APRIL
My chemotherapy lasts for two months, on and off every two weeks until spring arrives.
My hair doesn't try to go back. From my arms, legs, and head - it stays gone. I continue to be exhausted from the treatments, but my doctors are hopeful that they're working. I'm due to go in for intensive bloodwork to see if it looks like I'm on my way to remission, and my mom is coming to the city to be there with me. Of course, Jackson will still be there, too. But this is an important meeting that she doesn't want to miss.
I'm very nervous as the three of us sit in the car on the way to the hospital and I have a piercing headache. Headaches are a symptom of my leukemia because of the anemia that comes along with it, so it's not much of a shock. I've been getting them a lot lately, which doesn't make me feel very hopeful that the chemo is doing its job. I haven't told anyone, though. I'm sure they've gotten tired of me complaining about my side-effects.
I blink my eyes hard against the watery sunlight coming off the lake. Jackson nudges my shoulder and I look back to see him offering me my sunglasses, which I readily take. My eyes have been pretty sensitive for the last month or so. It hasn't come as a surprise. Because of the chemo, my entire body is sensitive.
I put them on and rest my head back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. Since the weather has gotten warmer, I haven't been able to wear the DePaul hat outside anymore. I still wear it inside to keep warm, but I've accrued a big collection of scarves for when we go out.
It's the beginning of spring, but my winter recital is tonight. So my mom not only came in for an update on my medical prognosis, but to hear me play, too. She and Jackson are super excited about it. I'm playing four songs this time: Raindrop by Chopin, Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21 'Andante,' La Campanella by Franz Liszt, and Gratitude by Edvard Grieg. I tell myself that I just have to get through this doctor's appointment to have a really enjoyable night later. They're taking me out for dinner after, downtown to the Grand Luxe. I can't wait.
I hold Jackson's arm on the way into the hospital, walking the path that we've walked so many times. The desk receptionist greets me by name, and so do my nurses. We wait for a while until Dr. Janssen has enough time to speak with us personally in her office, and my stomach has plenty of time to twist and turn as the minutes tick by.
"Don't forget to tell her about the headaches," Jackson says.
I nod slightly. "I did already, a while ago," I say. "Remember? She said that was my anemia."
He makes a pensive sound. "I don't know," he says. "Just seems weird."
"You should tell her everything you're experiencing," Mom says, and I find myself getting annoyed with her. She hasn't been here for the majority of my attempted recovery, so I'm not sure what place she has in telling me what to say to my doctor. I know it's not her fault she hasn't been here - she would have been if it were possible - but that doesn't mean she knows what's going on. Not as well as Jackson and I do, at least.
Dr. Janssen's office is quiet and well-organized when we make our way inside. "Hi, April," she says, shaking my hand with a smile. I greet her and look down at her desk, where I see a manila folder of what must be my file.
She shakes hands with Jackson, and then my mom. "I'm Dr. Loren Janssen," she says. "You must be April's mother. We've spoken plenty on the phone, it's nice to finally meet you, Karen."
"You, too," Mom says. "Thank you for taking such good care care of my daughter."
Dr. Janssen sits down. "It's been my pleasure," she says, eyes sparkling. "She's been our star student. And Jackson here has been a star caretaker."
I can feel Jackson's energy switch to bashfulness beside me. I reach over the armrest of my chair and take his hand.
"So how have you been feeling since your last treatment, April?" Dr. Janssen asks. "I want to hear how you've been holding up before we get into your test results."
Jackson squeezes my hand. "I, uh… I've been okay," I say. "My hair isn't coming back. Like, at all. Not even a little peach fuzz. I've been a little dizzy, but not too bad. My eyes can get really sensitive from sunlight, so I wear my sunglasses a lot."
"That's good," she says. "And the headaches? How have those been?"
I hear my mom make a small sound in her throat, and I chew on the inside of my cheek. "Um, they're still here," I say.
