Things to do in Salem When You're Dead
Chapter Fourteen
Author's note: I'm not a doctor and I know nothing about leukemia. Everything in here is made up. Just pretend it's accurate, okay?
I stretch lazily in my warm comfy bed and yawn deeply. I could stay here forever. I cannot tell you how good I feel right now. I'm back in my own bed, in my own room. I'm home.
The summer sun shines through my lace curtains and outside birds are singing. My favorite Beethoven CD plays quietly. It's so peaceful here, tranquil. Sugar keeps me company as she lies curled up at the foot of my bed.
"Hey sugar!" I reach over and scratch behind one of her fuzzy ears.
It's amazing. I've only been home two days, but I already feel much better. I feel stronger, healthier, even though I know that it's not an indication of my actual condition. I'm still sick. I still have Cancer, and without the chemotherapy treatments keeping it in check, it is going to begin to spread.
I can still hear Nancy's reaction to my decision.
"You want to WHAT?!" she had bellowed - her cry of astonishment echoing down the hospital corridor.
Craig was just as stunned. He looked at me with incredulous eyes and spoke slowly as if I was a confused child.
"Chloe, sweetie, I don't think you understand. The chemotherapy is what's fighting the cancer. It is the only treatment option available to us. If you do not undergo chemo then the cancer will continue to spread until." he trailed off, not wanting to voice his thoughts.
"Until I die." I finished for him.
"Yes." He agreed quietly.
"I know that, Craig. I also know that chemotherapy is a treatment. It's not a cure. I still need a bone marrow transplant to completely rid my body of the cancer. And that means finding a donor."
"We're looking, honey." Nancy interjected tearfully. "You're on the national register."
"I've done the research, Nancy." I interrupted gently. "There are people on that list who've been waiting a year, even two, for donor matches. You said it yourself, Craig, the odds of finding a match for me are slim."
"We are going to find you a match." He said, conviction blazing in his eyes. "We will do more donor drives, and not just in Salem, all over the state, we'll go all over the country if we have to. There's a match for you out there. We just have to find it." He gripped my shoulder firmly; as if to give me strength, hope.
"In the meantime," he continued, "We'll continue your treatments. Chemotherapy can hold off the disease for a couple of years, in some cases as long as six years before the cancer takes its toll."
"Yeah, in the meantime, I'll be trapped in this room, separated from everyone I love! I can't stand another minute in this place, let alone years!" I cried hotly.
I inhaled deeply, and when I spoke, my voice was soft but strong.
"Without the chemotherapy treatments, how. how long will I have?" I asked my parents as tears formed in my eyes. Nancy stifled a pained moan and tears slipped from the corners of her tired eyes.
Craig swallowed the lump in his throat and replied, trying to maintain his professional manner. "I would guess that, given your present state and the stage of the illness, you have.maybe six months. Maybe less."
His sober answer hung in the air as I pondered their meaning. Six months. Not a lot of time to find a match. My spirit twisted in worry. I didn't have a clue what I should do. I didn't want to give up, to die, but maybe it was time for me to finally face facts. Maybe a donor would never be found, and I'd spend my last days alone in a cold, sterile hospital room.
"So, it comes down to a choice. Six months of happiness, or years of misery." I thought out loud. I frowned slightly. At that moment I suddenly began to feel a presence behind me. I could almost feel a comforting hand on my shoulder.
Craig spoke up, interrupting my thoughts. "You understand, though, Chloe, that as the disease progresses, you will feel worse. Your nosebleeds and fainting spells will return and toward the.the end, you will be so sick that the chemotherapy will feel like a.a walk in the park."
I nodded my understanding. I couldn't explain it; I still can't explain how I just knew that I was making the right decision. I felt almost a force guiding me, telling me the path I should take. Once again I heard Isabella's words in my mind, I felt her peace flowing through me.
Craig reluctantly agreed. Once a patient refuses treatment, there's really nothing he can do to force it. I think Craig understood my reasoning, my desire to live as normally as possible. I guess it's because he's a doctor; he's worked with the very sick and terminally ill before. I guess there comes a time when you accept your illness and you want to have some control over how you spend what little time you have left. In any case, he gave me his blessing and that day I was released.
