Pancreatic cancer.
That's what my Dallas has been diagnosed with. I sit by his bedside, caressing his hand. It's been about three months since he was diagnosed. I've done my research. Life expectancy? Three to six months after diagnosis.
He's always complaining that his back hurts. He's lost an extreme amount of weight. His skin and his eyes are turning a yellowish color. He vomits constantly. And he refuses to eat, so I'm not really sure what he's been throwing up.
It doesn't look good at all. He doesn't either. But he's still the beautiful boy I fell in love with. His family won't tell me anything about his state nor will the doctors but it's pretty easy to guess: He'll be dead within a month.
And I've known this for about three months. I've come to visit him every day. Actually, I practically live here, as of about a month ago. I barely ever leave his room, except to go to the food court and to go home to get a change of clothes. What sucks, though, is that my mom is making me come home and stay home for a night. She says I've been spending too much time at the hospital and all I'm doing is stressing myself out. I've spent one month of my summer in this hospital and she says it's not healthy. She wants me to come home and invite Trish over for a sleepover.
I'm going to send Dallas flowers tomorrow, to let him know I'm always thinking of him, even when we're not physically together.
In the morning, he's still asleep. I kiss him lightly on the cheek, tears welling up in my eyes, and slip out silently with my head down. I stare at my hand, which has Dallas's room number written on it. 302. I have a lot of trouble remembering his room number sometimes. Once, I went to room 202 by accident.
I ran into the room, ready to give Dallas the biggest hug ever. I slowed down when I saw that Dallas was not lying in his bed.
In his place was a boy about our age. He had dirty blond hair and vacant brown eyes. He stared straight up at the ceiling. I'm not even sure he noticed I was there. There were scars on his wrist. Some were red and angry, some were white and faded.
They were vertical, running up and down his arms.
His dirty blond hair was messy and hanging in his eyes and there was an awful smell coming from him. He was so thin that I could make out each and every one of his ribs, even through his gown. There was a tray of food next to his bed, completely untouched. I stared down at his lifeless-looking body, a look of horror probably obvious on my face.
I slowly backed out of the room.
I know, I know. I probably acted in the rudest way possible. But he didn't see me, I don't think. And I'll never see him again, I'm sure.
And in 402, there's an old man. His skin is as wrinkly as a prune and he's definitely dying. And soon.
As soon as I get home, I take a shower. I scrub myself clean before I call Trish and ask if she wants to come over tonight. She says yes and that she'll be over sometime this afternoon. I call the flower shop and order a bouquet of red roses and have them sent to his room. I also request a note to be attached that says, "I love you! Love, Als". There wasn't much I could think about to put on there, but hey, at least it's something.
I sit down on my bed and take my songbook out. I stare down at the blank page. Something wet falls onto the page, making a dark misshapen dot on it. I reach up gingerly to feel my face and, sure enough, I'm crying.
"Damn it, Dallas," I whisper, "sometimes I wish I could save you."
Sometimes I wish I could save you
And there're so many things I want you to know
I won't give up till it's over
If it takes forever, I want you to know…
Trish literally just sleeps over. She comes over, drops down onto my bed, asks me how Dallas is doing, and falls asleep waiting for my answer. I'm a bit thankful, because I really didn't want to talk. I just want to write, to relieve stress.
I think about the first time I went to see Dallas after his one-month-after-diagnosis mark. I was afraid he'd deteriorated over the night to just ashes and wisps of hair even though I had just seen him the night before.
"Take a deep breath," I told myself. I pulled myself together. There was just another step till I reached the door. I slowly reached out my hand to open the door. Tears welled up and threatened to spill over my cheeks. I made my way inside.
His parents had just left to go get lunch, the seat nearest the bed was still warm. This was when they still visited. They stopped around two months after he was diagnosed. His mother went into hysterics every time she saw him. Screaming, crying, cursing the doctors for not making her little boy better. Possibly drove herself insane with worry. She started staying home, as she was rousing and worrying other patients on his floor. His dad stopped coming too after a week or so of being there alone with Dallas. He was self-destructing from the inside out. You could tell from the anguished look on his face.
