I wake to the feel of gentle fingers running through my hair, and my lips part in a smile before I’m even fully aware. Will’s deep chuckle vibrates against me, and I open my eyes to a sea of brilliant green. He’s smiling, and I take in the beauty of his face for a moment, bringing my hand up to caress his cheek. Today’s the day. I stare at him and do everything I can to commit his amazing smile to memory because I don’t know when I’ll see it again.
“Good morning, sweetheart. You’re up early,” I say, glancing at the clock to see that it’s barely past seven.
“I’ve been awake for a while. I couldn’t sleep,” he answers, running the tips of his fingers over my eyebrows and down to the tip of my nose.
“You should have woken me! I would have kept you company.” I scold him gently, but he shakes his head.
“It’s all right. I needed some time to center myself, and I like watching you sleep.”
A blush heats my cheeks. “I like watching you sleep, too, and that’s a good thing because I think I’ll be seeing more of you asleep than awake over the next few weeks.”
“That’s very true.” He continues to trace the contours of my face with his finger, leaving my skin tingling in its wake.
“What are you doing?” I ask, capturing his hand in mine and bringing it to my lips, kissing each of his fingers.
He exhales heavily. “I’m reminding myself why I’m doing this because, soon, I’m going to be too sick to touch you like this.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I continue to kiss him, now on the back of his hand and down to the scar on his wrist.
“Why do you do that?” he asks. “That’s not the first time you’ve kissed those scars. You’ve done it before when I’ve talked about my suicide attempt.”
“Well, they mean something to me. They remind me how strong you are.”
“Strong?” Will scoffs, shaking his head. “I always thought they were a sign of weakness—that I couldn’t handle what life gave me.”
“Oh, no. You may have done this in a moment of weakness, but when I look at these scars, I see what came after. You’re still here. You got the help you needed, and you fought your way out of your depression. You turned your life around and became a better person because of it. And then, you were brave enough to endure two rounds of chemo to keep on living, and you never once went back to this,” I say, lifting his wrist.
“You’re a survivor, Will. That, to me, is strength. That’s what I see when I look at these scars. I’m so glad you didn’t succeed in that moment of weakness because what came after brought you to me. I know you can do this, too.” I kiss my way up his palm.
“I hope so because I want the day to come when we can wake up like this every morning.”
He moans softly as I pull his index finger into my mouth, and suddenly, he’s breathing heavily. “Kiss me, Tori. I don’t know when I’ll be able to kiss you again—”
I cut off his words with my lips, and his arms surround me, fingers buried in my hair and tongue begging for entrance. I kiss him with all the passion and love and anger and fear I’m feeling. I give it all to him, hoping he’ll understand—and he gives it right back, ravishing my mouth with desperate purpose, clinging to me and pouring all his love into each movement of his lips against mine. I feel the love foremost but also his own fear and desperation. What if this is the last time I get to kiss you like this? What if I die during treatment? What if we go through all of this and it doesn’t work? It’s all there in the pressure of his lips, in his need to consume me. I get lost as his emotion threatens to overwhelm us both, and our teeth clack together with the ferociousness of the kiss.
But, suddenly, he slows down, and there’s a shift in his demeanor. The need turns to worship; his lips become soft and gentle on mine, and all I feel is his love, simple and true. Heat begins to build in my chest and spread outward, making my arms tingle. One of his hands remains buried in my hair, but the other comes around to stroke over my breast, circling my nipple through my bra and causing it to peak. He moans against my mouth, the sound so erotic and sexy that my own hand wanders to his chest, pinching his nipple gently between my fingers. He gasps against my mouth, and I know he’s aroused, and though I want so desperately to reach down and touch him, today’s not the day. So I back off a bit, focusing on what I can tell him with my lips and the stroke of my fingers over his collarbone.
We kiss softly and sweetly for long moments, soaking up the feel and taste of each other, until he finally pulls away.
The look in his eyes stops my heart.
“I love you so much, Tori.” But I hear so much more, so many things we’ve said over the weeks, but he doesn’t have to say them now because I already know.
“I love you so much, too,” I answer, unable to contain my tears.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he tells me, pulling me against him.
I feel the strong beat of his heart and the strength in his arms, and oh God, I hope it’s enough. “I know.”
Jenny pokes her head in the door, her smile faltering for a second as she sees how we’re wrapped around each other. Her professional bedside manner snaps into place as she pushes the door open.