Nancy, however, is a different story. She thinks I'm giving up, and maybe she's right. But I know that this is what I have to do, no matter what the outcome is. It's hard for me to look at her; there is such pain and anger in her eyes. But I know that her anger is directed at herself. She thinks that she has failed me, that my illness is her fault. How can I make her understand? This isn't about her.
The phone rings, shaking me out of my reverie. I know who it is before I even look at the caller id display. Brady. Again I ignore his call and it eventually rolls over to voicemail.
My vision blurs with unshed tears. Brady. He's part of the reason why I wanted to leave the hospital, so I could be with him. But when I got settled in here, it suddenly hit me. Cold realization hit me with the force of a tidal wave. I was refusing treatment. I had basically condemned myself to a death sentence. I have little hope that Nancy and Craig are going to be able to find a donor in that short amount of time. It just suddenly became real for me. I was going to die.
How can I face Brady? I can I look into his beautiful blue eyes and see the recrimination there. I know what he's going to say. That I'm giving up, I'm quitting. Just like before when I gave up my music dream to be with Phillip. He'll look at me with those brutally honest eyes that look right through my soul and he'll accuse me of playing yet another role, the dying heroine, the sainted martyr.
But even worse than that, I'll look into his eyes and see the pain that will be so evident there. The pain that yet another person that he loves is leaving him. I will be his mother all over again, except this time he'll be old enough to remember, old enough to feel the loss, the pain of my death.
When I planned this in the hospital, I had dreams of us being together, growing close; a romantic vision of me dying in his arms. But now I am faced with the harsh reality of my impending death. How could I do that to him? How could I spend these short months with him, loving him, only to leave him when I die?
It's better this way. No contact. Clean break. It'll be as if I'm already dead to him. I want him to remember me the way I was, not as I will be, weak and frail.
I snuggle down deeper into my bed, pulling my covers up over my head. Dammit! How can life be so cruel? I love him so much, my heart aches in my chest. But I can't, I won't hurt him like that. I curl into a ball and sob for the life that could have been, for the love we could have shared.
My endless tears have soaked my pillow when I hear a soft knock on the door. Nancy. I roll my eyes.
"Go away!" I cry out, my voice rough and shaky.
The door opens anyway and I sit up to see who has interrupted my mourning. I can't believe my wet eyes.
"Br-Brady."
Chapter Fourteen
Author's note: I'm not a doctor and I know nothing about leukemia. Everything in here is made up. Just pretend it's accurate, okay?
I stretch lazily in my warm comfy bed and yawn deeply. I could stay here forever. I cannot tell you how good I feel right now. I'm back in my own bed, in my own room. I'm home.
The summer sun shines through my lace curtains and outside birds are singing. My favorite Beethoven CD plays quietly. It's so peaceful here, tranquil. Sugar keeps me company as she lies curled up at the foot of my bed.
"Hey sugar!" I reach over and scratch behind one of her fuzzy ears.
It's amazing. I've only been home two days, but I already feel much better. I feel stronger, healthier, even though I know that it's not an indication of my actual condition. I'm still sick. I still have Cancer, and without the chemotherapy treatments keeping it in check, it is going to begin to spread.
I can still hear Nancy's reaction to my decision.
"You want to WHAT?!" she had bellowed - her cry of astonishment echoing down the hospital corridor.
Craig was just as stunned. He looked at me with incredulous eyes and spoke slowly as if I was a confused child.
"Chloe, sweetie, I don't think you understand. The chemotherapy is what's fighting the cancer. It is the only treatment option available to us. If you do not undergo chemo then the cancer will continue to spread until." he trailed off, not wanting to voice his thoughts.
"Until I die." I finished for him.
"Yes." He agreed quietly.
"I know that, Craig. I also know that chemotherapy is a treatment. It's not a cure. I still need a bone marrow transplant to completely rid my body of the cancer. And that means finding a donor."
"We're looking, honey." Nancy interjected tearfully. "You're on the national register."
"I've done the research, Nancy." I interrupted gently. "There are people on that list who've been waiting a year, even two, for donor matches. You said it yourself, Craig, the odds of finding a match for me are slim."
"We are going to find you a match." He said, conviction blazing in his eyes. "We will do more donor drives, and not just in Salem, all over the state, we'll go all over the country if we have to. There's a match for you out there. We just have to find it." He gripped my shoulder firmly; as if to give me strength, hope.