"Better or worse than during chemo weeks?" she asks.
I center on the insistent throbbing against my temples that's happening right now. "Worse," I admit.
"Okay," she says, and I'm not sure how to decipher that answer. "Anything else? Any other symptoms, new or old?"
"I only throw up during chemo weeks," I say truthfully. "I still bruise easily, but you said that was to be expected. It's all mostly my same normal symptoms, except the really bad headaches."
"Do they keep you up at night?" she asks. "Do they wake you up?"
"I…" I begin, but my voice dies off.
"They do," Jackson answers, nodding slowly. "Sometimes it's hard for her to sleep at all because of them." His eyes dart to me. "Warm washcloths usually help. And white noise."
Dr. Janssen nods. "And the nosebleeds?" she asks.
"Still here," I say.
"How often?"
"Once every couple days, maybe," I say.
"A lot of blood?" she asks. "Or a little? And how long would you say they normally last?"
"I…" I say again, then look to Jackson for help. He knows just what to do when I get a nosebleed now, he's the expert.
"I'd say a considerable amount of blood," he says. "They last for about a half hour. Sometimes 45 minutes. There was one last week that wouldn't stop for anything, that one maybe lasted for an hour or so."
The doctor nods and I can feel my mom grow tense.
"What's that mean?" Mom asks.
Dr. Janssen looks up from her paperwork. "It could mean a few things," she says. "Headaches, nosebleeds, and dizziness are all symptoms of the type of leukemia April has in the first place. But they could also be symptoms of other things, which is what we'll have to look into."
"Other things, like what?" Mom asks. My stomach is in knots hearing my doctor say these things. The tone of her voice isn't comforting at all - I've grown to know when she's being genuinely positive and when she's putting on a facade. Right now, she's wearing a very convincing mask, but I don't fall for it.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Dr. Janssen says. "I want to tell you the good news first." She pulls out a piece of paper from the manila folder. "Your immature white blood cell count has decreased. That's amazing news. You should be very happy to hear that, April. That means the chemo did what it was supposed to."
I smile, letting myself be happy to hear that one shred of good news. "Does that mean it's gone?" Jackson asks.
"No," Dr. Janssen answers. "That just means it did what we wanted it to do."
"So it's still in her body?" Mom asks.
"Yes."
"What else is there?" she prompts. "I know there's something else."
Dr. Janssen clears her throat. "With the symptoms she's portraying and the fact that there are still leukemic cells in her system worries me that they might have spread elsewhere in her body," she explains. "With the headaches, nosebleeds, and dizziness… those are all warning signs that it's metastasized to the central nervous system."
Central nervous system - I know that means my brain and spinal cord. Suddenly, the outer ring of my vision goes black and I have to grip my armrests so I don't fall to the floor. I clench my jaw and feel my pulse hammering in my head, insistently reminding me of what's ravaging my body from the inside out.
"Wait...wha-what?" Mom stutters.
"I don't know for sure, so don't get scared yet," my doctor says. "We'll have to do some tests. A spinal tap and an MRI, the answers will be clear once we're able to analyze the data. It might be nothing. It very well could just be side-effects of the anemia, April is right. But we need to rule these other things out."
My hands are sweaty and shaking. "When?" I ask.
"As soon as possible," she says. "Is there any way you can come in tomorrow morning, around 8am? If we get you in early, we can get the results before the end of the day. And it won't have to be a waiting game."
We agree to the time and leave the office - my recital is soon and I have to get back to prepare, but I don't know how I'm supposed to focus knowing that there might be something even more horrible than I thought happening inside my body right now.
Once we're in the car on the way back, Jackson speaks first. "It might be nothing," he says. "It might just be the same old same old, that's what she said." He looks over at me, but I don't look back. I'm crying beneath my sunglasses, but I don't want him to know. Because if he sees, he'll hold me. And if he holds me, I'll just start to cry harder and I don't think I'll be able to stop. "You know she doesn't say stuff she doesn't mean. She's always real with you."
