it, since I have cancer. I get to take advantage a little.
I quickly take off my jeans and t-shirt. I fold them nicely and pull the gown around me. I try to reach for the strings to tie it around my back, but I can't get them to cooperate. Why am I such an invalid? I can't ask Jay to do this for me. I will look so pathetic. Why do I care, though? It is his job and he won't judge me, will he? I look awful in just boxers. I am so pale. "Jay?" Why does this always happen to me?
"What's up, Paul?" He says from behind the curtain.
"Can you help me with tying the gown?" I ask, with embarrassment in my voice.
"Of course," he responds with reassurance in his voice. I hear the curtain slide open and begin to blush immediately. I am already turned away from him, so he can't see me.
"I'm sorry. I suck at these."
"Don't apologize. That's what I am here for." He pulls tight on the gown and covers up my back.
"Thank you."
"No need, my friend. You ready to go?"
"I guess."
I turn around and he is looking me directly in the eyes. We stand there for a second before he turns around blushing. What was that? Am I imagining things? I place my clothes on the bed with my sweatshirt. He was definitely looking at me weird. Good weird. I turn and get into the wheelchair. He is standing at the back of it, holding the handlebars.
"Looks like I am your transporter today," Jay announces.
"Aren't you lucky?"
We both chuckle and begin moving to the MRI. I need to cool it. I am already making a fool of myself. He doesn't need to hear my pathetic jokes. He can probably already tell that I find him attractive. Though, I cant be the first person to act this way around him. He is perfectly chiseled and gorgeous in every way possible. I start to imagine what it would be like to go on a date with him. He is probably a lot of fun on a date. I wonder how old he is. I'll be twenty-one in a month. I'm old enough. Of course, cancer has made me more mature. I need to work this into conversation. What the hell am I thinking? There is no game, Paul. Get over him already.
Before I can pull myself from my pathetic daydream, we are heading into a room. This is where I will spend the rest of my life, in and out of this machine. I hate MRI's. I feel myself going pale and starting to shake. Jay stops me right in front of it and looks down at me. He gives me the cancer stare. He must see I am worried.
"You ready?" he asks with a comforting tone.
"Yep," I respond as I stand up.
He helps me onto the bed and I lay down without another word. I fucking hate cancer.
Back in the exam room, I am dressed and waiting patiently on my bed. My mother still hasn't returned, which is fine by me. I can use some alone time for a second. I can never get used to an MRI. And having the boy of your dreams, watching you practically have a panic attack going into it is not the best feeling in the world. Why did I have to get stuck with a god for my nurse? He is nice, though. I don't think he was judging me, just pitying me.
It isn't long before my mother comes in. She was clearly crying again, while I was in the MRI.
"How was it?" she asks. She knows I hate them.
"The usual."
"Well, Dr. Copeland told me he is going to get the results to us the second they are ready. No one came in with your blood work, right?"
"No, not yet. I'm sure it will all come together."
"Yeah, true. I still have a good feeling, you know."
I look at her and smile the best that I can. She was always a sucker for hope. I wish I could be more susceptible to it, like her. She really is the strongest person I know. I must get the little bit of it from her, you know, when I'm not acting like a fool from hot nurses and scary magnet machines. There is a knock at the door and I know what is coming.
Dr. Copeland walks in and shuts the door behind him. He walks over to his chair and sits down. I can't take my eyes off of him and I can tell my mother is having the same reaction. I stop breathing, as I see his head moves up. I catch his eye and I know.
"Paul, I'm so sorry, but the cancer is back." I knew it. My mother lets a loud sob escape, but she quickly pulls herself together. She wants to stay strong for me, but I know I need to stay stronger for her. She can't lose me.
She finally gathers the strength to speak and asks, "How bad is it?"
"We need to run some more tests, but he has a couple of tumors in his abdomen. We can't say for sure, but it is at least in stage three. I think it may be at four this time." He looks away from my mother and at me. He is expecting me to say something.
"Well," I say, "when should we come back for the rest of the tests?"
"Can we do it now?" My mother asks, practically begging with her question.
"Let me see what I can do," Dr. Copeland responds, jumping from his chair, leaving the exam room. Crap, now I'm alone with my mother. I look over and she is staring at me.
