After working on Daisy in my room for ten minutes, they finally opened the door and brought her out on my bed, and started rushing her down the hall, Nurse Holly stayed behind to talk to us. Daisy had a heart attack and went into cardiac arrest, so they took her to surgery to do a bypass. Since then Katie, mom and I have been sat in my room, there's no bed in here now, Holly said that some porters would be by soon with a new one.
"Why?" I ask Holly, "I don't get it, it came out of nowhere,"
"There are a few reasons it could've happened, but most likely it was because of how much weight she'd lost, and how quickly she'd lost it,"
"She wasn't eating, she told us," I say, "We could have said something, we could have prevented this!" I yell. I don't know who I'm yelling at, Holly, myself.
"Gracie, you're working yourself up," Mom says.
"Of course, I am, we could have stopped this from happening!"
"You weren't to know," Holly says, "This could have happened regardless, okay?"
I think more than anything I'm just mad that I've been doing the same thing, this could have happened to me, how could I do that to my family? After everything I've been through with this disease, I've never put myself at risk, until now. I hate myself for being so stupid, so selfish. I break down in tears, my chest tightens up, I fall headfirst into a panic attack, a bad one.
"Katie, I think it's time you went home, do you have a ride?" Mom says.
"Uh yeah," Holly ushers her out of the room, while mom comforts me.
"It's not your fault, love," She takes my hand and sits on the armchair, pulling me onto her lap, I curl up like a baby in her lap and just sob my eyes out. And then, my nose starts to bleed again. Usually, the bad nose bleeds are further apart, and I have infusions every couple of weeks, but it's only been a week since the last one, I'm getting so much worse. The porters arrive with the bed.
"Here," Holly scoops me out of mom's arms, and puts me down in the bed, hooking me up to the platelets that have a permanent place in my room now, she and mom mop me up and hold a towel to my nose until it finally stops. But I'm still hysterical.
"Is there something you can do? To calm her down. Something you can give her, please?" Mom asks, Holly doesn't say anything, she just goes out to the nurses station and returns promptly with a syringe, it's the stuff that knocked me out when I had my freak out before, when I found out Jesus got arrested, I was so resistant last time, but I don't fight as she lifts my arm to inject the liquid into my IV. I feel the cold fluid rush up my arm, a feeling I've gotten all too used to.
"You're okay, baby," Mom cradles me as I start to fade out of consciousness, finally able to relax my body, "You're okay," Her voice drifts away, and I go completely limp, and I don't fight to keep my eyes open.
"Moms?" I open my eyes, I'm alone, in my room. Not my room at the hospital, not my room at home, a room that's not mine anymore, and I never thought I'd see it again, never wanted to see it again. The room I shared with Rachel, in that house. It's cold, painfully cold, and all I'm wearing is a hospital gown. My bare feet stick to the frigid grey floorboards, creaking with every slight movement I make in an attempt to get out of here, but I'm frozen in place. The room starts to spin a little, and I lose my balance and fall back, my feet still sealed on the floor, I land on the bed, the bed where John- Where it happened. I look down to my arms, all the scars I made have turned to fresh pulsating wounds. The bloody blades are in my hand, I throw them aside, refusing to give in to whatever this is.
"I'll see you again very soon," I hear her voice, it stings me, makes my blood curdle and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. But she's dead, how is it possible? Rachel.
"It's your fault," Another voice steps forward in the eerie darkness of the room, Freddie's voice. I try to call out to him, but nothing comes out. The lump in my throat is preventing me from making any kind of sound. I'm still alone in this room, but the voices keep coming, "You should have gotten me out of there, and I wouldn't be dead,"
"Quiet!" Another terrifying voice booms into existence, Greg, "You're responsible for these deaths, you wanted to get another one under your belt? And you're responsible for the putting me in prison, I did nothing wrong," He says. I want so badly to respond, to tell him he's wrong, but I can't. Maybe he isn't wrong.
"And me," The voice I feared hearing the most finally arrives, and John appears, standing over me, it's all too familiar, "It's your fault I did what I did, you were practically begging for it," He laughs, "And I'll do it again," He grabs my wrists.
"Now I'm trapped here with him," Rachel speaks again, "You trapped me here,"
"You trapped me with our father," Freddie says. I hear a slapping sound, and Freddie moans, Rachel screams, Greg grunts, John laughs, watching people suffer, he gets off on it. I can't do anything to stop this. I'm powerless.
"You know, when you die, which will be soon, I'll be doing the same to you," I suddenly feel Rachel's hot breath on my neck, I turn my head and she's knelt behind me on the bed, her eyes completely black, she's wearing exactly what she was wearing in the forest that day, covered in blood, some of it hers, some of it mine. Her nails dig into my shoulders. Then Greg appears in front of me, the same black eyes. John grabs me by the neck and forces me to look at Greg. He brings his raised arm forward, into the light, he's holding Freddie up by the neck. Freddie's eyes are the same colour they always were, but they're bloody and bruised, much like the rest of his face. He's choking him. Greg finally let's go of him, and he falls to the floor, he pulls himself on to his feet and takes a step closer to me, leaning in to whisper in my ear.
"You'll burn in hell with us," He says, his voice has gone all croaky. I try one last time to speak, closing my eyes, and covering my ears, I'm finally able to make a sound. I scream.
