-1A/N: Thanks for everything y'all. As usual, you guys rock. Especially akaMrsEdwardCullen. She helped a lot, with the stuff my research didn't cover.
Chapter 11: Treatment
In the last month, Edward had been through absolute hell. Carlisle had gotten him into chemo three days after he found out about his leukemia, and Edward was ready for a brief radiation before his bone marrow transplant. The chemotherapy had done a number on Edward: his hair hadn't completely fallen out, but large chunks were missing, and falling out more and more rapidly. His face was sullen and sallow, yellowish-gray and frail looking. He complained when anyone touched him, because pressure caused him a great deal of pain. In fact, his whole body ached to the point where he wouldn't even let me lay a hand on him.
The doctor had started him on steroids, to help ease the pain, but they never fully helped anything. He was weak, and fatigue was getting the better of him. He threw up often after a particularly strong dose of chemo, no matter if he had the anti-sickness injections or not. I cried every time I came to see him, when I thought he might be sleeping. I had forced myself to stop crying whenever he was awake, for fear of hurting him emotionally. I didn't want him to feel worse. He was already incredibly irritable whenever he was awake, often yelling at me or the nurses for no reason at all, except that the pain and anguish, combined with the steroids, made him lash out.
The doctors said that the chemo had killed his bone marrow, and that it would be replaced during the operation. He would receive bone marrow, from a complete stranger hundreds of miles away. I wished silently that it could have been my bone marrow, that I could have been the one to help him through his dark and difficult times. But it wasn't me, it was donor 40713. And all I could do was come and sit by his side.
Without his bone marrow, he was too susceptible to internal infections and illnesses, so we were all sterilized and forced to wear face masks and take extra precautions to ensure his safety. His frail frame lay helplessly on the hospital bed, the sterile smell of his room making me ill as I stared at him. He was sleeping today, the first time in a few days he was asleep when I arrived.
I sat in the chair next to his bed and lifted his hand gently. I stared at it, noticed the dark lines that had appeared across his fast growing fingernails since he had began therapy. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled slightly. "Hey," I whispered and lightly brushed my lips across his. "How are you feeling today?"
He frowned now. "Like I just got hit by a bus."
"I'm sorry, hon," I said. I reached over and retrieved a tray of food the nurse had left for him. "Nurse Sandy left this for you."
"I'm not hungry," he replied.
"You sure? Looks like apple crisp and--"
"Goddamn it, Bella. I said I'm not hungry. My mouth hurts," he said, his irritably rearing its ugly head.
"I'm sorry," I whispered again, feeling tears burning behind my closed eyelids.
"Oh, please don't cry, Bella," he said, "I didn't mean to snap at you."
"I know," I kissed his hand lightly, "I know."
The next few weeks went on like this, as Edward began radiation therapy. A new slew of side effects took place, however. He was receiving his treatment to the neck, and the problems he was now experiencing was causing him to become frustrated and hateful. He had a terrible earache and I knew that when I talked to him, he wasn't even listening. He flinched every few minutes and touched his ear and the dry skin around his treatment site.
Eating was not something Edward even really did anymore. "Bella, I can't swallow any of it, it hurts too bad. And I can't have anything good anyway--no sugary foods, no spicy foods, no dry, crispy foods. I can eat mashed potatoes and pudding," he said bitterly, his eyes clasped together.
Edward reached over and took a sip from his cup of cool water. "I hate this," he said, glaring at me.
"What?" I asked, confused,
"I have to pee," he said angrily.
"Do you need help getting up?" I asked, knowing full well he did,
He nodded and shoved the blanket weakly away from him. I gently put his feet over the side of the bed and he stood carefully, wobbling. I put his arm around my shoulders and he cringed. "Ow," he moaned.
"I'm sorry. Slowly now," I told him.
We walked, inch by inch to the bathroom. I hated that all of this treatment was taking such a toll on him. What happened to all of those stories of people who were able to still function, not even in a hospital during cancer treatment? Edward wouldn't survive one minute at home right now.
Edward did his business and I stood behind him, still supporting him, but not watching. I stared at his butt in his open gown instead. The boxer briefs I loved so much stretched across his bottom. But they were looser now, he having lost a considerable amount of weight since treatment started. "All right, bring me to the sink, please," he said.
We walked to the sink and he washed his hands, and he said, "I want to brush my teeth."
"I don't know if that's such a good idea," I said.
"Nonsense. The dentist came by today. He and my oncologist said I could brush my teeth with this," he held up an ultra soft toothbrush that looked as though it wouldn't remove any plaque whatsoever. "And this non-abrasive toothpaste that tastes like minty shit."
Oh, yeah. He was cranky today. "All right. Just be careful. Don't cut yourself."
