30. Fears – eat us up alive
K.
When my father came to me, and told me what Ryan had told him, my heart sank into my feet. Now watching him, I think it was the right decision. As soon as he checked into the hospital, his health went downhill rapidly. The IV in his pale thin neck is the striking result of his weakness. He can't eat, he can't drink. He can't sleep and also can't stay awake for too long either. He's dozing from hour to hour, day to day. All those bags with liquids dangling above his head are doing all the different jobs for him now, supported by all those ugly needles. I inevitably get reminded of the last weeks from my Mom. I can't hide from the fact that Ryan is too close to lose this fight, though he's so near to win it. He stirs. Immediately I put my hand onto his, letting him know someone is waiting for him to wake up, even if it was only for a minute. This reaction is already a reflex. I couldn't bear the thought he felt left alone, although I'm aware of him trying to keep a small, but formal distance. I guess sometime that he wants to protect us from what is happening to him. On other days I think that he didn't find his way back into our family. Well, it's stupid to think he ever will. But he's a friend, a good one. Indeed we couldn't wish for a better one. He's struggling to come back to lucidity. He's so often caught in some kind of delirium lately that it's a relief to see him awake and fully conscious.
"Hey, you here?" He asks me when his eyes dart into my direction. His voice is weak and silent. Talking wears him out now, hence he remains listening.
"Yes, you've been sleeping quite a while. Didn't you notice Sandy sitting with you last night?" I ask him. He answers with shaking his head. His movements are too small to recognize what they are, but I can read it anyway.
"Sorry." He whispers.
"Don't be." I answer him. Sandy and I are taking turns in sitting with him. My Dad and my son join the plan as often as it's possible for them doing so. We've agreed that it was easier for all of us, and the most for Ryan, if he'd stayed in a hospital, but we couldn't bring ourselves to leaving him here. It's no horrible place. The nurse that's taking care of him is an elderly and experienced woman, who treats Ryan with love, but in the same time as an adult. She makes his life – or what remained of it – so much more comfortable. Also he doesn't have to share his room, and I'm pretty sure this is my father's doing. His room is bright and I brought some familiar items: pillows and blankets, to make it more homely for him. It sounds a little bit crazy, but I want him to feel as less alienated and uncomfortable as possible.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Didn't sleep at all."
"Soon, you'll be able to sleep restfully again. You only have to hold on a little longer." His doctor informed him that the rate of cancer cells has begun to shrink and not only insignificantly.
"'m just tired." He has trouble articulating his sentences properly. His just weak.
"I can imagine, but it's only a small step left. They'll start the transplant immediately after the doctor gives the go. It's not a lot left." I encourage him. It's painful to watch him giving up on the last bit of the track. I can't blame him. This track has been awfully long and tearing. That he'll lose hope and start to doubt was just a matter of time. I should be glad he held on for that long.
R.
"I can't do this." I have no clue why I say these words. I had doubts from the very beginning when Sandy told me that he was a match, but they all had been too enthusiastic and I didn't want to destroy their happiness with my doubts. This must sound ungrateful, maybe I even am.
"Ryan, you can. You got so far. You're too close to give up now." I hear Kirsten pleading.
K.
"I…I can't take Sandy's offer. It's…I…I just can't." The last three words remain a whisper, but I can understand them well. I'm shocked. I don't have any explanation for this sudden change of his mind. He seemed relieved when we told him that Sandy was a match. He seemed to be more comfortable with Sandy being the donor than a stranger he didn't know. How can my perception fail that badly? I can't believe him.
"Ryan, what's your real problem. As moody as you've been over the last few months, I can't believe that you suffer from mood swings to such an extent."
"What makes you doubt that?" He asks me.
"You and Sandy called truce, and though you're still wary around him, I'm quite sure you won't have proceeded that act if you didn't mean it. Ryan, you never did what you didn't mean to do. I have trouble to believe that that's changed." I explain him my doubts. I'm not sure whether I really doubt his change, or only hope he's mistaken about himself.
R.
"What if it's not working?" I ask bluntly. She shock and panic are glowing from her eyes. Her body remains calm, but she can't hide her feelings while she's looking at me. She's a business woman. The outer shell remains calm even in times of a hurricane, but her inner core can be thrown into an imbalance she can't control immediately. She needs time to grab hold of it again. That's what I can see when she's looking at me like this.
K.
