Wednesday, April 23, 2014
“What about some water? Will that help?” Kyle asked me.
I turned my head warily to look up at him. He stood in the bathroom doorway wringing his hands, a tightness in his face.
“I wouldn’t keep that down either.” I groaned, tilting back over the toilet as I vomited again.
I’d spent much of the last three weeks, and all of today, worshipping the porcelain throne and sacrificing my stomach contents to it. Today was by far the worst my nausea had been, and as the evening ticked by, there were still no signs of relief.
“I’m going to call the doctor and see if you can take more anti-nausea meds.”
“I can’t take it more than twice a day,” I reminded him.
“But you threw it up. They have to have something for you.” His tone was so forlorn, so hopeless. “This is the worst I’ve seen you yet.”
I wanted to say it would be okay, that they’d warned us about side effects, but I felt as helpless as he looked.
The first week hadn’t been so bad. I still had energy and managed to go to work every day after my morning treatments. Elly had still been on spring break, so she had accompanied me to each appointment, and most of the time my dad did, too. Kyle had to work so he was there only for the first treatment, but when he came home, he waited on my every need.
Elly had had to return to New York for school before the second week, but she called daily to check on me. She’d come again once the semester ended in May and spend the summer with me, which I looked forward to. In a way, I was glad she had left when she did, sparing her from seeing me at my worst. Each week the side effects of radiation worsened, hitting me harder, and I spent most days either vomiting or curled in bed with headaches.
My boss gave me short-term disability leave until my treatments would end and I recover from the final surgery. I had wanted to keep working, but it had quickly become unmanageable with my symptoms. Dr. Page had warned that radiation on the head often came with severe symptoms, but I still hadn’t expected it to become my entire day in, day out.
It hadn’t just consumed my life, either, but my family’s, too. It was in the third week that I saw Kyle crying. I’d rarely seen him cry before, but there he was standing over the sink staring out at our tiny patch of a back yard with tears streaming down his face. He didn’t know I had walked in or was watching him, and he didn’t know I knew I’d caused those tears.
Some days I wondered if I could send my family away, so they wouldn’t have to watch me get sicker and sicker. I saw the memories of my mother’s illness in my father’s eyes. When he looked at me, I saw her and I hated every reminder, but cherished every moment I got to spend with her in his mind. I knew this was tougher on him than I’d ever understand.
I didn’t want to put any of them through this, but Kyle kept reminding me it was only for a few more weeks. He clung to the timeline as if it were the only thing grounding him, as if he could get through this only if he knew there was an end in sight. We were all counting down the days until the treatments ended in May, collectively holding our breaths.
“Dr. Page says we need to come in right away.” Kyle reappeared in the doorway two minutes later, mid-heave as I curled over the toilet bowl, stomach bile all I had left.
He rushed forward and pulled the hair off my shoulders, keeping it from falling into the line of fire. I continued to vomit for a few more seconds, my shoulders shaking and my stomach clenching.
When the worst was over, Kyle offered me a wash cloth with his free hand, and I wiped my mouth clean as I sat back on my heels.
“Oh,” Kyle said, sounding shocked as he released my hair and stared at his hands.
I followed his gaze to see a thick clump of my long, brown hair dangling from his fingers.
He began to stammer apologetically. “Tessa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine. That’s not the first time.” I waved it off, pulling up to my feet and grabbing my toothbrush.
I didn’t want to look him in the eyes. If I did, I’d most certainly cry. I’d been losing hair for a week, but it had been light at first. Just small wisps here and there, then a little more each day. My hair was thinning and there was still a bald patch on one side, but it didn’t look too ghastly yet.
Yet.
The last two days had changed this hope. It was falling out in chunks now, and I’d tried to hide it from Kyle with a hair band or a strategic ponytail, but it was quickly becoming futile.
His stricken expression stared at me in the mirror while I brushed my teeth, so I closed my eyes.
“Um, Dr. Page says we should get you on an IV of liquids and some anti-nausea medicine, so you can’t throw up the medications,” Kyle quietly explained before exiting the bathroom.
I could hear him rummaging around in our bedroom drawers as I finished brushing my teeth, probably packing a bag for me.
“I think that was the last of it. I’ll be fine,” I assured him as I walked out of the bathroom, holding the wall for support. The room was spinning around me, but I refused to admit this to him.
“The hell you are.” He frowned at me, zipping closed a duffel bag on the bed. “You need fluids to replenish everything you lost today, and you look dazed.”
“Just a little lightheaded. It’s really not a big deal. I probably just need to sleep.”
“No, we’re going to the hospital. The meds you’re on, plus the radiation? It’s no joke, Tessa. We need to make sure your body has the help it needs.” He swung the duffel bag over one of his shoulders and wrapped his other arm around my waist.
“Fine.” I leaned into him, inhaling his natural musk that had always comforted me.
Until this second.
Suddenly, a felt a burning in the back of my throat as my stomach churned and threatened to return to my mouth. I dashed back to the bathroom and prayed to God I’d make it in time. I heaved over the toilet with an intensity that made me feel like all my insides were about to abandon ship.