"Yeah," I peep.
"Everything will be okay, honey," Mom says, but I can hear the fear in her voice. I want to tell her that she doesn't have to be strong for me - I've spent enough time being strong for myself - but I don't. I let her be the mom, because she hasn't gotten the chance to be lately. If she wants to be my pillar of strength right now, I'll let her. Tonight, I'll let her and Jackson be my rocks.
I pick out a dress later - a knee length, long sleeved green one with jeweled details at the waist, and wrap a pearl-colored scarf around my head to go with it. Since my hair has been gone, I've gotten much better at makeup, so I sit on the floor in front of my mirror and painstakingly do my face so I'll look pretty for tonight.
As I'm slipping my feet into my kitten-heeled shoes, Jackson comes in looking dapper in dark jeans and a pink button-up. I smile and walk up to him, placing my hands on his chest as he wraps his arms around my waist. "You look fantastic," I tell him.
He touches my chin with his thumb, which pulls my lower lip down a bit. "Not as fantastic as you," he says, and kisses me. "I love you, piano girl."
When Mom comes out from the bathroom, we're all ready to go. We make our way to the School of Music and I greet some friends along the way, and I can tell Mom is enjoying seeing how I live here. It makes her happy that I've found somewhere where I fit in and that I love what I do.
When we walk inside the building, a wave of nerves washes over me as a bunch more people are in the lobby as there were for the fall recital. As we maneuver through them, some people's eyes land on me and stare for just a little too long, and I look up at Jackson with wide eyes. "They're staring at me," I whisper.
"Fuck 'em," he whispers back. "No one's gonna notice your scarf once you start playing, trust me."
Mom goes to find a seat in the small auditorium and Jackson walks me all the way to the backstage area. He holds my face in his hands and kisses me slow, and I lean into him. "I can't wait to hear you," he says, caressing my cheek. "Are you okay?"
"I'm still thinking about it," I admit. I took some powerful pain meds before we left, but the headache still looms. Now, it's more noticeable than ever.
"Try not to," he says, but it's easier said than done. It's not his body. These aren't his symptoms. He doesn't have to live with them, day in and day out. I do.
But he's right. I want to lose myself, separate myself from all this, at least for a little while. And through my music, I'll be able to do that.
"I'll try," I say, and squeeze his waist. "Thanks for coming with us today. I… I needed you there."
"I wouldn't have missed it," he says, kissing the side of my head over my scarf. "It was important to me to be there, too."
I nod and feel my eyes burn, but I won't cry. I'll mess up my makeup and it'll be a big huge thing, especially since I'm going to go out and perform soon.
"You better go find your seat," I say, pulling away from him and blinking hard. "Mom'll be wondering where you are." I force a smile, and he gives me a sad one in return.
"I love you," he says, then makes a move to leave.
I grab his wrist before he can go, though, and he turns around curiously. "Wait," I say, then pucker my lips. "One more. For luck."
He chuckles. "You don't need luck," he tells me. "But I'm never gonna say no to kissing you."
When it's my turn to go out on a stage, a welcome calm has washed over me as I scan the audience. My mom and Jackson are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with the same expression on their faces - a mixture of pride and somberness. I try not to feel sad, though. I hold onto the tiny shred of hope I was given by Dr. Janssen and run with it, then walk confidently out to the piano bench once my name is announced.
I get lost in the music and let it flow through me in the way I love. Even though I'm in front of a couple hundred people, I feel like I'm completely alone with the songs. Well, maybe not completely alone. I feel at peace like I do when I'm with Jackson next to me on the bench in a practice room - I feel the swell of getting a rhythm right for the first time, finishing a piece with no mistakes, the warmth of his eyes as he beams at me.
When I finish and stand up from the bench for my bow, the applause is deafening. I smile out at the crowd and search for my mom and Jackson's faces, to find them both with tears in their eyes. They both smile at me and I give a little wave in return, then grab my sheet music from the stand to let the next performer come out.
