Chapter 5: Losses and Gains
It took three more days before Emma felt up to doing anything more than shuffling between the rooms of her apartment, in a nauseous, sometimes dizzy, stupor. It was three more days after that before she felt even close to normal, which meant that there were only three more days before she had to drag herself back to the cancer centre.
She used those three good days to bag a bail jumper, relieved, at least, to get to put some money in her checking account.
The day that she had to go back to the cancer centre came much too quickly for her liking. She would be lying if she said the possibility of just not showing up didn't cross her mind. Unfortunately though, showing up was sort of critical to survival and Emma was nothing if not a survivor.
Her day started off in the lab, where her port was accessed and blood drawn. They left the needle in, the tube dangling freely from her chest, assuring her that this was a good thing, it would save her from having to have a second needle stick in the chemo suite, and sent her upstairs to the hematology clinic.
Things fell apart pretty quickly there.
xxxxxx
"So, how are you feeling?" Belle asked, sitting across from Emma in one of the exam rooms.
"Okay," Emma shrugged.
"How did you feel after treatment? Any nausea? Other side effects?" Belle prompted.
Emma just shrugged again, noncommittally, "Some."
"Emma," Belle fixed her with a knowing look, "I need you to be honest with me. We can't help you manage your side effects if you don't tell us what they are."
Emma frowned, grumbling, "I was just nauseous. That's all."
"How nauseous?" Belle inquired, not willing to let it go.
"I don't know," Emma sighed, her shoulders sagging, her eyes avoiding Belle's, mumbling out a response, "Pretty nauseous? I didn't really leave my bed for a few days. It got better eventually though."
Belle's eyes widened, "How long did it last?"
Emma offered another shrug, "Till last Thursday?" The response was hesitant, almost a question.
"That's quite long," Belle frowned, "You should have called."
Emma wasn't sure what to say to that, so she just offered a noncommittal grunt.
"I'll talk to Dr. Eldridge, he'll prescribe you some additional anti-nausea medication for your next treatment…" Belle hesitated and then added, "which you actually won't be getting today."
Emma was half-listening, half-not, but her eyes widened at Belle's last words. Wait. She wasn't getting chemo today? She must not have heard that correctly.
"Dr. Eldridge will come in and see you and talk to you about it some more but your white blood cell count is really low today," Belle explained, "Too low for you to get another dose of chemo right now. We're going to let you rest another week and let that blood count come back up."
"Oh," Emma's brow crinkled, her continued confusion evident.
"This happens sometimes," Belle explained, "We like to avoid prescribing a growth factor shot if we don't have to, so we usually wait to see how patients react to their first treatment. We'll definitely be adding a growth factor shot to your regiment now though to avoid the same thing happening again."
"Growth factor shot?" The crinkle in Emma's brow deepened, more confused now than before. What exactly were they trying to grow?
"Yes," Belle nodded, "It's called Neulasta, it will stimulate your bone marrow to produce more white blood cells."
"Okay..." Emma still didn't really understand but she supposed she didn't have to, not right now. She rubbed the back of her neck, "So...I'm really not getting chemo today?"
"Unfortunately, no," Belle confirmed.
xxxxxx
After a brief visit with Dr. Eldridge and a quick trip back to the lab to have the needle removed from her port, Emma was leaving the cancer centre.
There was something oddly perplexing about preparing herself for a chemo treatment and then not actually getting one but Emma wasn't about to dwell on it too long. Not when she'd been essentially handed an extra week free of toxic chemicals and their side effects. She called Tony from the parking garage and spent the next two days tracking down a bail jumper who was particularly elusive.
Emma decided that after two weeks of mostly feeling awful, this free week away from the cancer centre was almost like a reward. An extra week where she got to feel like a normal person, wander around the city like a normal person, do normal person things, and, most importantly, pretend that she didn't have cancer.
It sort of worked.
For two whole days, it sort of worked.
And then she woke up Saturday, had a shower, and tried to run a brush through her wet hair. The brush snagged half way down and confused she pulled it back. The head of the brush was missing, completely obscured by a pile of curly blonde hair darkened from being wet.
She just stood there and stared and stared and stared at that brush, covered in hair, covered in her hair, for what felt like forever.