"NO!" I sit up, covered in sweat, in my bed at the hospital, "No," It comes out quieter this time, my breathing is so fast, I'm hyperventilating again, I have to calm down, or I'll get more of that sedative and I'll be right back in that dream again, I can't, I won't. Is that where I'll go, when I die? Was that hell? Have I just come face to face with what I'll eventually be condemned to? Despite every attempt I've made in my life to be better, a better person, a better daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, I always end up getting bad again, forcing the people around me to watch me suffer. They suffer too, and it's my fault. I can stop it if I just die.
"Gracie," Mama rushes to my side, wrapping her arms around me, "It's okay, it was just a dream, you're fine sweetie," She kisses my head, "Breathe with me," She leads me through the exercise, calming me down, slowing my heart rate, until finally. I can breathe again.
"Is she dead?" I finally ask, "Did I kill her?" The last I heard; Daisy was still in surgery. Greg was right, if she is dead, it's on me.
"No, sweetie, she's okay, and it's not your fault," She rocks me, "She's in the ICU, she's got a long recovery ahead of her, but she's gonna be okay," I let out a sigh of relief.
"I didn't mean to, I promise," I tell mama. Maybe I did mean to, could there be a part of me, a dark side, that makes all of this bad stuff keep happening around me? I wouldn't be surprised.
"I know, sweetie, this didn't happen because of you okay, give yourself a break," She says, rocking me in her arms, "Daisy lied to you, her doctors didn't know she wasn't eating, she did this herself," So it's her fault? No, I refuse to believe that.
"Mama, I can't do this anymore," I tell her.
"Yes, you can, you only have a few more rounds and then-,"
"No, mama, not that," I cry, "I can't do any of it, anything," I admit, "I just need it all to stop,"
"Don't say that," She starts crying too.
"I don't deserve to live anymore; I should be in hell!" I scream into her chest, I have to make her see the kind of person I am, "I'm screwed up, people get hurt around me, or they die, I should be the one that dies!" If I die, it all stop, all the dying and the hurt that I put people through.
"Stop it!" Mama shakes me, "You are a good person,"
"I'm not, I-,"
"Listen to me, would you be this torn up about this if you were a bad person? No, Gracie, this is not your fault, and you don't deserve any of this, you are strong and beautiful, and smart, and compassionate, and you will get through this, you will come out on top and you will look back on all of this and it'll all seem so long ago, because you're my daughter, and no daughter of mine gives up, not on my watch," She yells at me, but she still has that love in her eyes, how? How can she love me? "We're going to get you help, then we're going to get you healthy, and you will be okay, you'll be better than okay, you'll be amazing, I promise," She takes my face in her hands.
"And you don't break promises," I say quietly. I have to believe her, I have to believe that fighting is my only option, because to her, to my family; the people I care about most in this world, it is. No matter how much I want to give up, I can't. I can't let it win, even though I want to.
I lay in bed day after day, Nurse Holly comes and sets up my chemo for me twice a week, she takes me for my scans, does my blood tests. Dr Chandra comes and updates my mums as much as he can. I talk to psychiatrists, try my best to tell them what I'm feeling, thinking, planning. I want to resist all of this help, but then I look at my moms, and I can't. Mama always says that the first step to getting better is talking, to her, mom, a doctor anyone, I just have to be honest. My honesty gets me placed on suicide watch indefinitely, Holly has to check my whole body every single day, just to make sure I'm not cutting again. Not only has my mental health dwindled, but my chemo is also making me sicker and sicker. I get platelet infusions three times a week, my body aches from head to toe. I've lost my appetite completely, and anything I do eat I can't keep down. Eventually, they have to give me a feeding tube, in my nose, straight to my stomach. I look horrifying. I'm skin and bones now, so pale and ghostly. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, speaking of which I'm not allowed to go to the bathroom without leaving the door open. My privacy is non-existent, but I don't care anymore. I have to do what I have to do to stay alive, for my moms.
"So, good news, Adams-Fosters," Dr Chandra comes in one morning, "We just got the results back on the latest scans," My moms stand up, and hold my hands in anticipation, "The tumour between your lungs has shrunk enough for surgery to work," My moms gasp, "And the majority of the Mets have completely gone, and what's left is easily removable with surgery as well," He says.
"Oh my God," Mama looks at me.
"Gracie, this is good news," Mom says, kissing my head, "When can she have the surgery?" She asks him.
"Before we discuss that you should know that just because the Mets are shrinking and reducing, doesn't mean that after surgery she will be cured, there may be complications and there's always the chance that they could grow back, I just want you all to be aware of that," He tells them.
"Right, of course," Mama says, "There's no cure for cancer,"
"That's right, however, I would like to operate as soon as possible, ideally we'd like to wait until Gracie is a little more mentally stable," He talks as if I'm not in the room, I guess I don't feel like I am in the room, "But I do have an opening this evening, and I think it would be a mistake not to take this opportunity, we can't risk them growing back, or Gracie getting sicker," He's honest with them.
"Yes, of course, doctor, whatever you think is best," Mom says, "Gracie?" She turns to me, "Is that okay with you?"
"Yeah, I guess, maybe if the cancer is out of me, I'll start to feel better in every way," I tell them, "Let's do it," I smile a little, feeling the tiniest sliver of hope. I can't trust it though; things generally don't work out for me.
"Okay great, have a few procedures to do today, so I will see you in the OR at six tonight?" He says, finally acknowledging me. I nod, moms shake his hand and he leaves.
"You're going to have this surgery, and whatever comes after that, you're going to get through it, and you will get better," Mom tells me, "In every way, just like you said," She's so sure. It's not often that mom is wrong, so maybe I can believe her if I try hard enough.