"You sounded great on La Campanella," Jackson says that night, over dinner. I'm eating fettuccine alfredo and so is he, and Mom has a fancy salad. "You didn't mess up one single time."
"What one was that?" Mom asks.
"Third one," Jackson says, finishing up his noodles. "Let me have a bite of yours," he says, pointing his fork over to my plate.
"You got the same exact thing!" I say, laughing.
"I know, but I'm done," he says.
"Not my fault you ate too fast," I say, twirling my fork.
"I was hungry," he says. "And I'm still hungry. Yours looks better, anyway."
I give him a look. "Fine," I say, giving in like always. He loves to steal my food.
"Like you were gonna eat all this anyway," he says, nudging me with his elbow. I giggle.
"April, you're playing beautifully these days," Mom says, grinning in my direction. "You've improved so much. During high school, you would have never dreamed to try pieces like those. I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, mom," I say.
"I'm slowly catching up to her, though," Jackson says, feeling his oats. "You should hear me play 'Happy Birthday.' Your life will never be the same."
"I'm sure," Mom says, and we all crack up laughing.
We have a nice night, the three of us together. While I'm sure all of us are thinking about my potential prognosis, we all pretend that we're not. And eventually, it does fade from the forefront of my mind. That is, until later that night when the lights are out and we're laying down to go to sleep.
My mom is in a hotel nearby and is meeting us with the car outside tomorrow morning. For right now, it's just me and Jackson in my little bed, like always. We're nose-to-nose and his eyes are closed, but mine are open as I study his face.
I press my lips to his softly and he kisses me back after a second-long delay, surprised because I'd woken him up out of a light sleep. "Can you just remember one thing?" I ask him, and he nods sleepily. "That I love you," I finish.
He blinks his eyes open and looks at me with confusion. "Why are you talking like that?" he asks.
I purse my lips. "I'm not talking like anything," I claim.
"Yes, you are," he says. He sounds fully awake now. "It… it's gonna be fine tomorrow, baby. And even if it's not… even if it's bad, you're not allowed to start talking like… like you're fucking dying."
My face heats up. My imminent diagnosis was on my mind, admittedly. I just wanted him to say that he loves me back so we could go to sleep. I didn't expect him to get so mad over it.
"I won't sit here and let you resign," he says. "No matter what."
"I'm not," I say, but my voice is weak.
"You're living," he says. "Today, what I saw you do today. Playing that piano like… like you weren't meant to do anything else. That was living, April. And you're not gonna do anything different for the rest of the long time that you're here on earth. Okay?" I don't respond, so he prompts me again. "Okay?"
"But you don't know how this feels," I say, finding my voice in the dark. I look up into his eyes to see them shining in the dim light coming from the streetlamp across the way. "You don't know how it feels to be completely out of control of what happens to your body." My throat clogs up and I blink hard so I won't cry. "During chemo, I hurt so much that I didn't even know if I was gonna wake up the next morning. Now, my doctor is telling me that there might be something in my brain. I have to go get fluid taken from my spine tomorrow." I pull my hands up to clasp together under my chin. "When you have to go through that, you can tell me what I can and can't say. Until then…" My voice breaks and I close my eyes. "You just don't know how this feels."
He lets out a long sigh. "I'm sorry," he says, and I'm thankful he apologizes. That's something he can always be counted on to do. "I just don't want you giving up. April…" His voice grows a little higher - I've never heard it get like this. It sounds like he might cry. "I can't lose you. I just don't even want to think about losing you."
I duck my head and press my forehead to his chest, and hear his breath hitch in his throat as he winds his arms tight around me. "You won't lose me," I whisper, and feel his shoulders tremble. He's crying. "You won't lose me, city boy," I repeat in a whisper, and rub his back. "I promise."