"Kirsten, Sandy being a match is no guarantee for my body tolerating the donation. What if my body rejects it?" I'm roughly touched by his concerns. I've never even spend a nanosecond thinking the donation might not be his cure.
"Ryan, you shouldn't even been thinking about this possibility!" I scream at him, unable to understand his motivation of this concern. I jump up from my chair and pace through the room, trying to decompose the energising frustration which has settled in my body.
"Kirsten, why are you angry again?"
"I'm not angry. I just try to warp my head around your negativism. Why can't you be positive about anything? Only once? Only this one time? Why can't you undergo this, thinking you'll make it?"
"I really was thinking like that, when I was diagnosed. I thought I could beat it. That's the only reason why I attended my lectures and tried to be as much independent as possible. But by the time I had to realise that this won't be easy and…facing this situation right now: this here, in this bed, with all these tubes dangling from any direction from my body with a complete inability to do anything, I can't circumvent the powerfulness of the illness. It's there with its whole force, which compels me to wait, and I can't take this agony anymore: not knowing how long I have left, whether I'll wake up again after I closed my eyes. I only want it to be over with." I look at him and the stinging feeling of upcoming tears in my eyes forces me to blink several times. How hard have I
fought to keep this fear covered? I didn't express it, forbade my family to even think about it and now there he is, slamming my fear directly into my face that I can't find shelter from it.
"It will be over Ryan. You'll see, it'll be better." I'm writhing between the headlock of truth, trying to escape it in vain. I lived through this already once. I watched the end becoming true, the one he's talking about. I'm well aware that his concern isn't unjustified. I know all of those reasons. I'm looking at one right now. The illness had found its way onto the surface of his body. It gnawed at him from the inside until it was able to break out. I'm facing it. I can see and feel it. I can even smell it. However I'm blind. I don't want to see it, so I don't see it. I'm blinding myself with my naivety that nothing can happen to my family and those belonging to its close circle.
R.
"No, it won't. Not necessarily." Our eyes lock. Her face is sheer confusion and hurt. I didn't intend to hurt her by my words. I thought she knew about these concerns. She lived through this once. It was her mother. Family. A reason why she shuts her eyes from that and a reason why she reacts denying it.
"Kirsten, I can't take this waiting any longer."
K.
"Why? Ryan, you've been waiting for so long, why can't you take it any longer?" I scream and turn around, looking out of the window. This irony: outside the sun is shining bright, the flowers in the park are blossoming in the happiest colours and we're stuck in here in a dark hole of misery.
"I'm afraid. Kirsten, I'm afraid to die and I want this to be over, before the fear is taking over me and my head. I want this to end. I…I'm just afraid."
"Afraid of what?" I'm stunned, too much to get his message and what he's actually afraid of: that he isn't afraid of receiving the donation from Sandy.
R.
"OF DYING!" I pronounce it as clear and loud as I can. At least I can be clear. My voice is meanwhile too weak for being risen to an even normal volume.
K.
My head shoots back into his direction. I feel how the blood from my face runs down into my feet and I feel a cold shivers running through me. I take a deep breath and sit down on the bed next to him, still processing the last two words.
"I'm so fucking afraid of dying that I don't want to take the risk of having to wait any longer, and this donation would make it unnecessarily longer."
"But we don't know this for sure. It can make it being over as well." I embrace his upper arm with my hand and stroke it up and down. His arms are already thin enough that my hands can wrap around it.
R.
"But we don't know it for sure and I can't bear this fear any longer. I…" I trail off. Now I feel what it means to face one's own fears and it's a painful feeling. It's too harsh as if I could hold back any longer.
K.
When he trails off I wrap my free arm around him, pulling him closer to my chest with the other one, stroking his head, not even taking care of his boldness. I rock him: I'm there for you. I sooth him: you don't have to fight this alone. I peck his head: everything will be alright. I let him cry my shirt wet: let it out.
"If you're too weak to fight, then I'll do. I'll fight for you. We all will fight for you. When you're afraid then be, and when you're afraid I'm sure we'll take it away from you." I assure him, still rocking him, still stroking his head. I have to swallow down my own sobs. I can't bother him with my tears. It's his turn to be weak and helpless and it's mine – our – to be strong and help him. I wrap my arm a little tighter around him and press his head a little closer to my chest. I try to absorb him to supply him with optimal protection. I want him to be safe. I want to shut out the outside world. He needs a break from all this, I'll offer it to him.