"Bardzo boli?" Angelo asked as he moved my foot back and forth.
"Yeah," I breathed, "A little."
I tried to keep my fists clenched behind my back so he couldn't tell exactly how much pain I was really in. I felt bad. I was in physical therapy for two, almost three, months now and there have been no signs of improvement. My mom likes to blame it on my podiatrist, I like to blame it on my neurologist – who, honestly, I don't see a point in seeing -, and Angelo likes to blame it on faulty test results. I've had two inconclusive MRIs and a fairly normal nerve conduction test. There's nothing pointing to me being injured, other than excruciating pain whenever I step on my left heel.
Angelo leaned back and I relaxed, letting go a relieved sigh.
"Alright, how's the back pain been?" He asked.
I shrugged, "It's been consistent you know? I still can't twist to the left as much as I can to the right and it's only in that one spot."
He frowned and let his glasses fall to his nose from the place where they were perched on the top of his head. I knew this meant he was thinking. I let him poke around for a bit, trying to keep my flinches moderate.
Pulling back, Angelo looked defeated, "Let's do STIM and call it a day."
Compliantly nodding I rolled my pant leg up. There was no use arguing with him to let me do some exercises. I can barely walk without a crutch and I already toppled over once at therapy because of "strenuous activity," as he called it.
Angelo patched me up then went to go work with his other patient there. My phone so gracefully died during the ultrasound treatment, so I was left with awkwardly staring around the room.
There were five other people in there with me. A grown, fairly hefty, man was in the gym exercising his shoulder injury quite loudly. Just a little louder and his grunts would be echoing throughout the building. Another girl, who I learned was named Juana, also had a shoulder injury and she sat directly across from me on STIM texting. Then there were the two fraternal twins. The girl was stretching her calf and the boy was getting his neck worked on by the other physical therapist. To my left, Angelo animatedly chatted with a woman getting treatment for Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
It's not that I was jealous of these people because, honestly, why would I be jealous of physically hurt people? It's just… They had the certainty that after a few weeks or months of PT, they'd be set – and all I knew for myself was that I was most likely still going to be here.
I laid back onto the table and closed my eyes.
"Hon this isn't your bed and breakfast," I heard Angelo mumble above me.
Blinking awake, I smiled, "Sorry, I'm just tired."
"I can see that," he laughed, unhooking me from the machine, "You're free to go ma'am."
He grandly gestured towards the exit. I laughed as I slid to the edge of the table to slide my orthotic sneakers on. Another perk about having foot issues, your shoe wardrobe was always set.
I hopped down from the table, "See ya Friday Ange!"
He looked up and waved from wiping down my table. I placed a hand on the wall to steady myself on my journey to the front door.
My stomach dropped.
I felt a lump in my throat.
I glanced down and called out, "Ange!"
"Yeah?" He called back.
I heard his footsteps approaching.
"My – " My throat was too dry.
I couldn't talk.
Angelo walked in front of me.
He grabbed my arms.
I looked up at him.
And felt myself falling to the floor.
"SHIT," Angelo shouted, "Rich, call an ambulance!"
"Zuzia… Zuzia…" I knew that voice.
"Mama?" I wearily asked, trying to open my eyes. I was just so tired.
"Yes honey," She said, "Just sleep. You've had a long day."
"Nah, I'm good," I whispered, forcing my eyes open. My mom was sitting next to me with a book in her lap. I looked up at a white tiled ceiling. Only then did it register where I was.
"Why are we in here?" Sudden panic swallowed my chest.
She reached over and patted my head, explaining what happened at Angelo's.
"Knock knock," A female doctor cheerfully said at the doorway before I even had any time to react to the information my mom just gave me.
My mom gave me a reassuring smile, but in a sudden wave of nerves, I couldn't make eye contact with the doctor. Social anxiety does that to a person. I twiddled with my bed sheets instead. My go-to coping method was nail biting, but when I glanced down at them, there was nothing left to bite.
"Hello Zuzia, my name is Dr. Nasiek. How are you feeling?" She asked from the end of my bed.
"Good," I mumbled into my chest.
"Lovely," She said on such a high octave level I thought I might my go deaf, "Well. Your MRI scan came back."
I looked at my mom, she squeezed my hand.
Dr. Nasiek pinned the results to the lights on the wall, found the area she wanted to call out, and turned to us not removing her finger. I looked back down at my lap when she faced us again.
"I'm not going to beat around the bush because I believe that is the worst thing to do in a situation like this," He voice grew so serious, I wanted the bed to just envelope me so I'd disappear, "This is a picture of your spinal cord, Zuzia. This small mass to the left of vertebrae numbers T8 and T9 – that is a tumor."
My head jerked up when my mom gasped and crushed my hand.
Nasiek continued to power through though, "Now in the PET scan results, we did confirm that it is cancerous."
My mom's grip tightened.
"Now this cannot be confirmed through testing, but there is a high chance that, since it is a vertebral tumor, it will metastasize. You fainted yesterday, Ayla, because your thoracic spine section is slowly… giving out let's say. A common symptom of spinal cancer is paralysis of varying degrees. Mrs. Baros, you briefed us on Zuzia's continuing foot problems. This is also indicative of this cancer. Her difficulty walking, muscle weakness, numbness, and loss of sensation in regards to temperature differentiation, determining whether something is sharp or rounded, etc. are all leading symptoms. Her age is the only thing that most likely threw the doctors off. Sixteen isn't the prime age for spinal cancer."
She touched her perfectly fixed blonde bun as if to recuperate after a harsh blow, then said, "I'll leave you to process the information for a little while. An oncologist is on his way to talk about treatment he recommends."
With that, her heels clicked out of the room and I finally looked up.
"Kochanie…" My mom began with one of the many pet names she gave me. Her arms quickly surrounded me. I didn't know what to do. I was in shock. I was just told I had cancer. Was I really supposed to be consoling my mother?
She pulled away just when the oncologist came in. She sat back in her chair and wiped her eyes.
"Hello Mrs. Baros," The old man smiled, "Zuzia."
I looked out the window.
"My name is Dr. Braver. I'm sure Dr. Nasiek briefed you on Zuzia's condition?" He asked. I heard him drag up a chair.
"Yes," my mom stifled out.
"Good, good," He muttered. There was paper rustling.
"Our facility is not equipped to handle this sort of tumor. Chemotherapy is not typically recommended for spinal cord cancer patients as it can impair nerve function and cause more complications than benefits. I have a list of hospitals I would find it best to transfer Zuzia to. I highly recommend Ocean Park Hospital in Los Angeles, California. A former student of mine works there in pediatrics and I can assure you, you will be put into good hands."
Dr. Braver weakly smiled and patted my leg as he stood up, then handed the list to my mom. My head was swimming. California? That's on the other side of the country. I'd have to leave everything behind. My school, my friends, my life – all tucked away into the past.