"And now," he hiccups. "You're comforting me. How fucked up this that? Like seriously, how-how fucked up is that that you're comforting me when you're the one with cancer?" He shakes his head roughly. "God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be crying, I'm so… I shouldn't be the one doing this. You're the one who's allowed to be upset, not me." He lets out an errant sob. "Not me."
"You can be upset, Jackson," I tell him, his chin still pressed against my head. "It's okay. I'm here for you, too."
"You shouldn't have to be," he says, and his tears aren't slowing down. "I need to be the strong one. I should be. For you."
"You always are," I say. "You need a chance to break down, too."
He lets out a long sob, then holds me tighter as he cries against me. Hearing him break down so openly makes my chest feel like it could crack in half. "I'm sorry," he says. "You shouldn't have to see me like this."
"Jackson, you've seen me throw up in the middle of this room," I say. "You shaved all my hair off, you see me bald every day. You've given me baths, you've clipped my fingernails when I don't have the strength to do anything. You've dried my tears on countless occasions. I think I can see you cry this once."
He hugs me even tighter and I grapple for his shoulders as he trembles against me.
"I'm right here," I say, suddenly realizing how upset about this whole thing he really is. He's been putting on a strong front for a really long time, having not broken down or shown any fear for my entire treatment. This tells me that he's been bottling up the way he feels for a long time, and this is the dam bursting. I never knew how much he was hiding. "I'm not going anywhere," I say, solidly like a promise. "I got you."
Somehow, comforting him makes me forget about my own fears. When I have someone else to take care of, it takes the weight off of me.
He grows quieter, but he doesn't stop crying. I don't shush him or anything like that, I just keep my arms wrapped around him with my lips pressed against his forehead, muttering soothing things every now and then.
His breath comes shallowly and his chest still rattles as he tries to calm down. I run my fingers down the back of his head, clear my throat, and start to sing the first thing that comes to mind. "Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones… and I will try to fix you."
When the specialist inserts the numbing medication into my lower back, I'm lying in the fetal position and gritting my teeth from the burning sensation. I have to lie this way so they can collect the spinal fluid successfully, but it's not comfortable at all.
I'm alone and scared. I've never had something done like this before, and I hope I'll never have to do it again. First, this test will get done, then I'll go upstairs for my MRI. Which I assume will be a lot easier than waiting for fluid to passively drip out of my spine.
"I'm gonna insert the needle now, April," he says, and I nod. He feels his way from the side of my pelvic bone and counts his way up my vertebrae, and I wince when the pressure of the needle goes in. "Try and relax," he says.
I resist the urge to say, how about you try and relax when a long freaking needle is being shoved into your back.
I close my eyes and try to forget what's happening. I woke up with a splitting headache, but I didn't tell anyone. Especially not Jackson. He had a hard enough night last night, having not fallen asleep for at least another hour, and that was because he tired himself out.
When we woke up this morning, his eyes were puffy but he wanted to forget that anything ever happened. I think he feels guilty for breaking down so completely, but he shouldn't. I should've known that he was bottling so much up, I should've given him a chance to release it sooner.
I feel like I'm lying on this examination table for years waiting for my fluid to drain, so when it's finally over and my back has been dressed with gauze, the specialist helps me into a wheelchair back out to where my mom and Jackson are waiting.
"There she is," Mom says, her voice full of relief as she hurries up to me. Jackson is close behind, and waits while Mom frames my face and kisses my forehead. I have the DePaul hat on today because the hospital is chilly, and she squeezes the pompom before letting me go.
"How was it?" Jackson asks, taking the handles of my wheelchair and pushing me in the direction of the cafeteria. We have a break before my MRI that's enough time to eat lunch. "Did it hurt?"
"It burned," I say. "The anesthesia. And the tap was just like… pressure. It wasn't that bad. I just had to lay on my side for a long time. It was uncomfortable."
"Sounds like it," he says.