"Honey," she starts, "it's going to be okay. We are going to get through this. You have to stay positive." Tears are starting to fall from her face, so she stops and hugs me. I knew this was all going to happen, but I am still shocked. I can't believe it is back.
My mother holds me for what feels like eternity, until Dr. Copeland comes back into the room. He looks relieved in a way. Great. I get to have the bone marrow aspiration right now.
"Molly, we can do it. Paul, are you up for it?" Dr. Copeland probes. As soon as the words roll off his lips, I feel my mother's eyes pierce into me. I know I don't have an option. I want to say no. I want to say I don't care. I don't want to fight.
"Yes, the sooner, the better," I lie. Dr. Copeland steps out again, but this time my mother is following him. She must have thousands of questions for him. Good. I want to be alone right now. It's back. How does this keep happening to me? Why does it? I throw myself back and try to let it soak in. Staring at the ceiling tiles, I know this is the end for me. There is no way I can beat it again, especially if he thinks it is stage four. Why are we even bothering with all of this shit? Even if I do beat it, I will be back in here in a year going through it all again. I want this to end. I need to stop all of this, but I know I never could. My mother would never accept it. I have to do this for her. Dad, I wish you were here. I know you would understand. Save me a seat wherever you are.
Sulking in my eminent death, I feel someone walk into the room. I don't move right away, but my mother will probably think I'm losing it, so I sit up. When I do, I come face to face with Jay. His eyes look soft. I know that look too well. He knows.
"You okay?" he asks me. What a stupid question.
"I'm good," I reply with some annoyance in my voice.
"Sorry, that was a stupid question," he blushes. He is even cuter when he blushes. Now that I am dying, I definitely have the right to make a move here.
"No, it's what you say. Don't worry about it," I say, chickening out. "Are you doing myÉuhhÉprocedure?"
"No, but I'll be helping Dr. Copeland. You need to be in a gown for that, though. So, I'm here to help with that."
"Right. I guess I'll need you to tie it again."
"Of course," he replies grinning. That grin can kill someone. I get up and turn around as I begin to undress. I notice he doesn't close the curtain this time. I guess I don't care this time. He will be changing my bedpan soon enough. Just the thought makes me cringe. I throw my sweatshirt on the bed, like it betrayed me. It was supposed to bring me good luck today. I guess I can stop wearing it as a good luck charm. I feel for the wall as I try to step for out of my jeans, but miss it somehow. Jay is there quickly to catch me before I fall.
"You okay?" he asks with worry in his eyes.
"Fuck. Yes. Sorry." I blush immediately. "I wasn't paying attention. Thanks for catching me." His grip is intoxicating. This is too much.
"That's what I'm here for," he replies with that deadly grin of his again. He stands me back up. I blush even harder, once I realize that I am only in my boxers and socks. I quickly grab the gown and turn around for him to tie it.
As he is pulling it in, he asks, "Is that too tight?"
"No, it's good. Thanks."
My mother walks in and comes right over to me. She sees that my face is all flushed and looks at me with her mothering eyes. I know she is nervous.
"I just slipped. I'm fine," I answer her eyes before she interrogates me for my emotions.
"Okay. Are you sure you want to do this today?" she asks.
Like I have a choice. "Yes."
Jay helps me back up from bed. My back is in so much pain; I wouldn't have been able to get up without him. I stay still for a second, sitting straight up. Jay is looking at me with worry in his eyes, his hand on my back to make sure I don't fall back. It feels electric. I know he must have more important things to do, so I suck it up and get down from the bed.
"Whoa. Take your time. We are in no rush," Jay tells me.
"I'm okay," I respond, still moving towards my clothes. I want to get out of here right away. I am not ready to be stuck here forever. I need to be free.
"Can you help me get dressed?"
"Yes, of course. Sit back down. Let me get your clothes." He helps me back onto the bed, so that he can go to the other side of the room. I hate the feeling after those things. I feel like a zombie right now. I look over at Jay as he is grabbing my clothes. Scrubs look damn good on him.