“Good morning, Will! Today’s the big day! We need to get you cleaned up and ready because your infusion starts at nine.”
Will stares at me lovingly for another moment, then, with a sigh, forces himself to look away.
“Hi, Jenny. I’m ready. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Another woman enters the room behind Jenny. Her long brown hair is tied back into a ponytail, and her deep brown eyes hide behind a pair of studious-looking glasses. She wears a short, white coat, and her smile is warm and caring.
“Hello, Will,” she says brightly. “I know it’s a big day for you, and you have a lot on your mind, but I wanted to stop by and meet you before your treatment began. My name is Jill Walker, and I’m going to be your transplant coordinator.”
She approaches and holds out her hand, and Will takes it, giving her a tentative smile.
Then she turns to me. “And you must be Tori. Nice to meet you as well. Jenny has had nothing but good things to say about you.”
I take her hand, and her handshake is strong and confident.
She turns back to Will. “As I’m sure Dr. Evans already explained, I’ll be watching over you after the transplant and determining when you need blood transfusions and any other support you may require.
“You won’t be feeling very well at the point when I become involved in your treatment, so I wanted to come and introduce myself today and wish you good luck. I’ll do my very best to see that you have everything you need after your transplant and that you recover as quickly as possible.”
Will smiles at her gratefully, and her eyes widen as he pins her with those amazing green eyes of his. I don’t know how he’s made it this far in life without some woman snapping him up, cancer or no.
“Thank you, Jill,” Will says. “It sounds like I’ll be in very good hands.”
Jenny pipes up. “The best. I chose her for you myself. Only the best for my favorite patient.”
Will smiles warmly at her. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you?”
“Someone has to; otherwise, who knows where you’d end up?” As Jenny teases him, Jill looks a little confused, but the affection between Jenny and Will is easy to see.
“Well, now that I know you’re Jenny’s favorite patient, I’ll be giving you my very best, for sure,” Jill says, grinning.
And with that, we get busy with our tasks. I go shower and get some breakfast, and Jenny helps Will clean up in preparation for the long week ahead. When I return, it’s almost nine and Will is alone, staring downward with his afghan clenched in his fists.
He looks up when I enter, trying to calm the storm, but I see it in his eyes for a few seconds before he gets it under control.
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, remember?”
“Yeah. I just want to get it over with. I don’t do well with anticipation.”
“I’m getting that,” I tell him as I take his hand. “Your wait is over though. I saw Jenny getting things ready as I passed the nurses’ station.”
As if on cue, Jenny comes through the door holding two IV bags. She smiles at him kindly. “Okay, Will, it’s time to get started. Are you ready?”
Will nods because I think he’s too anxious to speak right now, and Jenny catches on right away.
“Nothing’s going to happen right away with this drug. It’ll probably cause nausea and vomiting but not until a few hours after the two-hour infusion is over. And we’re going to give you medication to counter the side effects. So relax and try to sleep, if you can. This is going to get rough later on, so you should both get all the rest you can now.”
Will relaxes visibly, and I squeeze his hand. The wait is over, but at least we have a little more time before the really bad stuff starts happening.
As Jenny hooks up the IV bags, Will looks at me nervously. “Would you lie on the bed with me for a while?”
“Of course, sweetheart! From now on, anything you want or need, just ask and I’ll do it. I’ll cuddle with you, I’ll rub anything that hurts—absolutely anything, okay? No request is too big or small.”
“Thanks, Tori,” he says, kissing my hand.
I crawl onto the bed beside him, and he rests his head on my shoulder and snuggles against me. The first infusion actually seems to make him sleepy—he’s out within a few moments, and I follow not long after.
I wake sometime later to Will moving next to me. I glance up at the clock. It’s nearly one in the afternoon, and his infusion ended almost two hours ago. We both must have been more tired than we thought! He’s still asleep, but he can’t lie still—his arm is gripping his stomach, and he moans a little in his sleep as he turns to face me. I don’t want to disturb him, so I lie quietly beside him, hoping he’ll be able to rest for a while longer.
My hope is short-lived as he wakes with a groan ten minutes later. “Oh God, I’m really nauseated,” he says, swallowing thickly.
I turn to face him, causing the bed to move slightly, and he moans and clutches his stomach.
