I have many excuse for the why this chapter has taken so long to be posted but they're not good so I won't bore you with them. Suffice to say, I've been busy.
Chapter Six
Despite Dean's protests, Sam eventually managed to persuade him to take the Trans to Garth in person before coming to Kermit. Sam needed to make they were safely delivered before he could concentrate on himself. It wasn't selflessness that motivated him, but duty. They had a duty to Kevin and his mother something he'd failed the year before, and he wasn't going to fail again. Dean's agreement was on the proviso that Sam go to Kermit ahead of him and get the treatment started. So, Sam stole a crapped out Ford and made the drive alone.
He called Doctor Jacobsen from the road and told him he was coming back, so the doctor was waiting for him on the ward when he stepped off the elevator. When he saw Sam, he stepped forward with a hand extended and a warm smile in place. "Good to see you again, Sam," he said. "We've got a room prepared for you, and I have a few dozen forms for you to fill out before we can get started."
Sam allowed himself to be led down the hall and into one of the patient rooms he had become horribly familiar with during the last year. It was a nice enough room, with pale blue walls and a large window, but it was what it represented that Sam hated. It meant days of sickness and pain and being alone. This time it would be different, Dean would be here soon, but somehow that was worse. Dean would be there to see the ugly side of it all and there was little Sam wanted less.
He dropped his duffel down on the end of the bed and crossed to the window. Doctor Jacobsen was talking but Sam wasn't really listening. He was silently cursing the deal he'd made that brought him back here. He should be on the road, fighting and making a difference. From here on out he was going to be next to useless, and people were going to die because of it. If there was chance that the treatment would work, that he could be cured, he would have been happier to take the time out of what mattered. But it couldn't work. It was too late. He was dying. The only thing he was going to gain now was time for his brother to come to terms with the end before it happened.
"Sam!" the doctor barked, and Sam spun to face him, looking abashed at being caught out.
"Sorry."
Doctor Jacobsen sighed. "You've got a lot on your mind, I know that, but this is important, Sam. Please sit down so we can talk." Sam took the chair beside the bed and the doctor pulled around the hard chair from the corner. "Okay, I know you've been here before, but we're going with chemotherapy now, so things are going to be a little different. I will send in a nurse to set you up with a line and draw blood so we can check everything's okay for us to proceed. If things are okay, we'll start your chemotherapy tomorrow. Ordinarily you would be given round of chemo stretched out over weeks or months, with a break at the end. We can't do that with you, Sam. We need to be aggressive, so you will be started on a five day round of sessions with two days rest before starting again. This is going to be hard on you, but it's the only option we have open to us."
"Okay, doc."
Doctor Jacobsen sighed and tightened his grip on the clipboard in his hands. "Sam, I need to make sure you understand; we're not curing you, we're extending your time left."
Sam nodded. "I know. Trust me, I know."
"And are you sure this is what you want? I won't lie, Sam; this is going to be a hard road for you to travel. I want you to have the treatment, because I want to give you as long as I can, but that's the doctor in me talking. The person in me wonders if this is the right thing."
Sam raked a hand over his face. "You met my brother. He needs this. I have made peace with what's happening to me, and I'm okay, but he hasn't yet. He needs this time to come to terms with it. If I quit now and let nature take its course, I would be leaving too big a hole for him. I have to fight as long as I can. Anything less than that would be a betrayal."
"Okay." The doctor nodded. "Then I'll send someone in to get your bloods and then we can get to work. If I were you, I'd make the most of tonight. Eat a good meal and rest as much as you can."
What he didn't say but what Sam heard was that he needed to do that now, as he wouldn't be able to soon.
Sam had forgotten how noisy the hospital could be. He was used to traffic at night moving past whatever motel they'd chosen for the night and the soft sighs of Dean's snores. Those sounds were practically a lullaby to him. They were gone though, replaced with footsteps, the clatter of a trolley being moved and, in the morning, the sound of people waking and moving around the hall. Sam rolled over and rubbed at his eyes. He hadn't slept that well, though that couldn't all be blamed on the noise. It was the reality of what he was facing the next day that had him staring at the ceiling into the early hours of the morning.
In a way, he was glad Dean wasn't there to see just how scared he was. It would only make it harder for him to deal with what was happening if he had to play at being strong for his brother. He'd spoken to him the night before, getting the irritated rundown on just how difficult Mrs. Tran was to deal with on long journeys and how Kevin had a sensitive stomach not suited to road trips. In return, he had told Dean about Amelia's visit the evening before, bringing dinner with her, and the prep they'd done for his first chemo session. Dean had asked a lot of questions, only some of which Sam had an answer to, and he suspected Doctor Jacobsen was going to get the third degree from Dean when he arrived.
There was a knock on the door and Sam pushed himself round to sit on the edge of the bed before calling enter. Max, one of the nurses Sam knew from his time in the hospital before, came in with a hand extended.
"Sam, good to see you. I heard you were checking in again."
They shook hands and Sam smiled. He liked Max. He was a good guy and knew his work well, as did most of the people he'd met during his treatment. He'd been the one to talk Sam through the side-effects of his radiotherapy in simple terms, and he'd been able to ease the early panic Sam'd had when they began.
Max picked up the chart from the end of Sam's bed and flicked through it. "Now, Doctor Jacobsen is just authorizing your first dose. I just need to run through a few checks and go through any questions you might have."
