Crash and Burn: Walking in the Shadow of Death
Disclaimer: I don't, nor I ever will, own the characters written in this story. They are the creation of Kevin Williamson and belong to him as well as Columbia Tristar and the WB. I did not kidnap them and hold them for ransom. Get real! This is not Air Force One! One more thing, the song "Crash and Burn" is the brilliant work of Savage Garden.
Author's Note: It's my first attempt at writing fanfic, so if you cannot prevent yourself from either breaking out in hysterical laughter or tears, can you please at least tell me what you think?
When you feel all alone
And a loyal friend is hard to find
You're caught in a one-way street
With the monsters in your head
When hopes and dreams are far away and
You feel like you can't face the day
Let me be the one you call
If you jump I'll break your fall
Lift you up into the night
If you need to fall apart
I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash and burn
You're not alone
I never noticed just how bleak a hospital really was – the cold corridors leading to separate offices that resembled small chambers of doom. Jack and I sat in unpleasant plastic chairs as we braced ourselves for the worst. The doctor had examined my medical history and performed a physical examination, which included a very uncomfortable mammogram, a few days before.
I was staring blankly out at the window when the door opened and the doctor entered the room. There was enough tension rising that you could have cut it with a knife. "Good morning Joey, Jack," Dr. Fielding greeted. "We just received the results of Joey's tests and…" Jack squeezed my hand, "we have come to an unfortunate conclusion…Joey's suspicions were correct. She does indeed have breast cancer." My heart shattered into a million pieces and my mind began to spiral. It couldn't be. I couldn't be dying. It's too soon. I haven't lived enough. "We could start treatment immediately. Luckily, she is only in the earlier stages of cancer and the survival rate is a favorable 88%. We can fight this Joey," she assured me. But her words provided me with little solace. All I could picture was the single image of my dying mother wasting away in the hospital 14 years ago.
"Joey? Jo? Are you all right?" Jack asked me.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's do this. Let's fight this thing," I replied. I turned to him and attempted to smile but deep down inside, I was empty. I hadn't felt this way since Dawson's death.
"Okay then, we'll start you up on a round of chemotherapy," Dr. Fielding said. "It is a treatment with anticancer drugs that may be given intravenously, injected into a vein, or by mouth. The drugs will then travel through the bloodstream to reach the cancer cells anywhere in the body. Chemotherapy is given in cycles, with each period of treatment followed by a recovery period. The total course of chemotherapy lasts three to six months depending on the regimens used. Are you sure about this?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I responded half-heartedly.
I went home that night thinking that this couldn't be happening to me, that it was some sort of mistake that the doctors made and the Jack was right. It was just some bizarre mosquito bite that not even medical experts with so-called Yale degrees could pinpoint. And all of that piled up anger was unleashed at Jack in the middle of Central Park. "How could this be happening to me? This isn't happening to me! I'm not sick! I'm NOT SICK!" I screeched at the top of my lungs. I picked up a rock and forcefully threw it at a tree. "I'M NOT SICK!" I shot a pleading look at Jack. He was just standing there, alone, staring at me throwing a fit, not looking judgmental or condescending. He stood there, allowing me to throw my tantrum. "Why aren't you stopping me and assuring me that everything's going to be all right?"
"Oh I see, you want the 'Everything will be a stroll in the park' speech, no pun intended, don't you? Well, I can't give it to you. It's going to be hard and you're not going to like it. But as soon as you move pass this denial stage and onto the anger stage, the happier we both will be," he replied smugly.
"Is this your amateur psychiatrist knows best moment?" I asked him playfully, forgetting my impulsive outburst.
"Well, I have one in me every now and then. I was a psych major remember?" I lightheartedly punched him. "So I guess it's safe to say that you've passed the anger stage too, correct?" I rolled my eyes at him. "Well, break out the champagne. Thank God that wasn't going to be drawn out like a Dawson and Joey breakup, filled with all the anger and resentment." My face fell as I heard those words and tears immediately started to flow from my eyes. "Oh my gosh, Jo, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"
For a brief moment I thought forgot all about my illness. I forgot about all of the pain. But like I said, for a brief moment. Once he said those words, I couldn't bear it any longer – the pain and the inevitable suffering shot though me like a thousand daggers and the memories came flooding back. I ran all the way back to the apartment, away from the sickness, away from the agony, away from Jack. I ran as far as I could, as fast as I could because for the first time in my life, I felt utterly alone in the world.