We eat lunch, but I only pick at mine because I'm nervous. Not for the MRI exactly, but for what will come tonight. The results. I can't bear to think about that without feeling the urge to throw up, so I try to think about what's happening in the moment. I think about Jackson's blue DePaul hoodie, my mom's flyaway hairs framing her forehead, and the freckles on my arms. Anything but what will happen tonight. Anything.
Inside the MRI machine, I'm given earphones so I won't hear the loud knocking noises going on around me while it takes pictures of my brain. I squeeze my eyes shut tight as the technician tells me to keep as still as I can, but I can't help flinching as I hear the sounds through the music playing in my ears.
I wish someone could be in here with me, because I'm starting to feel more and more afraid. I open my mouth and bare my teeth as I wince, but try and keep my body from moving any more than that. I don't want to have to come back in here and do this again.
I keep my eyes closed, because I'm terrified to open them and see the closed confines around me. I'm scared that if I open them, I'll feel like I'm in a coffin. It's a tight, narrow space with a low ceiling and a rounded exterior. As I think about it, I become more and more claustrophobic, and when I'm finally let out, I'm crying.
"Hey, hey, hey, you okay?" Jackson asks, as I'm wheeled back to where they're waiting once again. He looks back at my mom. "She's crying. April, baby, are you okay?"
I wipe my cheeks and breathe shallowly, swallowing loudly. "Can we go somewhere quiet?" I ask, my voice small.
The three of us go into an empty hallway, and Jackson kneels next to my wheelchair. I'm shivering in just my hospital gown, so he takes off his hoodie and pulls it on over the papery material to warm me up.
"Honey, is everything alright?" Mom asks, coming around to the front of me.
I try to calm down and breathe easier, but it's difficult. "It was so loud," I gasp. "I was all alone. I had to stay still, and it was so small." I cover my face and shake my head. "I was scared. I just never wanna do that again."
I feel lips on my forehead and smell Jackson's cologne as he gets close to me. "You won't have to," he says. "They're gonna get the results they need from it, and you'll never have to do it again."
"Because they won't find anything," Mom says, trying to sound hopeful. "They're gonna see that the headaches and stuff were just from your anemia, and everything will be fine." Her forced optimism is just making me feel worse, but I don't tell her so. I can tell it's a way she's trying to cope for herself.
During the time we have to wait, I don't do research on what it might mean if the leukemia has moved to my brain. I don't want to know. I don't want to spend time obsessing over it and scare myself when it might not be anything meaningful at all.
During the break, there's enough time to go home and come back, so that's what we do. We go to my mom's hotel and take naps on the two beds, and sleep for a long time - all the way into the evening. When I wake up, I'm lethargic and disoriented, and the first thing I see is that Jackson and my mom are talking at the foot of the bed next to mine. They stop when they notice I'm awake though, and they both smile at me.
All I can do is blink at them. My head is so foggy. When I take naps during the day, this is how I always wake up feeling.
Jackson walks over to me and gives me a kiss atop my bare head. "Hi, beautiful," he says, and sits down next to me. "It's almost 7. We're in your mom's hotel, we haven't eaten dinner yet." He gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I rest against him dependently. "We're still waiting on the call from the doctor. You slept for about four hours."
Things start to get clearer. When my confusion after naps became routine, he started laying things out concisely for me so I could get my thoughts straight, and it really helps.
"She sometimes gets like that after she wakes up," Jackson says to my mom, one hand on my knee. I offer her a sleepy smile, but I don't miss the concerned look in her eyes.
"Are you okay, sweetie?" Mom asks, furrowing her eyebrows.
I rub my eyes, blinking them to clear my vision. "Yeah," I say. "Just tired."
She comes over and skims her hands over my head, and I resist shrinking away from her touch. I don't like anyone else but Jackson touching my bare head - I have a big problem with it because that's something I'm very insecure about. She kisses the top of it, which makes my throat tighten, then holds my face in her hands. "You slept for a long time."