He nodded, sighing slightly, weakly. If he cut himself, or even bruised himself, his blood would not clot. He didn't have enough white blood cells for it. He brushed his teeth carefully and rinsed with a doctor recommended mouthwash. "All right, take me back to bed," he said.
I did so, asking, "Not going to floss, then?"
"Not today. I'm too tired from all that walking."
We had walked a total of ten feet, maybe fifteen. I sat him gently on the bed and helped him put his legs down. He cringed and winced at every movement. His throat and jaw were tense and he was having trouble swallowing as he took another drink. "I am utterly…useless here," he said.
"Edward, no one expects you to move a muscle. You are sick and getting help, for Christ's sake."
"Ugh, I can't wait for this all to be over. Jesus."
"So…everyone said they'll be here around noon," I mentioned.
"Why? They don't need to come and see me laying here. I've told them a million times," he replied shortly.
"Edward, they are your family, and if you think that they are going to stay away and leave you alone, you're sadly mistaken. They love you and want to support you."
"I just want them to leave me alone today, though. Just one day. I'm too tired and I want to take a nap."
I stared at him in disapproval. "All right, I'll call your mother. But you're going to explain it to her when she sees you, why it is you want to block everyone out of your life."
"Because they are overwhelming and annoying when I want to sleep. Tell her I said that, in those exact words."
I really was not liking his attitude today. But I felt a surge of sympathy for him. He was my love after all. And he was uncomfortable, in pain, and feeling inadequate. So, I let him vent and piss and moan all he needed, let it all out. "Esme," I said, when she answered, "Edward said he wants you all to stay home today."
"Why?" she asked shortly, sounding taken aback.
"Well…he wants to take a nap."
"And you all are overwhelming and annoying when I want to sleep," he shouted hoarsely into the phone.
"Oh," was all Esme said. "All right then. We'll see him first thing tomorrow, then. And he can't talk his way out of that visit. We're not going to keep away everyday."
I shut my cell an laughed. "I can't believe you just said that."
He shrugged, smiling slightly. "She would have argued with you."
I nodded, knowing Esme to well to know she wouldn't have let me just get by with telling her Edward wanted a nap. "Now we have a full day to ourselves," he said, placing his hand over mine."
"How would you like to spend it?" I asked.
"I dunno. I'm confined to a bed, for the most part. We could just watch some television."
I shook my head. "Play guitar for me."
Edward sighed and said, "Go get it."
I went to the corner of his small hospital room, where his guitar case was kept. Dr. Oppenheim fluttered in and checked all of the machines Edward was hooked up to. "How are you feeling today, Ed?"
"Like complete and utter shit."
"That's pretty normal. Have you had a chance to brush your teeth yet?"
Edward nodded and Dr. Oppenheim smiled and checked Edward over briefly. "All right. A nurse will be in shortly to check up on you. And you," he looked pointedly at me, "make sure he rests and eats something."
"I'm not eating anything," Edward told him.
"Of course not," the doctor said and then looked at me and mouthed, "Pudding."
I nodded and brought Edward's guitar to him. He lifted it carefully. "Is it too heavy for you?" I asked.
"No, but I need you to prop it up with a pillow."
I did as he asked and he smiled. "Come on in this bed and lay by me."
I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back. "Careful," he warned.
I made sure I wasn't really touching him, for fear of hurting or bruising him. He strummed the guitar lightly, his hands not working as quickly and efficiently as usual. I realized he was playing my lullaby and closed my eyes. "I still love that. To this day."
"Me too," he nodded.
After a few minutes, the strumming faltered off and I opened my eyes. Edward had fallen asleep. I sighed and took the guitar from him, setting it in the chair. I leaned back once more and he put his head on my shoulder. "I love you," he whispered sleepily.
I said it back and we both fell into a foggy sleep. He groaned and moved every once in a while, his muscles and bones aching. I looked down at his head, at the patches of missing hair, hair I loved so dearly. That had been the first time Edward had ever felt self conscious about his appearance. Emmett had suggested he shave it all off, but Edward vainly held on to it, in an effort to have some piece of his old body. His efforts were futile, and he regretted that decision now. He was too afraid to get nicked and bleed unclotting blood that he wouldn't let anyone near his head to shave it.
I awoke to Edward vomiting over the side of his bed into a bedpan. The nurse was watching him, a look of calm across her face. She looked at me and made a shooing motion for me to get off the bed. I did so, giving Edward his space, and placed a hand on his back gingerly. I rubbed small circles as he heaved and cringed at the noise.
He laid back in his bed and sneered. "Great. Now I have to brush my teeth again."
O.O.O.O
I know these chapters are incredibly short, but I don't really feel like they need more. The next will be his transplant and what goes along with that.
Reviews would be lovely.
