Finley is played by Tenzing Norgay Trainor (you'll just have to imagine him without hair and eyebrows), thank you Linneagb for casting him. His father is played by Om Puri and his mother is played by Heather Hanson.
I realised partway through writing this that it may not have been a great idea to name two OCs Finley and Joseph when we already have Finn and Joseph as DG residents. To avoid confusion, Finley will always be referred to as Finley and never a nickname like Fin, and Joseph Albaston will be referred to as Mr Albaston.
(Edited 09/01/2018 to include the part about pro bono i.e. working free of charge.)
"Tell me exactly what you want," Finley said, calling Ryan the next morning.
"I want to have an operation to cut out the whole tumour along with the spinal cord it's attached to," Ryan said. He had hidden behind the bushes in the garden to stop himself being discovered, aided by Bailey, Mo and Sasha's noisy football game. It meant he was unlikely to be heard.
"And why do you want it?" Finley asked.
"You know why," Ryan said.
"Yeah, but it needs to come out of your mouth," Finley explained.
"Why?"
"Because I'm on speaker right now and my dad is listening in," Finley said bluntly.
"What?" Ryan let out. "But won't I have to pay?"
"It's my job to find loopholes," said an unfamiliar male voice on the other end, clearly Finley's father Joseph. "Finley told me about your situation and low allowance, so I'm working free of charge."
"Is that legal?"
"I'm a lawyer, I would know if it wasn't."
"Fine," Ryan huffed. "I want it because if I don't have it, this cancer will eventually kill me regardless of what other treatment I have and I don't want to die."
"Okay," Mr Albaston said slowly. There was a pause on the end of the line. Ryan guessed he was writing things down. "Are you sure this will kill you if you don't have this operation? Moreover, are you sure this operation will save your life?"
Truth be told, something in Ryan told him that the cancer could still come back even after the surgery (this something was an object with poor cellular differentiation and had a nasty habit of turning up where it wasn't wanted). The same thing sometimes happened in amputees with osteosarcoma - their cancer came back and they had to go through the whole palaver again - and some didn't even make it out alive for their efforts. But he knew that if he didn't have the operation, he was guaranteed to kick the bucket after five or so years at the very most.
"I'll die young if I don't have it, that's for sure," Ryan said finally.
"But are you sure the surgery will be useful?" Mr Albaston persisted.
"Dad, he's not a doctor," Finley interrupted. "I thought you were supposed to call medical experts as witnesses?"
"Yes, but I need to make sure he has a case worth taking," Mr Albaston explained. "We need to prove that this operation would be preferable in the long run over what the hospital is offering him."
"Speaking of which, what have they offered you?" Finley asked, addressing Ryan again.
"Radiation," Ryan said. "I have my first one this afternoon. He also said I might have surgery to remove part of it in the future, but not all of it."
"I'm guessing 'he' is Dr Gareth?" Mr Albaston questioned.
"Yeah."
"Have you raised the issue with him?"
"Yes, but he asked about it and they said no," Ryan said. "They said that it would be violating an oath they have to take and they'd get jailed for it."
"Ah yes," Mr Albaston muttered. "Medical malpractice. We need to take that into account."
The conversation went on for over an hour, with Mr Albaston questioning Ryan at every opportunity despite his son's protests ("I need to make sure this case is solid, Finley!"), before he finally had everything he needed, including the amputation argument and even the detail about Ryan's father. Had this been a 'formal' consultation, Ryan would've had to give up his clothing allowance for the next nine months.
"The contract should be ready in about three days," Mr Albaston said. "Only we can't discuss it over the phone. You'll need to come in."
"You still have that business card I gave you, right?" Finley asked.
"Yes." It had mostly remained in Ryan's bedside table to hide it from anyone who would come into his room for whatever reason, but he'd taken pictures should he ever lose it. "That address?"
"Right, see you in a few days," Finley said, before hanging up.
"You ready?" May-Li asked him.
"Let me finish my drink," Ryan muttered, sitting on a chair in the radiography room with a can of Sprite in his hand.