"I had a spinal tap and an MRI this morning," I say.
Jackson chuckles and Mom makes a face like I've proven my point.
We eat dinner and get a call from Dr. Janssen not long after, asking us to come in and discuss my results. Before Mom can even get through telling me what the doctor said on the phone, my stomach lurches and I run to the bathroom, throwing up the entirety of the dinner I just ate because of the violent wave of nervous nausea that washes over me.
I'm shaking when I get out of the bathroom, and those two are looking at me with concern. "I'm sorry," I say, tears stinging my eyes. "I'm really nervous."
In the car on the way over, Mom talks too much and I don't talk at all. I don't hear what she's saying, and I know Jackson isn't listening either. He has one hand on my leg, taking up almost the full expanse of my thigh, and I'm glad that he does. It's comforting, like an anchor keeping me on earth.
I overlap his hand with mine when we pull into the hospital parking lot, and he gives me an encouraging look. We walk next to my mom, hand-in-hand, and when we get through the doors, Dr. Janssen is waiting for us while leaning against the nurses' station.
My stomach drops. Never once has she been waiting for us with nothing else to do.
"Welcome back," she says, smiling. It doesn't reach her eyes. I squeeze Jackson's hand, and he gives me a firm kiss on the cheek. I didn't feel like putting a different scarf on, so I'm still in the DePaul hat. And over my leggings, I have on his sweatshirt but I still can't stop shivering. "If you just wanna follow me back to my office, we can discuss April's results there."
My knees are weak and I feel like I'm going to topple over as we follow the back of Dr. Janssen's white lab coat. I feel like I have tunnel vision, like I can only see what's right in front of me. I can't focus on anything else but that, because my brain can only handle one thing at a time.
There's one phrase repeating through my mind like a broken record.
I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die.
I don't say it out loud. I don't voice my fears, because I don't want to be comforted. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so. If it were nothing, couldn't she have just told us over the phone? I don't know how these things work.
We sit down in the same three chairs from yesterday and stare at her wordlessly.
"So, the tests were very clear today," she says, looking down at the results. "We don't need anything redone, you did a great job, April. I know you didn't want to go back and do them again, and you won't have to."
At least there's one shrivel of good news I can cling onto. I just nod. I'm not here to make small talk, and she knows that.
"What I want to call attention to is the MRI," she says, finally cutting to the chase. She stands up and turns on the lighted screens on the wall and sticks the brain scan up so the outline is clearly visible. She sighs as she looks at it, and I break out in a cold sweat. "What I don't like is right here. These little masses, do you see those?" I squint my eyes. I can't see much of anything, but that might be because my vision keeps blurring in and out. "Those are clots of leukemic cells, getting bunched together without being able to flow freely. Right now, there's one in your occipital lobe, which explains the headaches. And one in the side of your temporal lobe, which deals with memory, speech, and musical rhythm."
My heart stops. My mouth goes completely dry and I can't breathe. Blood clots in my brain. I can see that she's stopped speaking, and that's good because I can't hear anything right now.
Dr. Janssen's eyes are wide as she walks closer to me, kneeling down to talk to me at face-level. My hearing starts to come back as she says, "We're not helpless here. There are plenty of things we can do."
"Like what?" my mom asks, sounding very alarmed.
"Unfortunately, they're in spots that makes operating nearly impossible," my doctor says. "I've already ruled that out. But radiation therapy can be very useful in situations like these. I've seen a lot of patients worse off than you come out in complete remission, and the cancer never comes back."
I'm still focused on one thing. Musical rhythm. There's a blood clot in my brain on the lobe that deals with musical rhythm.
Maybe that piano recital I played last night will be the last one I ever play.
"Radiation?" I hear Jackson's soft voice come from behind me. "What does that do?"
"It targets a specific spot in April's…"
I stop listening again and her voice fades out. My white blood cell count went down, but at what price? At the price of two blood clots to move into my brain and make their homes there, make themselves comfortable where, at any minute, they could ruin my life. What if I bump my head? What if I so much as sneeze and dislodge one? What happens then?