Eventually, almost of their own accord, her fingers carefully pried the mass of blond hair out of the brush and let it fall from her hand into the bathroom garbage pail. It was an almost out of body experience as she stood rigid in front of the bathroom mirror and raised the brush back to her head, ran it through her hair until it got caught, pulled it back, extracted the hair from the brush, dumped the hair into the garbage pail, and then repeated the action over and over and over again, until the garbage pail was full, overflowing actually, and half of the hair on her head was gone.
She hadn't considered this part. She'd known her hair would fall out, of course, but she hadn't considered the how of it all. Hadn't considered that she wouldn't just wake up one morning bald. Hadn't considered how her hair would actually leave her head. Hadn't considered that she would have to be complicit, an active participant, in its removal, in the removal of this piece of her identity.
It was stupid, she knew, it was only hair. It would grow back. It wasn't even the worst side effect, not when held up against the horrible nausea she'd woken to two weeks previous. And yet, she left half of her hair in a garbage pail in her bathroom, stumbled into the living room, slumped down onto the couch, drew her knees to her chest and began to cry.
She hadn't cried once since the word cancer had been directed at her but sobs bubbled out of her chest now, an unending slew of tears spilling heavy and hot down her cheeks, and she didn't even bother to try and stop them.
xxxxxx
Emma's hair loss continued throughout the remainder of the week. She woke up every morning to a pillow case covered in hair, found hair in every corner of her apartment, and by the time it was Wednesday again, she was down to what she estimated to be a quarter of her hair. Given how much of it she'd collected over the last days it seemed like a miracle, really, that she had any left at all.
Preparing to leave for the cancer centre that morning, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror for an excessively long time, touching the patches where her scalp was now showing, bald and impossibly smooth, before she finally pulled on the knit hat Regina had picked out for her. With the hat on, and the scraggly ends of her remaining hair poking out from the bottom of it, no one would likely even know that she was balding. Somehow that didn't matter though, it still felt as if there was a stranger staring back her in this mirror.
She stared a moment longer and then with a heavy sigh headed out of her apartment, climbing into the bug and driving herself to the cancer centre.
xxxxxx
The morning started as a repeat of the previous attempt at chemo number two - port access and blood draw in the first floor lab, followed by a visit to the hematology clinic. This time, however, Emma was given the okay to head from the hematology clinic to the chemo suite. She was also handed a prescription for the growth factor shot she needed - which it turned out wasn't something that would be added to her chemo treatment but was a needle all on its own that she would have to give herself two days following today's treatment. She must have looked appropriately horrified at that revelation because Belle had rushed to assure her that this first time they would have her come in and she would show Emma how to do it.
Emma dropped the prescription off at the cancer centre pharmacy on her way to the chemo suite and then went to get checked in. Twisting the plastic bracelet on her wrist, she looked hopefully around the waiting room, searching for Regina, but the volunteers manning the hat booth today were an older gentleman and an older lady whom Emma didn't recognize. Disappointed, and then angry at herself for being disappointed,she slunk to the back of room, finding an empty chair and averting her eyes from the curious ones watching her. The novelty of her presence hadn't worn off yet, she supposed.
xxxxxx
This second chemo treatment was exactly and nothing like the first. The procedure was the same, Mary Margaret was even the nurse assigned to her care again, but, where she'd felt tired but otherwise fine at the end of her first treatment, today Emma felt awful. She was exhausted and nauseous and freezing.
At one point, Mary Margaret covered her in a warm blanket, rubbing her arms as she hummed sympathetically, "I think you've got a case of anticipatory nausea. Your brain knows these drugs are going to make you feel sick, so it's jumped ahead."
Of course it had. Her brain was idiotic and this was exactly her luck. Emma didn't say those things but she thought them.
Now she was sitting in her bug, head resting against the steering wheel, trying to muster up the energy required to drive herself safely home. She was quickly coming to realization that she was either going to have to take a nap in the back seat or call a cab and come back for her car later when her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on the window.
Her head snapped up and she studied the person on the other side of the window curiously.
xxxxxx
Regina had been paired with Barbara for her volunteer shift again that day, which had been a welcome relief. She did rather like Barbara. They'd been placed in the breast cancer clinic instead of on what was becoming Regina's regular shift in the chemo suite and Regina had been quietly disappointed. She'd been hoping to run into Emma today and being placed in the chemo suite, or perhaps in hematology, was the best chance for that to happen. It was now the third week in a row that she hadn't seen the blonde though and she was starting to think that maybe they wouldn't cross paths again. It was probably a sign from the universe, she'd convinced herself, bitterly.