Truth be told, he just wanted to postpone lying on the table. The linear accelerator looked like something out of a science-fiction movie, with a large arm above the table that would fire radiation into him. As if to enhance the experience of feeling like a test subject for alien scientists, at the same appointment as his PET scan, he had been taken to be fitted for a back brace that would keep him in one position for the whole of the treatment. To Ryan, the brace reminded him more of a straitjacket. Not in terms of its looks, but in terms of its function - to confine his movement. Moreover, the nurse (and the consent form he was given on the day it had been prescribed) had told him that he would have to take his shirt off for the radiation beam to be more accurate.
Not to mention, it was just as well that today was the day he had decided to start rationing his spoons, as he had woken up feeling so stiff that getting out of bed had been a real effort. Getting through the day up to this point one spoon at a time had been easy enough, but he could feel that he'd be running on fumes by dinner time. His many bathroom breaks didn't help with this at all.
Maybe the Sprite hadn't been such a good idea. He threw the can in the bin, even though there was still some left.
"Good," Nurse Hendrix said. "Ma'am, you'll have to go into that room there," he explained, gesturing for May-Li to go to the adjoining room, "and Ryan, it'll take a bit of time to get you into position, so try and be patient. Let us know if you're uncomfortable."
Ryan waited until May-Li had left the room before confessing, "I'm not comfortable with having to take my shirt off."
"That's why I'm here instead of a female nurse," Hendrix joked, though Ryan wasn't in the mood. "I'm sorry, but it's necessary unless you want to take all your clothes off and wear a gown."
Ryan grimaced. "No thanks." That would definitely take up more spoons than was necessary, so he started unbuttoning his shirt. "Will I be able to feel it?" he asked, nodding to the radiotherapy machine.
Before he could feel embarrassed about the childish question, Hendrix answered, "No, you won't, though we might move you on the trolley a few times so they can aim at the whole tumour. Like I said, let us know if you feel uncomfortable at any time while we're setting you up."
In his pretend day when going through the spoon theory with Finley, a hospital visit had taken up three spoons - one for getting there, one for doing whatever he went there for, and one for getting back. Ryan had assumed that lying on a table for half an hour wouldn't be too taxing and he could get away with only two spoons.
Boy, was he wrong. Lying still took more control than walking, even with the help of the back brace, which left him with compression marks in his skin.
While the experience was preferable to having chemotherapy, as well as costing fewer spoons, it didn't come without its own souvenirs and side-effects. When he got changed into his pyjamas that evening, spending his last spoon, he noticed that the area was now sporting an unsightly red rash*, which added insult to injury when it came to back pain as now his heavier clothes rubbed it raw.
"That surgery you wanted would've hurt a lot worse," May-Li had said, noticing him in the kitchen with the rash cream prescribed by the radiographer. She'd researched the side-effects of radiotherapy herself so she had a good idea what it was for.
The mention of the surgery reminded Ryan of the impending meeting with Mr Albaston, which was only in a couple of days now. Its proximity apprehended him slightly, as up to now, it had been a mere possibility, like a zombie apocalypse. Now it had become more tangible, the unfamiliarity scared him all over again.
He really needed to be more decisive. Paraplegia couldn't be half as scary as Hell.
"You finally came to your senses then?" Chloe spat, overhearing this as she slipped past.
"They wouldn't allow it," Ryan said, applying the cream to the rash.
"I wonder why," Chloe muttered. "Why did you want that operation so bad, Ryan?"
What kind of a question was that? "Because it'll save my life," Ryan said curtly. "I've looked it up, the survival rate for my cancer is five years max."
"But your life will be changed forever," she warned. "It'll make it way harder for you."
"Wow, I wonder what it would be like to have a difficult life?" Ryan said sarcastically. He threw the tube of cream back into the cupboard and closed the door with his cane, not wanting to stand up from the chair.
10 spoons.
F: The contract is ready. When can you come over?
R: Now.
It was a Sunday, meaning that Ryan had no radiation appointment and he hadn't used his 'going out' spoons yet. He was also lucky enough to wake up with 15 spoons instead of twelve, which he guessed was the work of the radiotherapy. but he still had to be careful. He had used about five so far as he'd been anticipating the journey and wanted to conserve them.