“Sweetheart, I think you need your space now. Why don’t I get off your bed so you have more room to find a comfortable position.”
“Yeah,” he says weakly.
I slide off the bed as gently as I can, but it still causes him to moan again. “I’m sorry!”
“S’all right. Not your fault,” he answers, head in his hand. “Tori. This is already . . . getting rough. I might not talk much . . . over the next few days. I have to deal with this in any way I can . . . and in the past that’s been by . . . focusing inward. I just wanted . . . you to understand.”
“I do understand. You do whatever you need to do, and I’ll be here in whatever way you need me, okay?”
I go and tell Jenny he’s nauseated, and she gives me a sympathetic look.
“Okay, I’ll be down shortly. In the meantime, I left a stack of basins in his bathroom in case he gets sick.”
I hurry back down to his room to find him in the same shape as when I left. He endures the nausea for almost two hours, moaning and shifting position, but he can’t stay still for very long. Finally, at around three o’clock, he asks me to call for Jenny.
When she comes, he speaks to her in a monotone voice laced with misery. “Stop whatever you’re giving me for nausea and vomiting. It’s controlling the vomiting, but the nausea is unbearable. I feel like I’m drunk, and I really need to throw up, but I can’t. I’d rather vomit and feel better for a while than put up with this for six days.”
“Of course, Will. Whatever you need. If you change your mind, let me know.”
About twenty minutes later, Will starts vomiting.
And so begins our descent into hell.
Chemotherapy is poison. Cancer is a rebellion of the body’s own cells, and very little distinguishes the ones that have become cancerous from the healthy ones. Chemotherapy focuses on those differences, but it still kills the healthy cells too. The theory is that chemo should kill more cancer cells than normal cells, and the chemotherapy should kill the cancer before it kills you. In theory. But when it comes right down to it, receiving chemotherapy is allowing yourself to be poisoned.
Watching Will be slowly poisoned is, hands down, the worst experience of my life.
He’s awake for the rest of the first day, and I lose count of how many times he vomits. I hold the basin for him and run my fingers through his hair, aching for him, but it’s all I can do.
Jason arrives around seven in the evening, and I slip out for a little while and get myself some dinner since I skipped lunch. My sandwich tastes like sawdust in my mouth because I know Will couldn’t keep anything down right now if he tried.
I go back to the room to find Jason rubbing Will’s back as he retches, and I can’t stop the tears that flow down my cheeks. I wonder if I’ll be able to stop the tears at all over the next six days.
Jason is on night shift with Will so I can get some sleep on the couch on the other side of his room. The first night is horrible—Will is either vomiting or dry heaving about every twenty minutes, and I wake up every time. At three o’clock I finally give up on sleep and go help Jason with Will.
The next day is even worse because Will receives two half-hour infusions of a different drug and a two-hour infusion of yet another. This is the regimen he has to endure for the next four days. He develops flu-like symptoms—fever, chills, and severe body aches—in addition to the intense nausea and vomiting. I’ve never seen a human being as sick as Will is . . . and it just goes on and on; the days and nights start to run together.
Will doesn’t talk. At all. His focus is turned completely inward, fighting with all he has to make it through this, to resist the urge to tell them to stop and let him die. I tell him I love him a million times, and he answers by squeezing my hand because he can’t say the words right now. I run my fingers into his hair—sometimes he leans into my touch, and sometimes he flinches away, and I let him be. He speaks occasionally, saying “I’m thirsty” or “I’m gonna be sick,” but it’s monotone and with no recognition of who’s around him. He keeps his eyes shut most of the time, and when they’re open, he never raises them to look at me. I think right now it’s just too hard and would bring him that much closer to breaking.
On the third day, he becomes jaundiced again, his liver struggling to clear all the toxins he’s allowing into his body.
By the fourth day, Will can’t help but flinch away and curl into a ball when Jenny brings in the IV bag containing each infusion. It’s a psychological reaction he just can’t get past. But he says nothing, stalwart in his decision to see this through. I cry every time I see those damn IV bags and count the minutes until it’ll finally be over.
That day is also when the pain really begins for him. His liver is failing, and between the increase in toxins and byproducts and the dangerous swelling that was already there, the pain becomes excruciating. I beg Dr. Evans to increase his morphine, and his response freezes my heart.