After saying goodbye to Barbara and signing herself out at the front desk, Regina headed out to the parking garage. She had her keys out, heading purposely towards her car, when she caught sight of the slumped form in a yellow volkswagen beetle. Worried, she rushed towards the vehicle and tapped on the window. She was already pulling out her cell phone, preparing to call for help, fully expecting no response, when the head bobbed up. She startled at the sudden motion, her eyes widening even further in surprise when she realized that she recognized the person sitting in the vehicle.
When Emma just stared at her through the glass for a long moment, Regina made a motion with her hand, indicating for Emma to roll down the window. Emma's eyes widened instantly in understanding and she did as instructed.
"Are you okay?" Regina breathed out as she studied Emma's face. Without the obstruction of the glass she could now see just how pale Emma was. She was a horrible gray colour and Regina was starting to think she might still need her phone to call for help after all.
"Peachy," Emma tried to smile but without any colour in her cheeks and uncharacteristic dullness in her eyes it wasn't a very successful attempt.
Regina frowned, "Do you need to go back to the cancer centre?"
"No, no," Emma shook her head rapidly, "I'm good. Fine. I'm fine."
The rambling wasn't convincing Regina in the least. "You don't look fine."
"Hey," Emma whined, her eyes narrowing playfully despite their tiredness, "That's not nice."
Regina shook her head. Was Emma seriously trying to joke right now? When she looked awful and Regina's worry was only mounting by the moment? "Emma," she quirked an eyebrow, eyeing her seriously.
"Regina," Emma rasped back and when Regina eyed her incredulously she half grinned, "What? I thought this was the part where we proved we remember each other's names."
Regina rolled her eyes. "This is the time to be serious, please." There was a hint of panic in her voice that she couldn't keep out, enough that Emma's grin fell. Regina sighed softly, "I need to know if you're alright or if you need medical assistance."
Emma sighed too, "I'm fine. No medical assistance required. Just a little...out of it. Chemo did a number today, I guess," she shrugged, looking away from Regina and up at the roof of the car, "I'll just call a cab to take me home."
Regina studied Emma carefully, silent a long moment, and then she made a decision. "I'll take you."
Emma's eyes snapped from the roof back over to Regina, confusion rimming her eyes, "I - I...I wouldn't want you to have to go out of your way. I can just call a cab. Really."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm here now, I can have you home before a cab would even arrive." Regina was nothing if not stubborn once she'd decided something and she'd decided she was taking Emma home. She was not about to take no for an answer.
Emma looked like she was going to protest. She even opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if trying to sort out what to say but something - perhaps Regina's determined expression, or perhaps just general agreement with Regina's point - stopped her. Eventually Emma's head bobbed up and down in hesitant acquisition, "Yeah, okay. That would be...great. Thanks." She reached for something on her passenger seat and then slid out of the car, a bag sliding over her shoulder and another smaller blue bag with the cancer centre logo emblazoned on the front of it clutched in her hand. She closed the window back up, shut the car door, and locked the vehicle up tightly.
Silently Regina led the way to her Mercedes, watching Emma carefully the whole way, prepared to reach out to steady her if need be, although the need never arose.
"Nice car," Emma admired as she climbed into the passenger seat, dropping the bag from her shoulder onto the floor, and placing the blue bag in her lap as she did up her seat belt.
"Thank you," Regina nodded, climbing in as well and doing up her own seat belt. Her eyes lingered on the bag in Emma's lap a moment, wondering what it was but not wanting to ask.
Emma picked up on her curiosity though and she unzipped the bag, holding it up so that Regina could see the ice pack and the clear packaging with a blue needle inside. "Apparently needles that need to be refrigerated are now a regular staple in my life. You know, because things just keep getting better and better." The sarcasm was dripping from Emma's words.
I'm sorry, we're the words on the tip of Regina's tongue but they were horribly placating words and she didn't let them escape. She watched Emma zip the bag back up and instead of acknowledging the needle said instead, "You're wearing the hat I picked out."