"Mike, May-Li, I'm going out," he said casually, making his way towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" Mike asked, poking his head out of the office doorway.
"Just out into town," Ryan said, the half-lie rolling off his tongue.
"Will you be alright?" May-Li asked, nodding towards his cane.
"I''m getting the bus, I won't have to walk that far."
"Oh yeah, the bus," May-Li let out, as if Ryan had reminded her of something. "We should probably get you a disabled bus pass."
The word 'disabled' punched Ryan in the gut - it had been the first time someone had referred to him as such out loud. "I'll do without it for now," he said. "The stick is all the disabled bus pass I need."
"Can't argue there," Mike murmured. "Well, don't be too long and be sure to give us a ring if anything happens."
Something did happen on the bus ride, though nothing major enough to cause drama over. Ryan had sat down in the designated disabled area, which just happened to be right next to the designated maternity area. Sure enough, a mother was there, with a girl of around ten by her side and a chubby baby in a pram. Immediately, the mother's eyes fell to his cane and she wrapped her arm around her daughter and pulled her close, away from him.
"It's not that scary," Ryan smirked, waving the cane in front of them. "Oh look, a cane. Whooooh."
The daughter giggled, but the mother scowled and tightened her grip.
Thankfully, they were off at the next stop and the rest of the bus journey went without hitch. It was a bit of a walk to Finley's house, a walk that Ryan could've made without thinking if he'd been healthy, but doing it with a spinal tumour was a different story. The whole journey had taken two whole spoons before he eventually arrived at the front door.
8 spoons.
The house was part of a quaint terrace, all looking similar save for the cars parked in the driveway and the numbers on the doors. This door, Ryan noted, had a brass knocker and a catflap at the bottom.
Good. Better a cat than a dog.
He knocked on the door and a few seconds later it was opened by a short girl with auburn hair and glasses wearing a pale blue polo and khaki shorts.
"Hi," she said, not looking surprised to see him despite her being unfamiliar to him. "Are you Ryan?"
"Yeah," he said, "and you are ..."
"Rosemary, Finley's sister," she introduced, holding out a hand for him to shake.
"The one who told me to get stuffed?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," she said, lowering her hand and looking sheepish. "Sorry about that, I was just doing as he told me."
"I figured."
"Wanna come inside?" she offered, turning around and leading him in before he could offer a sarcastic response of "No, I want to stay standing in the doorway." Nonetheless, he followed her inside.
Much like the front of the terrace, the hallway was quaint, with oil paintings on the walls and a thick crimson carpet. The living room off to the side had cream sofas and even a lazy boy armchair (the kind that has the bottom flip up to support the legs). A large cat basket with a blue cushion sat in the corner, a scratching post next to it that had clearly been well-used.
On the lazy boy was lounging another lazy boy, the one and only Finley Albaston. He looked even more sickly than last time Ryan had seen him thanks to chemo, having lost even the meagre stubble on his head, but he smiled upon seeing Ryan.
"You took your time," he said, made hypocritical by the sluggishness with which he got to his feet. "Do you want a drink or anything?"
"No thanks," Ryan said, shaking his head.
"Take him up to your room for now," came the voice of Mr Albaston from a room to the side of the corridor. "I'll be a few minutes."
Ryan stared, confused, at Finley.
"He takes forever in the toilet," Finley explained. "Come on, I'll show you my room."
They both ended up having to be helped up by Rosemary as Finley's bone pain and Ryan's paraparesis meant that stairs were a task for both of them.
"Honestly, boys are so lazy," she huffed, though she wasn't serious. She was used to helping Finley around, but supporting two teenage boys at once was another ordeal.
7 spoons.
Eventually, they made it onto the landing and stood outside the door to Finley's room. "Sorry about the mess," Finley said casually, opening the door.
The room wasn't actually messy at all save for the bedsheets being rumpled, but that was understandable as a fresh chemo dose could more or less render a person bedridden. The room had the essentials, with a tall wardrobe with mirrors on the doors and a desk under the window. Not even the desk was messy, with the books and folders stacked into piles, a silver laptop in the middle and a desk lamp in the corner. The windowsill had several photographs in wooden frames and above the head of the bed was a large poster explaining the Spoon Theory.