Calming down, I wiped my mouth with tissue paper after the worst of it had passed and sat back on my heels. Tears stung my eyes, not out of sadness, but because the force of my sickness overwhelmed me. I tried to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, but too many strands fell away, tangling in my fingers instead.
“Babe?” Kyle was hovering again.
“Can I have some water?” I croaked out, sounding aptly exhausted.
He turned to leave, but I reached for him. I needed something to hold. Everything was moving. I was moving.
I was falling.
Black.
“Tessa!”
• ღ • ღ • ღ •
Friday, April 25, 2014
“We can keep her here the rest of the day for observation, but honestly, she’d do better at home with her nausea under control now and fluids back up. I’d like to arrange for a nurse to come by your house daily for at least the next week to check on her and administer an IV.” An older male voice hovered somewhere above me, but I kept my eyes closed and my breathing slow as if I were still sleeping.
“So, she would be hooked up to all this stuff at home?” This voice definitely belonged to Kyle.
“Yes, she needs to stay fully hydrated to have the best chance to fight the cancer. She needs to be at her best.”
“She is fighting it. She fights it every day, doc. You haven’t seen her like I have, but she is fighting like hell.” Kyle sounded mad, making me feel bad for the other man.
Sometimes I liked to make Kyle angry on purpose, my insides clenching deliciously at the reminder of how his jaw tightened and his eyes flamed, all while he never for a moment lost control. But I did…and I loved it. All the times we’d spent wrapped around each other, him pressed deeply inside me. I never once considered it might be the last, never once thought maybe our days were numbered. That my days were numbered.
“Mr. Falls, that’s not what I’m saying. Her symptoms are normal. I want her to have the best resources to help her body fight this,” the doctor assured my husband. “We will get control over this.”
I’ve never felt much control over my life, and often find myself grasping at straws and pretending that it helped. Pretending that a broken pen and stained desk top made up for a doctor’s cold demeanor. Pretended that hiding an anchovy in the lining of my middle school bully’s backpack made up for how she and her mean girls squad turned up their noses at me. Pretended clear, plastic wrap over the gym teacher’s toilet seat in his private bathroom would make up for when he teased me for starting my period halfway through volleyball practice. It was miniscule and petty, but I’d felt better.
Silently, stoically, and a little psychotically, I’d taken back control.
Now the only thing ever actually in my control—my own body—had been stolen from me. Everyone thought they had the answers, feeling confident we got this…we can beat cancer. With each treatment and onslaught of symptoms afterward, I was finding that harder and harder to believe.
“Fine, let’s set up the nurse visits. I’ll check with our insurance.” Kyle sounded resigned.
Money. Another thing no one warned me about. Some of my shots cost several thousand dollars. Seriously. A vial of liquid bent on making me vomit for hours costed nearly five thousand dollars. Kyle’s insurance through the military is excellent, but even so, it’s barely enough and our savings account is dwindling fast.
“Once she is awake and the nurses have done the morning vitals, she can be discharged. She’ll need to be on bed rest at home. Nothing exerting.”
“Thank you, Dr. Page.” The bed sagged by my feet and a strong hand rubbed my calf for a few quiet moments. “He’s gone, Tessa. You can quit pretending now.”
I kept my eyes closed, but a small smile crept over my face. “How’d you know?”
“You weren’t snoring.”
I opened my eyes and shot him an angry glare. “I do not snore!”
“Whatever you say, babe.”
He was laughing so I pulled up into a seated position and crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t!”
It was the first time I’d stopped and looked at him since he’d brought me to the hospital. I had spent most of yesterday sleeping and hooked up to anti-nausea meds which had made me drowsy. He’d missed work two days in a row to stay by my side, which was no small feat for him.
His normally bright green eyes were dull and drooping. His hair was disheveled, his shoulders slumped, and his clothes were wrinkled; the same outfit he’d worn when we had arrived here. Thinking back on it, I realized he’d never left my side.
“Ready to go home?” I asked, wanting him to get some rest as much as I wanted to be out of here.
“Of course, but are you? They can’t rush you out of here if you’re not ready.”
“I feel much better. Plus, they’re sending a nurse to visit me.” I paused, biting my bottom lip and looking down at fidgeting hands.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t know, it’s just a nurse…coming to our house. It’s so…” I paused, unsure how to finish the sentence. Honestly, I didn’t know what to think or why it bothered me. It felt strange. My independence was a point of pride, something I cherished. A daily visit from a nurse felt…senile.
“Tessa, don’t over think this. She’ll only come by to administer injections and check your vitals, pretty basic. It doesn’t mean anything more than that,” Kyle assured me.
I nodded, knowing he was right, but still disbelieving. It wasn’t basic. It was another reminder, now daily, of my illness and how I couldn’t take care of myself. How I wasn’t the independent person I had been before cancer had crept into my brain.
How I wasn’t in control anymore.