Chapter 4: Kickoff
Steve assured him time and time again that ports were superior to any other method of injecting medicine, but that did little to lessen Bucky's fear of it. He asked why they couldn't use the IV line already in his arm, and the answer had the opposite effect of calming him down. They needed a line going straight into the larger veins near his heart because the toxic chemo drugs and the sheer number of sticks he was to receive over the course of treatment would destroy his smaller peripheral veins. So a port it was.
He said yes to sedation again, though he considered for a long time if he really wanted to sleep away more of his last hours before chemo began. Ultimately, the desire to not be aware of people digging around in his chest won out. When he woke up, he found Steve sitting beside him instead of his parents.
"Hey Buck," he greeted. Bucky didn't know what time it was, but he hadn't known his friend was coming at all today.
"Hey," he mumbled back.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better than I'm gonna be when they put this thing to use."
"You're probably right about that, unfortunately."
"How'd you feel after yours?" Bucky asked.
"It hurt, but I was just relieved to be done with PICC lines."
"Oh yeah, you used to hate those."
"Yep. Anyway, I brought you something."
"What?"
"The guys and I went shopping yesterday, and we picked out some things for you."
"You didn't have to do that."
"We wanted to," Steve assured. He picked up a tote bag and passed it to Bucky, who was very curious as to what his friends had gotten him.
"This better not be gag gift," Bucky muttered. Steve only smirked. Reaching inside, his fingertips met something incredibly soft and fluffy. He pulled out a pair of white socks with wolves' faces on them.
"Timmy picked those out," Steve informed him. "To advertise your cool new sports nickname."
"I'm still not even sure who started it. And why did they pick that name?"
"Well, your jersey is white instead of blue like the rest of the team's. And there's a lot of howling going on at those games, especially when you do something awesome. It's all in there, actually. Look for the paper." He pointed to the bag, and Bucky reached around until his hand met paper. It was a copy of their school newspaper the Howler and the front page, sure enough, contained a picture of him on the field at the most recent game, crouching before the goal in anticipation of the next shot. The headline read, "White Wolf Bucky Barnes Secures Victory for Howling Commandos."
"You're basically famous," Steve said with a proud smile.
"I'm about to be famous for a very different reason," Bucky countered. "Someone has to tell Coach Philips I'm being forced into early retirement."
"I think your parents told me they took care of it."
"So he already knows?"
"Yeah."
"Great. He must be devastated to lose me now that we've made the playoffs."
"Bucky, I'm sure he's more devastated over the fact that you're sick than the fact they might not have a great rest of the season."
"It certainly doesn't help matters any," he sighed. The next thing he pulled from the bag was a black face mask.
"You're going to have to wear one sometimes like I do, and I figured you'd want something more your style than the disposable ones they have here."
"For sure. Thank you. I'm very glad you didn't get me one to match your American flag patterned one. Black is much cooler."
"To each his own."
Bucky's hand encountered more soft fabric next, and it turned out to be a warm hat patterned like a soccer ball. He hadn't thought much about this aspect of his future until now. After endless arguing with his mother over what she considered the excessive length of his hair, he was going to lose it all anyway. At least his head wouldn't get cold, thanks to Steve.
"It gets pretty cold here, and I thought you'd want to have that to keep you warm later," Steve explained. "Gabe chose the pattern."
"I figured," Bucky huffed. The only things remaining in the bag were various snacks. Most he loved, but then he saw the lemon drops. "Why'd you get these? You know I can't stand lemon drops."
"Did they tell you about scapegoat foods?" Steve asked.
"Oh yeah." He vaguely remembered the concept being a part of his treatment briefing. They wanted him to eat something he didn't like before chemo so he didn't associate the nausea with any foods he wanted to enjoy in the future.
"I know you hate them, but it's better to endure eating one of those before chemo than risk hating one of your favorite foods for the rest of your life."
"That makes sense. Thank you, all of you. This means a lot." Careful of the new dressing on his chest, Bucky leaned forward and hugged his friend.
"You're welcome," Steve replied. When they released, he continued, "I have to ask you something. Do you want me to be here for your first chemo, or would you rather it just be your parents? I can stay or go; whatever you want."
Bucky hadn't paused to consider the people he wanted to accompany him to his first dose. On the one hand, Steve let him see everything about his CF treatment and maybe Bucky owed him the same. But on the other hand, he really didn't want to put his best friend in the situation of having to comfort him without any knowledge of just how much he'd be relying on him for that comfort. He didn't want to lose control and potentially traumatize Steve in addition to himself. Maybe he'd let him accompany him to later doses, when he understood just how badly it affected him, but not this first one.
"I'd rather you go," Bucky said hesitantly. "I don't want to make you watch until I know exactly what you'll have to see."
"I've sat with people during chemo before," Steve reminded him.
"Yeah, but it affects everyone differently. Thank you for offering, but I'll let Mom and Dad bear the brunt of this one."
"Okay. I'm just a call or text away if you change your mind."
"I know. Thanks."