“As much as I want to, Tori, I can’t give him anything more, and in fact, we’ve had to reduce his morphine. Morphine is processed through the liver, and if I increase it, I’ll be giving him a death sentence. If his liver truly fails, there’s no way he’ll survive a transplant since we just destroyed his immune system, and he’ll die. We have to hope he can endure the pain and that his liver will keep functioning until we get through the chemo course. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can do.”
I stumble back into Will’s room to find him vomiting into a basin Jenny is holding for him, clutching at his upper right side and panting, a moan escaping with every labored breath. Two more days. He has two more days to endure this, and after that, the side effects won’t even stop right away. Oh, dear God, how can he do it? As I look at him, in utter misery, my heart cries out for me to tell him to quit. This is too much—I don’t know how he’s going to survive it—but I can’t betray him like that. He’s the one who’s suffering, and he has to make the call, and if and when he does, it’s my duty to try to talk him out of it because I promised him I would do everything I could to help him see this through. The tears fall as I go to him—I feel like I’ve been crying nonstop for days.
On the fifth day, the real crises hit. Will starts having muscle spasms, and around one in the afternoon, he has a seizure. I’m alone with him at the time, and somehow, my training takes over and I roll him onto his side and position him correctly, then call Jenny for help. It only lasts a minute, but by the time she gets there, I’m hyperventilating and completely freaking out. I collapse on the couch while she sees to Will, but she’s by my side in a few minutes as the room fills with people.
Dr. Evans and two other doctors hurry in and consult in hushed voices on the other side of the room. I stare at them vacantly as Jenny tries to pull me back together.
“Tori. Tori! Snap out of it! Will needs you!”
I look up at her blearily, but her words finally register, and my brain kicks into gear again. “What the hell happened, Jenny? What would cause him to have a seizure?”
“Tori, this just got really serious. Dr. Evans wants to talk to you, but you have to remember how badly Will wants this—how badly you both want this. This isn’t the end. I know he can do this. He only has to survive one more day of chemo, and then everything will get better, I promise you. This is a crisis, but it will pass, and you’ll have your life together. Do you believe me?”
Jenny stares at me intensely, willing me to buy into her words, and somehow, I manage to draw strength from them. “Yes, I believe you.”
“Good,” she says, sounding relieved. “Now you can go and talk with Dr. Evans.”
I begin to get up, but thankfully, Dr. Evans comes to me because I don’t know how steady I’d be on my feet. He sits on the couch next to me, and he takes my hand. I freeze in fear. Dr. Evans has never taken my hand before, and the implication of his action scares the shit out of me—as if I’m about to need comfort. He must see the terror in my eyes because he starts in immediately.
“Tori, we need to talk about Will. His symptoms today mean we have a new problem, and it’s a serious one. He’s developed tumor lysis syndrome, which is a fairly common occurrence with high-dose chemotherapy. Basically, his cells are dying so fast that his body can’t keep up with the byproducts, and it’s thrown his electrolytes out of balance. The muscle spasms are being caused by a decrease in calcium, and we’ve also detected increases in phosphate and uric acid. This means he’s in renal failure, and we’re going to need to start dialysis in order to help his body clear all the cellular byproducts. After today, he’s done with the two drugs that are causing this to happen, so I think he’ll still be okay as long as we go ahead with dialysis. If this had happened two days ago, I’d say his chances for survival would have been slim if he tried to complete the treatment. But as it is, I think if we treat this aggressively, everything will still work out for him. Do I have your permission to go ahead with the treatment?”
I realize belatedly that I still have power of attorney for Will, and Dr. Evans is asking me to make the decision for him.
“What will happen if he doesn’t have dialysis?”
“If we don’t go ahead with dialysis, he won’t live out the week,” Dr. Evans says. “This is serious, but it’s treatable, and he only has one more dose of chemo tomorrow, and it’s a different drug that the dialysis will actually help his body process. If this had to happen, right now is really the best time.”
My gaze falls on Will. He looks . . . awful. His skin is a sickly yellow color, his eyes sunken from lack of real sleep and constant pain. He’s lost weight over the last week—I can see it in the thinning of his arms, and for once, his belly is almost completely flat. But as I watch, his lips come together into that pout I fell in love with, and I sob brokenly. My heart is screaming that he’s suffered enough, that I should let him go even though it will kill me.