I walked inside and sat down in the chair his mother had been in, the one beside the bed. I took his hand in mine and his eyes fluttered open. He was not deteriorating as I thought he would be. He looked exactly the same as he had the day before. He looked over at me and smiled. "Hey, baby," he said softly.
A single tear rolled down my cheek as I smiled back. I opened my mouth to reply but my throat had a lump stuck in it. I tried to swallow it but I just couldn't. His smile slowly turned into a sad one and he just held up his arms a little for a hug. I slowly stood up and gently hugged him around the neck. His arms closed around my waist and we both fit our heads into the crook of each other's necks.
My legs got tired after a few minutes but I didn't care. We stayed like that for the entire thirty minutes his parents were gone. We only pulled away when his dad cleared his throat. "D-Dallas, we're going to go home. We…" His dad sighed. "We love you and we'll come back first thing tomorrow." He nodded at me. "Ally."
They gathered their things and left. You could hear his mother's sobs down the hall… and they weren't even as close to as bad as they were a little before she stopped coming. I inhaled, exhaled, staring at Dallas. He smiled at me, trying to make me believe that he's okay. But I knew he wasn't. None of his treatments were working. At all. Well, some worked, but they didn't work that well.
I looked down then back at Dallas. The lump in my throat is gone now. I said, "I wish that I could tell you something to take it all away."
I look back down at my songbook and start writing.
Take a breath
I pull myself together
Just another step till I reach the door
You'll never know the way it tears me up inside to see you
I wish that I could tell you something
To take it all away
Sometimes I wish I could save you
And there're so many things that I want you to know
I won't give up till it's over
If it takes you forever, I want you to know
I swallow, close my book, and lie down next to Trish. I close my eyes and fall asleep, ready to go see Dallas in the morning.
I wake up, bright and early in the morning. I leave Trish a note, telling her I'm going to the hospital, and rush out the door. I reach the hospital and step through the double doors, heading for the elevator. I press the 3 button and ride the agonizingly slow box up to the third floor. I almost burst right out when the doors open.
I rush to his room and beam at his sleeping body. I look around then knit my eyebrows together in confusion. Where are my flowers?
I shrug and take my seat next to his bed. His eyes slowly flutter open. "Ally, baby, hey," he says weakly.
"Hey, Dallas," I say, smiling. It slowly turns into a frown. "Um, did you get the flowers I sent yesterday?"
He looks around. "Uh, no. Maybe they haven't gotten here yet?"
I shrug. "Well, it's breakfast time. Do you want me to get you something from the food court?"
"No, thanks, I'm not really… hungry… But you can get something." Dallas looks up at me and notices my face falling. "Um, actually, you know, I am a little hungry. Could you get me… a…" He seems to struggle to remember food. "Uh… a slice of bread, or two." I give him a look. "I'm not that hungry, but it'll fill me up?"
I roll my eyes. Then I smile softly. At least he's making an effort, if not for himself then for me, to make me feel better. "All right, Dallas. I'll be right back," I say.
"I'll be here," he says with a wink. I smile at him, but it makes me sad right down to my soul. I kiss him on the cheek gently, feeling that if I put too much pressure on him, he'll cave in and fly away, one skin flake at the time. I turn away and frown, hurrying out the door. A nurse stops me as I close it behind me.
"Ms. Dawson?" she says.
I nod. "That's me. Oh, I meant to ask you—" But she doesn't seem to hear me.
"Mr. Moon wanted me to send his thanks for the flowers."
"The flowers? Oh, no, those were for—"
"And I thank you, too. He really needed that pick-me-up. He seems a little happier since you sent them." And she walks away.
Hello, everyone! Sorry I haven't been on. But I can actually write at school now, because they issued everyone Macbooks, and I definitely plan on writing stories instead of taking notes, that's for sure. I'm sorry it's so short. I'm a little rusty. But favorite and follow and review and let me know if you like it or not! I'll try to continue other stories I haven't finished yet (I think there are two), but I might just focus on this one for now. I'm not sure. Anyhoodles, have a nice day!
Love, Kenzie