The last MRI from this hospital. Sure, they were getting old for Naomi and less scary, but she still wished Emily could be there to hold her hand. They advised against it. They advised against everything in this stupid hospital, but she had to go with it. They said she was getting better? Stage three to two? Naomi wasn't worried about what stage, just getting to Stanford so they could start the final treatment and she could go on to remission. Maybe even live another thirty to forty years.
Blood tests, chest x-rays, PETs, CT, and any other fucking scan they could get done on Naomi in one day, they did. The last set, which Emily was allowed to be there for, was the physical examination. They let her wear her hat after taking much abuse from Emily ranting about how cold the place was and how she was paying massive amounts of money for this. Actually, it was Effy who was, but they didn't need to know that. After one final breath and the cold stethoscope leaving Naomi's chest, the doctor pulled away and grabbed her chart. Naomi was exhausted from sitting around in a hospital gown all day and being pushed around room to room.
"So?" Emily nervously twiddled her fingers and Naomi reached over to cover her hands with hers. When Emily was nervous, it only made Naomi even more worried. "Right, Ms. Campbell. With Hodgkin's Lymphoma it's difficult to say where we'll be going from here. You were teetering onto stage three, but you seem to be in a sort of stuck state at two. You could continue chemotherapy and possibly get to remission, but your body is fighting the treatments at times." Naomi slipped her fingers between Emily's to keep her calm. This wasn't anything new. Emily had researched day and night about the horrible named illness and probably knew more than Naomi. But ignorance is bliss right?
"What does stage three consist of?" Naomi spoke up, more inquisitive than sarcastic for once. "Well more involvement of lymph node regions on the diaphragm. Both sides actually. More targeted areas at organs, smaller ones, spleen, places like so." Naomi nodded, whispering a soft "Oh," under her breath. Emily's grip tightened. "Stage two was your targeted cervical area, but that's long past. Like I said, you're unfortunately in between the two." Naomi furrowed her brows. "So I'm not getting better, you're saying I'm worse? You're saying I'm stage three?" The doctor seemed on edge with her question. They were providing bullshit statistics and chart graphs yet again. "Well, yes. But there-"
"Fuck!" Naomi belted and let go of Emily's hand. "What the fuck is it with you doctors! Keep it straight, Jesus fucking Christ!" Emily touched Naomi's shoulder but she pushed her off straight away. "Am I able to leave this god forsaking place and head to Stanford or not?" Naomi crossed her arms. "You can, yes, but I would highly advise that you continue treatment here until you're not… in between any stage." Naomi rubbed her forehead with an annoyed groan. Keep her here until she gets to an actual stage three sooner or wait until she's back at stage two so they could travel a few hours. "Take your stage three and fuck yourself," Naomi stood up and pushed her feet back into the provided slippers the hospital gave. They might as well have been plastic. They were so uncomfortable.
She slammed the door behind her and left Emily to have a serious conversation with the doctor. She was the conscious in this situation and Naomi was the anger. Constantly belting out when things were just getting worse. Why would they tell her she was doing better when she was between stages? Great, now her spleen or liver or whatever else the fucking cancer could take from her. Naomi found her way back to her room, surprisingly the anger kept her energy up enough to start packing. There wasn't much, her suitcase was barely opened beside the computer that Dominic had provided. Naomi was stuck in terribly designed hospital gowns most of the time here anyway.
With the computer shoved away and a change of clothes, featuring a long pause to catch her breath, Naomi was finished. Absolutely done with this bullshit place. "Hodgkin's can fuck off," Naomi tossed the gown on the ground and stuffed her hat back on. It might have been hotter in California than in England, obviously, but she hated having her cancer worn out in public. People stared; thinking her lack of hair was a fashion statement or they knew. She hated people knowing. It was her business and everyone needed to stop fucking staring before she blew a gasket.
"What are you doing?" Emily's voice chimed when she opened the door and saw Naomi in a set of shorts and a jumper. "I'm leaving. This place is bullshit. Bollocky bullshit and I don't want to be here anymore," Naomi sighed and sat at the end of her bed, head sagging downward. The apprehensiveness of Emily spread across the room and she knew what would be said next. "We might want to stay," Naomi rolled her eyes. "Just a little longer, Naoms. The doctor has a point."
"No, the doctor wants more money." True, but Naomi was just being stubborn. "They don't let you visit me. They don't let me watch tv. They watch me when I piss… Emily, I don't want to be here." The urgency of her voice fell flat. She knew, no matter what she was feeling, Emily had full reign of the decision making at this point. After all, she was paying for expenses that Effy couldn't cover. "Okay," Naomi's head cocked back slightly almost annoyed at her response. "Emily, you're supposed to be the level-headed one. You know? 'Naoms stay here. Naoms finish your treatment. Naoms don't kiss me you smell like chemotherapy,'" Naomi mimicked a poor initiation of Emily's voice. Slightly deeper that she meant for it to be. "I've never denied you for smelling like chemotherapy," Emily smirked.
Her hand ran behind Naomi's back and she rubbed softly, as delicately as she could. "It's your choice. Not mine. If you want to go to Stanford, by all means, we're going to Stanford. If you want to stop all this, fine. Just know that I will start denying you for smelling less like chemo," Emily placed the side of her head onto Naomi's jutting shoulder bone. "Does chemo even have a smell?" Naomi asked curiously, smiling from the corner of her mouth. "No, it doesn't. You always smell like a bed of lily's, or spliff," Emily teased and kissed her pale cheek. "Anything else we need to pack before we get out of this hell hole?" Emily asked teasingly, but Naomi just shook her head. "Never even unpacked," she pointed to the suitcase that was lifted onto the medical table.
"Then it's settled. We leave. This afternoon." Emily stood up but Naomi's hand was still linked with hers. "Where are you going?" She asked more worried than anything. Emily smiled, reaching for her phone. "We still have to make sure you're that one in one hundred, right? Have to make a few calls, have to check you out of this place, and have to pay that bill with a check." The girls sighed while parting hands. Emily didn't depart so soon though. Naomi's head was lifted with a light press of a finger under her chin. She smiled, looking up at Emily; still full of hope or denial. Whichever was better for her at this time, Naomi didn't fucking care.
"I love you, you know?" Naomi nodded. "I know," she half whispered. Emily pressed her lips against Naomi's, just for a moment. A clear moment that gave Naomi a small bit of hope that she had lacked for the past few months. Emily kissed her forehead and adjusted her checkered hat. "You still look beautiful. Very beautiful." Emily ran her thin fingers delicately behind Naomi's ears, out of habit of course when she used to have longer hair. It still felt nice. It felt real to Naomi. Like she could believe every word Emily was saying to her. She hadn't felt beautiful since this started. She hadn't felt beautiful since her girlfriend had left to New York. Naomi almost forgot what that feeling consisted of. Her stomach warmed and she faintly smiled up at Emily.
"They're going to take care of you over there you know," Emily clarified. Stanford was a sign of hope. Emily was a beacon of fucking light in this situation. Naomi simply enjoyed the moment. Her girlfriend's voice. The small touch behind her ears and down her cheek to her chin. The content feeling of just sitting there, feeling like she was floating. That, right there, was hope.