I shake myself from my moment of weakness and don’t let myself think about it because Will and I have already made our decisions. It’s my job to act for him and to see this through.
“Yes, I give permission for the treatment. He’s worked so hard and suffered so much to get here. He needs to have the chance to see it through.”
“Thank you, Tori. I think you’re making the right decision. This is what Will would want, and I really feel we can get him through this.” He squeezes my hand, then hurries off to make the arrangements.
Within minutes, there’s a flurry of activity in Will’s room as the nurses bring in the equipment for dialysis. They’re going to use Will’s central line and filter his blood continuously until his kidneys can do the job for themselves again.
I take a deep breath. This is okay. Dr. Evans said this is okay, and Will can get through this. This isn’t the end. His body just needs a little help, that’s all.
But I stare fearfully at the equipment, knowing we’re one step closer to Will’s body failing.
He’s been unconscious since the seizure, but now he moans and clutches his side, turning feebly in his bed.
I go to him and stroke the side of his face, but he flinches back, crying out from the pain of the sudden movement. He pants out a few hard breaths, then moves his arms to grip his stomach.
“I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbles, and I have just enough time to grab a basin before he heaves. I rub his back until the episode is over, and he lies back wearily against the bed, panting and moaning.
For the first time in five days, he raises his eyes to me, and my heart stops. Will’s face looks haunted—as if he’s fleeing from an invisible demon he can’t escape. His eyes look dead—frozen—with no trace of the warmth and brilliance and love I’ve gotten so used to seeing. But somewhere in their depths, his pain is an unquenchable fire. I see it, and it burns me. I almost recoil from his gaze, but somehow I find the strength to look back at him and not cower away.
“Tori,” he rasps out, and I know what’s coming. Oh God, I know what’s coming. My worst nightmare is about to come true.
“Tori, tell them to stop. I can’t do this anymore,” he says woodenly, and I can’t contain the cry of anguish that bursts from me.
“I’m in so much . . . pain. So sick I can’t . . . take it. Let me die. Right now . . . I . . . want to die. It has to be . . . better than this.” He gasps, clutching his side and squeezing his eyes shut.
No, this can’t be happening. Not after I just had to convince myself not to tell him to do this. Not after he made me promise. No!
I touch him again, and this time he doesn’t flinch away. I caress his cheek, and he leans into me, but I know it’s no comfort. “Will, you can’t give up. You only have one more infusion left, and the sickness won’t stop now, even if they stop treating you. You have to hang on. It’s only one more day; then it’ll be over.”
“Tori . . . please . . . make it stop.”
My heart shatters. It’s shattered so many times before, but this time, it’s so painful I clutch at my chest, gasping for air.
He’s falling apart. The pain and sickness are driving him beyond reason, just as he feared. Deep inside me, panic begins to bloom.
“Will, I love you so much, but I can’t do that. There’s no way for me to stop it. You have to hang on.
“I love you, Will, and we’re going to have a life together. ‘When the cancer’s gone,’ remember? We have a whole list of things we’re going to do, and I wrote them all down. They’re right here so you can see how many there are,” I say, reaching over and pulling the list out of my bag. I show it to him with shaking fingers, but he closes his eyes and bows his head.
He raises his eyes to me again, wells of misery and hell on earth, and he starts to sob. “Tori, I’m sorry . . . it’s not enough . . . I love you, but it’s not enough . . . I don’t have . . . anything left . . . I’d do anything . . . to make it stop. Please . . . let me go . . .”
Oh God, what do I do? I can’t—I’m not—
And that’s when I break down.
Completely.
I sob uncontrollably, anguish pouring out of my soul. “I promised! Oh God, Will, I promised you I wouldn’t let you give up! Don’t make me go back on my promise! Don’t make me! Please! Don’t ask me to do this!” I’m begging now, clutching his hand desperately.
My hysteria gets his attention, and he puts his hand on my head. “I love you so much, Will! You can’t leave me! I promised! You made me promise!”
He tries to pull me up and into his arms, and I go willingly, clinging to him as we cry together. Finally, he pulls back, resting wearily against the mattress.
“I won’t . . . make you. But I don’t . . . know how . . . to keep going,” he whispers brokenly.
“What can I do? There’s got to be something. What can I do to make this easier for you? I’ll do anything. If I could suffer this for you, I would.”