Sam was a veteran at the checks needed, so he sat patiently on the edge of the bed as Max checked his pulse and blood pressure, temperature and IV line. When it was done, he moved to sit on the chair beside the bed and waited for Max to finish filling out his chart.
"All good," Max said. "You're going to want to eat something light and then we'll be ready to start."
"Do I have to eat?" Sam asked.
Max sighed. "I know what you're thinking, Sam. The less you eat now, the less you might lose later, but it doesn't work like that. Trust me you want something in your stomach. Besides, you've got to fuel your body now more than ever. What's coming is going to be tough and you need to give yourself all the help you can."
"Okay," Sam said reluctantly. His stomach was already full of butterflies. He could face down a ghost or demon or vampire without fear, but faced with the prospect of what was to come, he was scared. He knew suffering, he'd become close acquaintances with it over his life, and he wasn't sure he was ready to go through it all again. The one reprieve he had was that his brother wasn't here to see it, not yet at least.
When his breakfast arrived, Max left and Sam forced down a serving of fruit. He was sipping coffee when Doctor Jacobsen came back with an IV bag in hand.
"You ready for this, Sam?" he asked.
Sam wasn't remotely ready. He didn't think he ever would be, but he was going to do it anyway. This was what Dean needed from him, and given that he had already let his brother down so many times before, he wouldn't this time.
Doctor Jacobsen hung the IV bag on the hook and connected it to Sam's cannula in the back of his hand. Sam watched carefully as he opened the clip holding back the fluid, and his eyes tracked the run of liquid as it flowed through the tube and into his hand. He thought it should feel different, the poison entering his bloodstream, but there was nothing. It didn't feel like anything. There was no pain or burn as he'd expected. He might well have been given saline for all the difference it made.
"Okay, there you go," the doctor said. "I'll leave you in peace." He set the call button within Sam's reach and patted his shoulder. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."
Sam lifted his gaze from the IV in his hand and looked at the doctor. "I will."
Doctor Jacobsen gave him a searching look and then walked out of the room, leaving Sam alone. Sam felt very alone. It wasn't that he wanted the doctor to stay, he had other things to do, people to take care of, but he didn't want to be alone. In a childish way, he almost believed that having the doctor there would keep the bad away. Shaking his head and dispelling the stupid thought, he picked up his phone and dialed Dean's number.
His answer was swift and concerned. "Sammy?" Sam didn't speak for a moment; he just drew comfort in the familiar voice. The doctor was gone, but Dean was there. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "I'm fine."
"You don't sound it. What's happening?"
"They just started the chemo," Sam said.
"How're you feeling?"
"Fine," Sam said honestly. He didn't feel physically any different. It was emotionally that he was struggling, and he wasn't going to tell his brother that.
"Well, that's good I guess." There were indistinct voices on the line, and Sam wondered which of the Trans was interrupting their conversation. "Look, Sammy, I'm going to have to go," Dean said. "I'll call you up as soon as I can. We're just coming into Missouri now, so I'll be with you soon. I'll drop them off and get back you."
"It's okay, Dean," Sam said. "Get them taken care of first."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be with you tomorrow."
Sam knew there was no point arguing, so he didn't try. He just said goodbye and let the phone drop onto the table again. He picked up one of the pamphlets he'd been given the day before that gave him a rundown of what to expect from chemotherapy, and waited for something to happen.
Something did happen. It took a few hours for the effects to start, and though he thought he was prepared, he soon learned there was no possible. It was the headache that came first, and that was familiar. He used to deal with them by lying in the dark and not moving more than was necessary to breath, but when the nausea started, he couldn't not move.
He had planned to deal with it alone, not calling on Max or his colleagues to fix him up, but that resolve had barely lasted ten minutes before his hand grabbed for the call button while the other gripped the emesis basin to his chest.
Max came in, bringing with him the cool calmness he personified, and assessed the scene. Sam's sickness was obvious, but the pain was less so, so Sam was surprised when he knew to close the blind and dim the light.
"Okay, Sam," he said gently, "let's get you back into bed."
He eased a hand under Sam's elbow and helped him stand. Groaning quietly, Sam allowed himself to be moved into the bed and covered with the blanket. The emesis basin was exchanged for a new one, and Sam curled over himself, waiting for the next round of cramps to come.
"I'll get you something for the pain and something for your stomach," Max said. "You be okay for a minute?"
Eyes squeezed shut, Sam nodded. He heard the door open and click closed again, and he lay in silence, waiting for Max's return with the promised help.
When Max returned, he cracked his eyes open, and watched as Max tore open a plastic package. "This is an antiemetic patch," he said. "I'll help with the nausea, and I'm going to have to start a new IV in your arm to give you some pain meds. The one you've got is kinda occupied right now."
Sam extended his arm and waited for the inevitable pinch of the needle being inserted.
"How bad's the pain?" Max asked.
"Seven," Sam said through gritted teeth. "Maybe eight."
"Okay," Max said gently. "We'll take care of that for you."
Sam watched as he depressed the plunger of the syringe and soon after felt the warmth of the drugs soothing his ragged nerves. He knew the pain would be dulled soon, lowered to a level that would enable him to think through it and remember what this was all for.
His eyes slipped closed again, and he felt a hand pat his shoulder. "That's it, you rest. I'll just sit for a while."