Emma's hand reached up to touch it, as if needing the confirmation that it was still there, "I am," she nodded, a faint smile ghosting across her pale face, "I like it. It's warm."
Regina smiled back, "Well, it looks nice on you."
"Thanks," Emma bit her bottom lip, looking away from Regina and out the window.
Regina's eyes lingered on Emma a moment longer and then she turned her attention forward, starting her vehicle and pulling out of the parking garage. "Where to?" she asked once they were on the street.
They drove in mostly silence with Emma giving directions as they approached crossroads, her eyes seeming droopier and droopier by the minute.
It was only a ten minute drive before Emma was pointing at her apartment building. Regina pulled over in front of it, turning the engine off. "Do you need help getting in?"
"No, no," Emma shook her head, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and unsnapping her seat belt, "I'll be fine."
Regina eyed her uncertainly, silent a long moment. She should just let Emma go, Emma was clearly tired, exhausted, and yet a question nagged incessantly at her brain and she just couldn't seem to make it go away. "Can I ask you something?" She spoke carefully, hesitant almost.
Emma's head titled, eyeing Regina curiously, her expression showing wariness but she nodded anyway.
"How come you were going to drive yourself home from the cancer centre? Shouldn't someone have been picking you up?" Regina asked the question carefully, not wanting to offend Emma but genuinely wanting to know the answer. It was something she'd been wondering about the entire drive. There was something about Emma going to and from the cancer centre alone that bothered her. Very few patients arrived at the cancer centre alone. Actually, Emma was really the only one Regina had noticed. It made her angry. Angry at whomever the people in Emma's life were who weren't supporting her. How could the people in Emma's life leave her to fend for herself? Didn't they understand how sick Emma was? Didn't they understand the kind of support she needed? After all, Regina knew. She'd read all about the needs of cancer patients, specifically of Hodgkin's Lymphoma patients, in a few hours of research three week previous. Shouldn't Emma's friends? family? someone? have cared enough to do their own research? Shouldn't those people be tripping over each other trying to take care of her now? For whatever reason, Regina was infuriated on Emma's behalf.
Emma gnawed on her lip and for a minute Regina didn't think she was going to get an answer but then Emma looked away, staring out the front windshield, and mumbled quietly, "There's no one to take me."
"No one?" Regina hadn't meant for the words to slip out, hadn't meant to sound so disbelieving, and she was considering the best way to apologize, to take it back, when Emma just shrugged.
"Yep. Not a single one. Good times, huh?" The words were flat, accompanied by a humourless laugh that was probably meant to sound unaffected but just managed to sound sad.
There were so many more questions Regina wanted to ask now but none of them were appropriate. Not when she'd basically just pried this information out of Emma. "Emma," the name was a whisper, soft and gentle.
Emma looked over at Regina, her face pale and unreadable, and then her lips twitched into a shaky smile, her eyes practically begging Regina not to press, "It's not, like, a big deal. I'm used to it."
Regina doubted that that was true. Being alone was something she understood. She truly did. She understood that it was not something that could be gotten used to. That was just a lie. She would know - it was a lie she'd told herself often, over and over again, up until the point she just couldn't believe herself anymore and she'd decided on the baby. It wasn't up to her to call Emma on her own lie though, not when Emma was sitting here looking so unwell, not when Emma was silently pleading with Regina, and certainly not when calling Emma on her lie would require Regina to expose her own vulnerability on the subject.
"Well…" Regina started, instead choosing words she felt certain would dispel the tension, "I've always been of the opinion that people are overrated, anyway."
Emma blinked rapidly, her surprise evident, but then she relaxed visibly, relieved. She offered Regina a slow smile, "Most of the ones I've encountered certainly are."
Regina smiled back ruefully, slow and understanding.
After a beat, Emma cleared her throat, her hand reaching for the door handle, "Well...uhh...thanks for the ride…"
"Wait," Regina stopped her, the word a little too sharp and she swallowed, wondering not for the first time in this conversation what exactly she was doing. She still couldn't seem to stop herself though, "I was just thinking…your treatments are every other Wednesday, correct?"
Emma looked confused, her brow furrowing into a frown. It only occurred to Regina then that Emma might assume something other than the truth about how Regina had her treatment scheduled pegged down. Emma likely wouldn't assume that Regina had done research on Hodgkin's and understood how the treatment schedule worked. Perhaps she would assume something much more nefarious - like Regina had been following her.