"In the meantime," he continued, "We'll continue your treatments. Chemotherapy can hold off the disease for a couple of years, in some cases as long as six years before the cancer takes its toll."
"Yeah, in the meantime, I'll be trapped in this room, separated from everyone I love! I can't stand another minute in this place, let alone years!" I cried hotly.
I inhaled deeply, and when I spoke, my voice was soft but strong.
"Without the chemotherapy treatments, how. how long will I have?" I asked my parents as tears formed in my eyes. Nancy stifled a pained moan and tears slipped from the corners of her tired eyes.
Craig swallowed the lump in his throat and replied, trying to maintain his professional manner. "I would guess that, given your present state and the stage of the illness, you have.maybe six months. Maybe less."
His sober answer hung in the air as I pondered their meaning. Six months. Not a lot of time to find a match. My spirit twisted in worry. I didn't have a clue what I should do. I didn't want to give up, to die, but maybe it was time for me to finally face facts. Maybe a donor would never be found, and I'd spend my last days alone in a cold, sterile hospital room.
"So, it comes down to a choice. Six months of happiness, or years of misery." I thought out loud. I frowned slightly. At that moment I suddenly began to feel a presence behind me. I could almost feel a comforting hand on my shoulder.
Craig spoke up, interrupting my thoughts. "You understand, though, Chloe, that as the disease progresses, you will feel worse. Your nosebleeds and fainting spells will return and toward the.the end, you will be so sick that the chemotherapy will feel like a.a walk in the park."
I nodded my understanding. I couldn't explain it; I still can't explain how I just knew that I was making the right decision. I felt almost a force guiding me, telling me the path I should take. Once again I heard Isabella's words in my mind, I felt her peace flowing through me.
Craig reluctantly agreed. Once a patient refuses treatment, there's really nothing he can do to force it. I think Craig understood my reasoning, my desire to live as normally as possible. I guess it's because he's a doctor; he's worked with the very sick and terminally ill before. I guess there comes a time when you accept your illness and you want to have some control over how you spend what little time you have left. In any case, he gave me his blessing and that day I was released.
Nancy, however, is a different story. She thinks I'm giving up, and maybe she's right. But I know that this is what I have to do, no matter what the outcome is. It's hard for me to look at her; there is such pain and anger in her eyes. But I know that her anger is directed at herself. She thinks that she has failed me, that my illness is her fault. How can I make her understand? This isn't about her.
The phone rings, shaking me out of my reverie. I know who it is before I even look at the caller id display. Brady. Again I ignore his call and it eventually rolls over to voicemail.
My vision blurs with unshed tears. Brady. He's part of the reason why I wanted to leave the hospital, so I could be with him. But when I got settled in here, it suddenly hit me. Cold realization hit me with the force of a tidal wave. I was refusing treatment. I had basically condemned myself to a death sentence. I have little hope that Nancy and Craig are going to be able to find a donor in that short amount of time. It just suddenly became real for me. I was going to die.
How can I face Brady? I can I look into his beautiful blue eyes and see the recrimination there. I know what he's going to say. That I'm giving up, I'm quitting. Just like before when I gave up my music dream to be with Phillip. He'll look at me with those brutally honest eyes that look right through my soul and he'll accuse me of playing yet another role, the dying heroine, the sainted martyr.
But even worse than that, I'll look into his eyes and see the pain that will be so evident there. The pain that yet another person that he loves is leaving him. I will be his mother all over again, except this time he'll be old enough to remember, old enough to feel the loss, the pain of my death.
When I planned this in the hospital, I had dreams of us being together, growing close; a romantic vision of me dying in his arms. But now I am faced with the harsh reality of my impending death. How could I do that to him? How could I spend these short months with him, loving him, only to leave him when I die?
It's better this way. No contact. Clean break. It'll be as if I'm already dead to him. I want him to remember me the way I was, not as I will be, weak and frail.
I snuggle down deeper into my bed, pulling my covers up over my head. Dammit! How can life be so cruel? I love him so much, my heart aches in my chest. But I can't, I won't hurt him like that. I curl into a ball and sob for the life that could have been, for the love we could have shared.
My endless tears have soaked my pillow when I hear a soft knock on the door. Nancy. I roll my eyes.
"Go away!" I cry out, my voice rough and shaky.
The door opens anyway and I sit up to see who has interrupted my mourning. I can't believe my wet eyes.
"Br-Brady."