"Any time."
"How much does having your port accessed hurt?" Bucky asked suddenly. The question had been sitting in the back of his mind for the entire conversation, and it finally burst to the forefront.
"It's worse than an IV," Steve said honestly. "But the nurses here are really good at getting them on the first try, and you get used to it after the third or fourth time. The needle looks huge, but the anticipation of it is usually worse than the actual pain. And ask for numbing cream, it works wonders."
"Okay." Bucky believed Steve's every word. When it came time for the oncology nurse, Darcy, to stick him—about an hour after he sucked on a horrid lemon drop and applied the requested numbing cream—he understood just how spot on Steve's explanation had been. Bucky was prepared, but his parents weren't. They seemed more terrified than he felt. Fear didn't settle inside him until the actual chemo drugs began. He was the only patient in the chemo clinic at the time, so nurses Darcy and Jane both kept a pretty close eye on him. At first the meds burned on their way in, but that sensation eased and finally disappeared within half an hour or so. Bucky didn't really start to feel any adverse effects until the infusion neared its end.
They returned him to his room and hooked him up to more fluids and anti-nausea meds. For a brief moment he convinced himself they were working so well that he wouldn't even get sick, but of course he was sorely mistaken. As un-fun as every experience since the beginning of this disaster had been, this was the most un-fun, and it lasted the longest. He'd always hated nausea, far more than headaches, muscle aches, sore throats, or any other malady. To add to his misery, heaving aggravated his shoulder enough to bring his pain levels back up to unbearable despite the continued meds. No sleep lasting longer than thirty minutes was achieved that first night, and at no point did he regret sending Steve away. This was definitely worse than any state he'd ever seen Steve in, except for maybe that one incident when they trialed him on a new drug to clear his lungs with unexpected and terrifying side effects. Bucky had never seen Steve so shaken, not before that and not since. He didn't want to be the reason his best friend got that scared again.
By the time morning dawned, Bucky's main complaint was exhaustion. He finally managed to sleep for several hours in one sitting, only to be woken by Nurse Peggy checking on him. After she left, he couldn't fall back asleep and grew bored. He didn't have the energy to get out of bed, but he needed to do something. Maybe it wasn't the best thing to do for his mental health at this point, but Bucky found himself searching the internet and social media for stories about other people who'd fought Ewing's sarcoma. It was surprisingly easy once he found the first person; they all networked with each other as parts of the same cancer community. He used to think cancer was rare in kids, but he quickly learned it was anything but. In fact, it was the number one cause of death by disease in children.
He read the stories of fellow fighters like a knight listening to his comrades tell tales of glorious battle. The only thing missing was the glory. After less than an hour of reading, he understood one thing above all else: it was going to be rough. A girl diagnosed at age four was now five years cancer free, but with a fused spine and four missing ribs. An eighteen-year-old passed away after fighting for eight years. Another had her tibia replaced with an adult's arm bone, only for the limb salvage to fail and lead to a complicated below-the-knee-amputation. Worse, another girl died at just eleven years old. Limb salvage. Death. Amputation. More death. He knew he would fall into one of those categories, but would he eventually enter another?
Bucky shook his head to clear it of thoughts of death and continued his research for as long as his foggy brain would allow. He found several fellow fighters at different hospitals that kept blogs or Instagram accounts about their journeys and followed them. It helped to know he wasn't alone in facing this particular beast, that other people out there experienced almost exactly what he did. Steve's knowledge and advice was great, but he didn't have Ewing's. Neither did any of his hospital friends. Bucky needed some first person perspective on what to expect in his treatment course and beyond, and he found it.
He also found something that completely turned his view of his future on its head: amputee soccer.
The first information he found was actually a stand-up comedy bit making fun of it, which would have been disgustingly offensive and politically incorrect if not for the fact that the comedian himself was an amputee who played for the US national team. Bucky eagerly played the video and listened intently:
"I think amputee soccer was probably invented by some internet trolls trying to think of a hilarious prank: What if the people playing soccer only have one foot?
"If they have one foot, how will they kick the ball?
"They'll have crutches!
"How will the goalie catch the ball if he's on crutches?
"Oh, that's the other great part! The goalies…they all have one arm.
"And those are the real rules of amputee soccer, people!"
When before Bucky despaired over the imminent loss of his favorite thing in the world, now he had hope that he didn't have to give it up forever. His attitude surrounding his eventual amputation completely turned around now that he knew there would be an arena where he could still shine. If he could be as good as he was with two arms, then after hours and hours of practice he could definitely be good enough with only one arm to play for an amputee soccer team. Having a goal in mind helped him focus on something beyond how miserable this next year was going to be.
For as long as he could stay awake, he watched more and more videos of amputee soccer matches from around the world. Each and every player was amazing in their own right, some able to throw themselves forward on their crutches to kick a ball heading behind them or take a tumble and get right back to their foot with as much grace as an able-bodied person. But Bucky mostly watched the goalies. The goals were smaller than standard, which made sense, though the fundamental technique of the position remained the same. At least Bucky wasn't a fielder who had to completely relearn footwork after losing a leg. That was a decent silver lining.