Emma didn't look scared though and before Regina could clarify, she just shrugged, "Yeah, that's right."
Regina nodded, "Well, Wednesday's are my volunteer shift days. What if I were to pick you up and take you home from the cancer center?"
Emma blinked slowly, rubbing the back of her neck, "Umm...well...that's really nice. But I... just wouldn't want to be such a bother."
"Nonsense," Regina shook her head, "I wouldn't have offered if I thought it was a bother." Regina could tell Emma was about to protest and she rushed to continue, suspecting that she knew a tactic that would work, "Besides, I would really just be doing my duty to society. I don't think it's very safe to knowingly unleash you and that flashy vehicle of yours on the city when you feel like this."
"My car isn't flashy," Emma's eyes narrowed as she protested.
"It's yellow," Regina shrugged one shoulder unapologetically as an answer, "It calls all kinds of attention to itself. Do you really want to be calling that kind of attention to yourself while you're knowingly driving unsafely?"
Emma's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if trying to sort out an argument but giving up. Instead she pouted, "I like that it's yellow."
"I'm sure you do," Regina shrugged that same shoulder again, the corners of her lips twitching up into an amused smile. She was pleased with herself that she'd been correct in guessing that Emma would respond better to this sort of teasing logic than to sympathy.
Emma pouted a moment longer but then she shrugged too, "Fine."
"Fine?" Regina quirked an eyebrow.
"I accept your offer to drive me home," Emma conceded, "...but only if you take back the part about my car being ugly."
Regina shook her head, unable to contain an amused smile now. "I can see how the car might appeal to you…" Regina could have easily just taken it back, or pointed out that she hadn't actually called it ugly, but there was something about the adorable way Emma glared that just made her want to keep teasing. "Now give me your phone, please, I'll add my number."
Emma forked over her phone with a shake of her head and a glare that was less glare and more twinkling eyes.
Regina made quick work of adding her contact info into Emma's phone and handing it back to her. "Text me your appointment time. I'll pick you up on my way to the cancer centre."
Emma yawned, the twinkling in her eyes being clawed back quickly by the overwhelming exhaustion and sudden vulnerability. "Okay, thanks," she said quietly.
"You're welcome," Regina nodded, adding, "I hope you feel better after some rest," as Emma climbed out of the vehicle.
xxxxxx
Emma climbed the stairs up to her apartment slowly. A year ago it hadn't occurred to her that an elevator might be a necessity - now she eyed the three flights of stairs with dread.
It took her twice as long to climb as usual but eventually she made it into her apartment, placing the cooler bag with the needle in it into the fridge beside a container of yoghurt, shaking her head at it. It was just one more thing added to an ever growing list of crappy things. She shook her head again, closed the fridge, and shuffled over to the couch.
She didn't bother to turn the television on, instead staring blankly into space as she contemplated the strange encounter she'd just had with Regina.
Had Regina really offered to be what essentially amounted to her chauffeur? Had Emma really agreed? Emma knew she should probably text Regina right then and tell her to forget about it. It was a horrible idea for so many reasons. Relying on anyone but herself never ended well - life had taught her that lesson more than once.
And, yet, Emma was simply too tired to care about whether or not she was making a mistake. Not tired like she needed to sleep, even though she was that kind of tired too, but tired like weary, like life had knocked her down one too many times and she wasn't sure anymore if she wanted to try and get back up, or whether or not she even could. So, if a beautiful woman whom she found intriguing wanted to drive her to and from the cancer centre, who was she to say no to her? So what if the offer was most likely borne out of pity at Emma's sad plight? Not that Emma had actually seen pity in Regina's eyes per say. She'd fully expected it to be there but instead had found a much more confusing emotion on the other woman's face - something akin to understanding. But even if she hadn't seen it, it didn't make sense for Regina's offer to be for any other reason. How could Regina not pity here? How could anyone look at Emma now and see anything but a sad lonely pathetically unwell cancer patient?
Emma shook her head, shaking away the incessant self-loathing inner dialogue with a heavy sigh.