"Thank you," I say as he places them next to me. He reaches behind me, his chest grazing my arm. I feel the tie come undone behind my back. Why couldn't it take longer? Damn it. I blush. He pulls the gown off of me, leaving me in my boxers alone. I feel very embarrassed next to him. He can probably break me with one hand. I quickly reach for my shirt so I can get covered up. He helps me unfold it and puts it over my head. Once again, he reaches behind me to make sure the shirt is pulled down my back. His chin grazes my neck as he does it, making me blush even more. I really need to pull it together. He pulls my jeans from the pile of clothes and holds them open for me to step into them.
"Use my shoulders for support and step down," he tells me, looking into my eyes, making sure I have the strength to do it. Once I am in them, he pulls them up and lets me fasten the button. This is so embarrassing. It is moments like these that make me hate cancer even more. At this point, I'd rather have surgery. It is so debilitating and embarrassing. I feel like a big baby.
"You okay? How's your head?" he asks.
"It's good. I can get it from here."
"Alright. Sit back down though. You cannot fall down in here. Got it?"
"Yes, I know the rules." I reply, a little too sharply. I think he gets the hint and leaves the room. So it starts. I am never going to be alone again. I'm going to die in this hospital. Where is my mother so we can get the hell out of here? And in she walks, more tears.
"Honey, how was it?" she asks.
"The usual," I repeat the same answer as before. I hate that these are the usual.
"Alright," she replies with more pain in her voice. "Dr. Copeland said he would call tomorrow. So, I guess we can go. Let me get the nurse to bring a wheelchair."
"Can't I walk? Honestly, I'm fine." I know it is useless but I must try. I need to have some sense of dignity before the bedpans starts.
"You know you can't," she responds, walking out of the room. It is not long before she is back with Jay, pushing a wheelchair. He gives me the cancer smile.
"You ready for another ride?" he asks, jokingly. Did he just make a sex joke?
"I'd rather walk," dismissing any innuendo he aimed for.
He responds, sternly, "We both know that is not happening. Mrs. Harrison, do you want to bring the car to the front and I will push little Paulie here on out there?" He throws a thumb at me like I'm not in the room. What the hell did he just call me?
"Uhh, sure," my mother responds, just as shocked as me, but she looked more amused by it.
"The name is Paul," I snap at him, once my mother has left. He looks down at me with a yeah-I-know-get-over-it look. I choose to ignore him. I don't have the energy to start a fight. Plus, he may be the one cleaning my bedpan in a couple weeksÉor days. I slide off of the bed and walk over to the wheelchair. As I try to ease myself down, he quickly moves into place to take all of my weight and places me down.
"Thanks," I mutter, not looking at him. I could have freaking walked and we would have avoided that.
"That's what I'm here for," he replies grinning. That is going to get old. We start to make our way out of the room and down the hallway to the receptionist area. It feels like years since we came in this morning. I really had hope this morning that I would still be in remission. Why do I keep letting myself get suckered into it? This is it. This is the end. I can't fight. She has to let me do this my way. The receptionist wishes me a good afternoon as we pass her, but I choose to ignore it. I'll be back tomorrow, don't you worry. If my mother has anything to do with it, I'll be doing my first round of chemo tonight. I know she just wants me to get better, but this isn't her fight anymore. I am no longer her scared little boy. I should have a say in what I want to do. I see her car pull up to the front door, as we stop. She quickly gets out of the car and opens the front passenger's door. I look up at Jay who is walking around to face me.
"Isn't the point to bring me all the way to the car?" I ask, confused.
He crouches and says, "I don't know your story and I don't need to know it to know that you will beat this. I see patients every day, and every day they beat this thing. Clearly, you are a fighter. I don't know many people that wouldn't be sobbing right now after finding out they have cancer. So, you can hate me all you want for making you use this wheelchair, but we are stuck with each other and I plan on making this fight the easiest it can be. You with me?"
I stare into his eyes for a second and respond, "Why not?" There's that grin again.
He stands back up and pushes me out the entrance, all the way to the car.
"Yes, the point is to go all the way to the car," he says, cheekily. I look up at him, smiling. I don't know why, but this boy makes me smile. Maybe this won't be so bad? I get up with more ease than I thought possible. Jay notices I am stronger and lets me work this one out on my own.
"You okay, honey?" my mother asks. She was crying again.
"Yeah. I'm good," I reply, turning to look at Jay. "Sorry I got cranky in there. Thanks for all the help."
"That's what I'm here for." I think that will grow on me.