One particular player stuck out when he watched the highlights from Netherlands v Japan at the World Cup: Ulysses Klaue. He played goalkeeper for the Netherlands, was missing his left arm almost to the elbow, and guarded the net so well Bucky never would have known he was at a significant disadvantage. Even shots taken towards his bad side couldn't get past him. Bucky was mesmerized. He forwarded the video to Gabe with the message: "Give me three years."
Gabe responded: "I doubt you'll need that long. Go get 'em, White Wolf."
~0~
Bucky conceded to allowing Steve to visit the next day, when the most intense of the immediate side effects had passed. When forty minutes passed beyond the time they'd agreed on, he began to worry. The only thing that ever made Steve late was technical difficulties or health issues, so Bucky was convinced he'd either broken his oxygen equipment somehow or gotten sick. He was minutes away from calling Mrs. Rogers when Steve burst in looking no worse for wear.
"Sorry I'm late," he announced.
"Where the hell have you been?" Bucky questioned. "I was starting to freak out."
"Sorry. I got here and I ran into Carol. We started talking and I just completely lost track of time."
"I should have known I would play second fiddle to Carol in this place. Why didn't you bring her with you? I think it's about time I meet Carol as a fellow Gravesen resident and not just as your friend."
"Oh, okay. I wasn't sure you were up for more company. Speaking of which, where are your parents?"
"I sent them home for sleep and showers. Last night was rough."
"I can imagine." Steve headed back for the door to go find Carol. "I'll be back."
Now, Bucky had met Carol before. She'd been here when he visited Steve during his last inpatient stay in July. At the time, she was relatively new to Gravesen yet as comfortable with the environment as if she'd been there as long as Steve. Steve talked about her all the time, how she'd come up with the innovative idea of creating the gauntlet, a chart to display how much of their autonomy they could maintain in the hospital. Back then, Bucky had found the concept morbid and a bit disturbing, but now that he was one of them he understood the need for simplification of what they faced in here. He'd added his own name to the gauntlet and ceded everything to Thanatos except mind and soul.
"What gives? Did you land yourself in here just to make sure I don't steal your best friend?" Carol asked with a smirk as she followed Steve into the room.
"No," Bucky insisted, mortified by the accusation. He'd never thought about Carol as a potential best friend snatcher; he was glad Steve had someone to keep him company on the days when Bucky couldn't be there.
"I admire your effort, but isn't this taking things a little too far?"
Bucky tried to formulate a response, but he couldn't string a coherent thought together, much less translate one into actual words. He just stared blankly at Carol, half hoping he would disappear or that Steve would intervene.
"Take a breath, I'm only messing with you," Carol said.
"Oh…good," Bucky managed to reply.
"You should've seen the look on your face." Steve was about to burst out laughing. Now Bucky blushed with embarrassment at falling for what, in retrospect, was rather obvious sarcasm.
"Really, I'm sorry to hear that you're here with a patient ID instead of a visitor's badge," Carol said genuinely.
"Thank you. At least I can look forward to the company."
"You sure can. And you're not the only newbie, there's one in 1225 who just moved in. Speaking of which," she turned to Steve, "Before you leave today, you should stop by and show him the ol' Rogers Razzle Dazzle."
"I'm sorry, what?" Bucky nearly choked on an outburst of laughter.
Steve rolled his eyes. "It's her nickname for the way I give tours. For the record, I do not endorse the title."
"You should," Carol stated.
"I second that," Bucky chimed in.
"Both of you, shut up. Bucky, don't let her corrupt you."
"I think you mean enlighten him," Carol corrected. "As in, bring to his awareness the fact that you're basically the hospital's mascot."
"I am not! If anyone's the hospital's mascot, it's Dr. Lee," Steve retorted.
"I'm not going to argue with that because you make a good point. But you have to admit it is kind of adorable how he takes it upon himself to make the newbies feel welcome."
"I just do what I think I would appreciate if someone did for me."
"Very noble of you, Steve," Bucky said. "I expect the full Rogers Razzle Dazzle when you eventually show me around this place."
"That's the spirit!" Carol offered Bucky a high-five, which he accepted with a satisfying smack. "Rogers, you have excellent taste in friends."
"Do I? I feel like I get made fun of an awful lot for someone with supposedly good friends."
"That's what friends are for." Carol punched him playfully in the arm. "Well, I would say it was nice to see you, Bucky, but it's not, not in these circumstances. Also, I would say get well soon, but I know how long this road is. What I will say is that I hope you get all of the good nurses and none of the rare side effects." With a nod of finality, Carol departed.
How funny is it that the other canonical amputee in the MCU is also missing a left hand?
Also, that bit about amputee soccer is from a real comedian who plays for the US National Amputee Soccer team. His name is Josh Sundquist and you should definitely look him up if you're interested in a good laugh. He also does incredible Halloween costumes every year, and this time he was baby Groot :)