She turned the TV on, curled up on her side on the couch, and drifted off to sleep. She had the most vivid dream that Regina was standing in her kitchen sipping coffee and smiling at her. It was frighteningly realistic in the way her dreams rarely were - every detail of her kitchen perfectly replicated by her brain, including the exact shade of beige her walls was painted and the scuff on the cabinet beside the fridge. She wondered if maybe this, the vivid dreaming, was yet another chemo side effect. Or maybe she just had Regina on her brain.
xxxxxx
Regina could hear the phone ringing as she slid her key into the lock of her front door. With her jacket and shoes still on, she rushed to pick up the phone, the sudden rush of anticipation that this might finally be the adoption agency calling was impossible to quell. It was the same rush of adrenaline she got every time the phone rang.
"Good afternoon, Regina Mills speaking," she spoke into the phone, her customary greeting.
"Regina, darling," the voice on the other end of the phone drawled slow and smooth.
Anticipation sunk quickly, replaced with disappointment and something that wasn't quite dread but wasn't anything good either. "Mother," Regina's jaw set. Cora only ever called when she wanted something.
"Don't use that tone with me," Cora tskd through the phone.
Regina shook her head, rolling her eyes to herself as she took the cordless phone with her back to the entranceway to remove her jacket and her shoes. She ignored her mother's snide remark and instead asked, "What can I do for you today mother?"
"Why must you assume I want something, Regina? Can't a mother call her daughter without ulterior motives?"
"Of course," Regina rolled her eyes to herself again, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she hung her coat on a hanger. "How are you?" she tried a different approach.
"I'm well," Cora confirmed, "And you, darling? How is my future congresswoman?"
And there it was. Regina supposed she should have expected this call sooner. "Please do not call me that. I told you before that it was only something I was contemplating. Perhaps for the future. You know I'm content in my current role as mayor. There's lots of work to be done here."
Cora made a tsking sound but made no further comment for an excruciating long moment, only the sound of her breathing coming through the phone. "Yes, well, it never hurts to be prepared for the future, darling. I thought I'd taught you that…" there was another pause, "Speaking of. How are things going with the publicist I recommended? That Kathryn woman refuses to tell me anything. Insists that she needs your permission to disclose any information, which I think is preposterous considering her employment was my idea."
Regina almost laughed at the outrage in her mother's voice. She hadn't known Cora had been calling Kathryn wanting updates - she felt a sudden wave of appreciation at the knowledge that Kathryn had been denying Cora's request. "There isn't much to report, mother. I'm volunteering at the cancer centre in Boston one day a week," Regina explained as she moved through the house to her office, sitting down behind her desk to finish this phone call.
"Hmm," Cora hummed, noncommittally, "And that is going...well?"
"Yes," Regina tensed. Her brain brought forth an image of Emma sitting in her car. She knew better than to mention Emma to her mother. Her mother would certainly disapprove of Regina's offer to help Emma. Her mother wouldn't understand why Regina needed to help her - Regina barely understood why. No, Cora Mills shouldn't know about Emma Swan, Regina felt certain about that. And, yet, the thought that her mother likely wouldn't approve, only bolstered Regina's confidence in her decision.
"Well, it certainly isn't the method of publicity I would choose but if you are content, then that's all that matters. It must be better than the nothing you were doing previously," Cora's tone was dismissive now, as if she really didn't care, which seemed unlikely to Regina. There was a brief pause and then she continued, "Oh, also, I just wanted you to know that I won't be around for Christmas this year." She delivered the message carefully, as if it was an afterthought.
Regina froze, her brow crinkling in confusion. Had her mother just said that she wasn't going to be around for Christmas? Was this and not the meddling in Regina's life the real reason for her phone call? It was a strange thought. An unusual occurrence.
"I'm going to Aruba."
"You're going to Aruba," Regina repeated the words carefully, trying to wrap her head around them. It wasn't that she exactly looked forward to Christmas with her mother, the trip back to her hometown hadn't held must luster since her father's death, but it was still a tradition.
"Yes, a friend of mine invited me. I didn't think you would mind."
"I…" Regina hesitated, swallowing thickly, "No, I don't mind."
"Wonderful," Cora paused, "Well, I must let you go, I've got plans this evening. Take care."
"Take care," Regina repeated, frowning at the phone in her hand long after she'd hung up.
xxxxxx