A sleek cat was lying spread out on top of the wardrobe, idly washing her paws. Her fur was black except for her paws and chest, which were white. She surveyed the room lazily, though she pounced off the wardrobe as soon as she saw Ryan and circled him several times, meowing incessantly.
"She's always like that," Finley explained. "Do you like animals?"
"Yeah, I'm a vegetarian," Ryan said. "I'm not a fan of dogs though, I'm definitely a cat person."
"Me too, though I'm okay with dogs," Finley said. "Why don't you like them?"
"Just not a fan," Ryan shrugged, taking a seat at Finley's desk chair to rest his calves. The cat suddenly reared up, stretched her front legs up his cane so high that her claws nearly reached the handle, and scraped her claws the length down it. (He was glad that his cane was plastic and not metal, otherwise the sound would've been insufferable.) Then she evidently lost steam and leapt onto his lap, settling down in a furry pillow. Up close, he noticed that she was wearing a red collar with a silver bell at the front and Harriet on the side in black lettering.
Absently stroking her head, he started looking at the photographs on the windowsill, trying to figure the boy out from them. A few showed Finley with hair, which was slightly jarring. School photos, posing in the garden, even a picture of him lying in a hospital bed with two friends that was clearly taken with a selfie stick.
The biggest photo, however, was in the middle of the sill and had a silver frame. It showed Finley's family at Disneyland, posing with Peter Pan and Captain Hook. It was clearly years old, but he could still identify who they were. He knew what Finley's mother looked like, but she'd evidently had her hair colour touched up upon over the years. She was standing next to a stout man with a large nose whose middle filled out his belt, clearly Mr Albaston. Lying in Mrs Albaston's arms was a plump, rosy-cheeked toddler with strands of auburn hair already coating her head, clearly Rosemary as a toddler. Clutching a rainbow ice lolly, she was smiling from ear to ear.
Right in the middle, sitting on the lap of a ten-year-old girl with long dark hair, was Rosemary's opposite - a thin five-year-old boy, pale and frail with not a hair on his head, but still grinning. All five of them were wearing Make-A-Wish Foundation T-shirts.
"Whose lap are you sitting on?"
"Hm?" Finley asked, following Ryan's gaze. "Oh, that's my big sister, Charlene. She's off at uni now, so you probably won't meet her."
"What does she do?"
"Medicine," Finley said, snorting slightly. "No prizes for guessing how she came to that conclusion."
"Indeed," Ryan said, his gaze drifting to the picture of Finley in hospital with two other boys, smiling tiredly at the camera. He noticed that at the bottom of the photo were the words: Don't break down, Alabaster Boy.
"Alabaster boy?" Ryan asked, laughing slightly.
Finley scoffed. "It's just a nickname they gave me when I last relapsed. It's because my name is Albaston and my cancer makes me so fragile."
"I've never met anyone less fragile," Ryan commented, before he could stop himself.
"Says you," Finley joked. "You've only known you've had it for about a month, you're like Mo Farah compared to me."
"If Mo Farah was going to die in a few years, yes," Ryan said, some of his trademark pessimism creeping back in. "You've lived like this for years and you're still going. I don't stand a chance."
"Yeah, but that's why you're here," Finley said. "So that you can live."
As if on cue, a knock on the door sounded. "Boys, you in there?" came Mr Albaston's voice.
"Yeah, come in, dad," Finley permitted. The door opened and the same stocky man stepped in. The dark hair he'd had in the photo had greyed over the years, but he had otherwise stayed much the same.
"Hello again, Ryan," he greeted, shaking the boy's hand heartily. Harriet leapt off his lap as soon as he stopped stroking her. "Sorry for the wait. Are you ready to see the contract?"
"Of course."
"Good," said Mr Albaston. "Let's get down to business. I'll bring it here so you won't have to walk."
6 spoons.
*While radiotherapy can cause sore skin, rashes etc on the area being treated, it doesn't happen after one treatment like I've written it here, but rather builds up over several treatments. The bit about the rash cream is accurate though, radiation rashes shouldn't be treated by creams unless they're prescribed by a specialist or radiographer.