I lift my hands up to my head and hold either side of it, staring down at the blue carpeted floor. My lips part and a gust of air escapes them, and I can feel my chest rising and falling dramatically with each breath I take. I look up at meet the eyes of my doctor, who's stopped explaining and is now watching me intently.
"Am I gonna die?" I ask, point blank.
She gives me a firm look. "We're gonna do everything we can to make sure you get better, not worse," she says. "We can handle this. You can handle this. You're strong. You made it through chemo, your body killed a lot of what was attacking it. Now we just have to switch gears."
I nod shakily and look to my mom, whose eyes are teary. "I want you to come home," she says softly, and takes my hand in both of hers.
I don't fight. Going home to a place that I know sounds better than being at school, where it doesn't sound like I'll be able to live a normal life, anyway. I want to be around my family, I want to be around a whole support system who can catch me when I fall.
I can't put all that weight on Jackson anymore. I won't do it.
"Okay," I agree.
Orders are put in place to have me transferred back to the hospital in Columbus, where I'll begin my radiation therapy very soon. Dr. Janssen wants me to get in there as quickly as I can so we can disintegrate the clots early, before any more can form. I like how hopeful she is, but I don't know what to expect. This explains my headaches, my blurry vision, my dizziness. But who knows how else they're going to make me feel as the days pass by? Who knows how else they're going to deteriorate my body?
We're leaving tomorrow morning to go back to Moline. When Mom pulls the car up in the taxi lane in front of Clifton, all three of us get out. She pulls me into a big, tight hug, then holds me at arm's length. "Do you want me to come up and help you pack?" she asks.
I look at Jackson, who's standing off to the side, rubbing the back of his neck and purposefully giving us space. I need to be with him tonight.
I don't know when I'll be able to see him again.
"No, it's okay, mom," I say quietly.
"Okay," she says, and her voice is waterlogged. "Honey." I look up at her and she holds my chin in her thumb and first finger. "I am so sorry."
I melt into her arms again and tuck my face into her familiar-smelling hair. "I love you, mama," I say, and choke back tears. She rubs my back hard and looks at my face again before giving me a quick kiss on the forehead.
"I'll be here to pick you up in the morning," she says. "Have a good sleep."
I nod, and she gets back into the car. I turn around, take Jackson by the arm, and we walk upstairs - not saying anything until my door closes behind us.
"Will you help me pack up some things?" I ask. I'm so tired, but I need clothes back at home. I don't have anything there that I still wear. I look at him and see that he's rubbing his eyes - the day has tired him out, too. "Or you don't have to. I really…" I sigh. "I just want to spend some time with you."
"Before you have to leave," he says. "Are you really leaving?"
I kick off my shoes and wring my hands together. "Yeah," I say softly. "I'm sorry. I don't want to leave you, I really, really don't. But I need to be with my family. And I feel like, I don't know. I feel like they need to be with me."
He nods firmly, his jaw set straight. He gets to work on taking some clothes down from their hangers in my closet and folding them up as best he can in the suitcase I set out, and we don't speak for a while.
I sit down on the bed when I need a break and hold my head very gently in my hands. I keep thinking about music and all the times Jackson and I have bonded over it together. I wanted to keep teaching him. I wanted him to keep learning. What if I can't be his teacher anymore? What if I forget everything I've ever known about the art form that my life revolves around?
He stands in front of me and puts his hands on my thighs, spreading my knees so he can stand between them. He looks into my eyes soberly and blinks, then says, "I can't be here without you."
I look at his face and reach up to hold it in my hands. He looks so sad, so soft and vulnerable, that I just want to hold him and never let him go. I'm sure, right now, he feels the same way about me.
We're not meant to be apart from each other. Not in a time like this, not ever.
"Come with me," I say. "Come home."