“Hold me,” he whispers. “I keep waking up and thinking . . . I’m alone, and I can’t remember what’s wrong with me . . . and why I’m doing this.”
Oh Jesus Christ. My chest tightens so much I can’t breathe, and I close my eyes and clench my teeth to keep the wail of anguish from escaping. Somehow, I manage to hold it together.
“Of course I’ll hold you. I’ll hold you every minute until this is over.”
There’s no way he can move by himself, and even though I shift him as gently as I can, he still screams from the pain. I don’t even bother to wipe away my tears as I settle him against me—I know they’re not going to stop until this is over.
Jenny comes running in, probably because everyone on the floor could hear Will screaming. She stops dead at the sight of us.
Will is still panting and whimpering, eyes closed as he clings to me, and I have to swallow thickly before I can speak.
“Jenny, I need Jason. Can you please call him and ask him to come?”
Jenny just nods and backs out of the room. I see the fear in her eyes—she doesn’t even have to ask what’s going on. She’s seen people break under the strain of chemo before.
Will may be broken, but he’s not defeated. He’s going to make it through this.
I run my fingers into his hair and whisper words of love to soothe him, but he doesn’t respond. His focus is turned inward again, trying to cope with his suffering in any way he can, and I can only hope my words and my touch provide some small comfort.
Suddenly, Jason is beside me, rubbing my arm gently. “Tori, what—”
“He asked me to tell them to stop, and he told me he wanted to die . . . but I talked him out of it. He’s barely hanging on, and he can’t remember what’s going on, so he asked me to hold him to remind him.”
Jason’s face is a mask of horror, his eyes brimming with tears. “Oh God . . .”
“I made him a promise, Jason. I promised I’d see him through this, and I wouldn’t let him give in. I have to hold him together until the end of the last infusion tomorrow. Will you help me?”
“Of-of course I will! Whatever you need.”
I nod gratefully, trying to pull myself together enough to keep going. I’m beyond exhausted, and everything seems to be moving in slow motion, but I’m also trying to gear myself up for the fight ahead.
“I’m not going to move from this spot until sometime tomorrow, so I need you to take care of whatever else he needs.”
“Absolutely,” Jason replies, his eyes never leaving Will.
At that moment, Will starts breathing more heavily, and Jason is already scrambling for a basin when Will mumbles, “Gonna be sick” and leans forward, heaving into the basin Jason holds in front of him.
The next eighteen hours are the hardest of my entire life. I have never seen a human being go through so much misery. I bite my tongue until it bleeds to keep myself from telling him I’ll make it stop right now.
He whimpers and moans in the grip of his pain, and sometimes, it’s sharp enough that he cries out. Tears of frustration and agony roll down his cheeks, and he bites the inside of his mouth so hard it begins to bleed.
I hold him as tightly but as gently as I can and whisper a hundred thousand million times, “It’s gonna be okay. I love you. Just a little longer, and it’ll be over. It’s gonna be okay.”
The tears keep sliding down my cheeks, and I can’t stop them, can’t stop the outpouring of raw, unimaginable pain from my heart.
I go on autopilot as the hours drag by.
I stroke his hair.
I kiss his forehead.
And I pray.
I pray to God, and I ask Him to give me just this one thing in my whole life.
I reason with Him that Will deserves the happiness that waits at the end of all of this for all the bad things that have already happened to him in his short life.
And I beg.
For strength.
For help.
For mercy.
For relief.
The words flow from my lips in a constant mantra—any time I’m not saying words of comfort to Will, I’m begging, “Please, please, please.”
I will him through the night.
I hold him together, and I give him everything I have and things I didn’t even know I had or was capable of giving.
This night defines who I am as a person and what I’m willing to give and endure for another. And the answer is that, for Will, I’m willing to give everything.
I watch the sunrise, but it’s no new beginning—it’s another day in hell for us. I pray that when the pink of the sunset colors the sky, there will be hope in it.
When Jenny finally comes in with the last infusion, Will loses it.
“N-n-no, n-no!” he whimpers, struggling feebly in my arms, but I hold fast.
“Last time, last time. One more and it’s over,” I whisper. “Just close your eyes and hold on to me, and it’ll be all over.”
He’s completely broken as he sobs against my shoulder, but he does what I ask. He fights through the pain and the sickness until, finally, it is completely over.
He’s still in terrible pain, clutching at his side and whimpering, so I hold him tightly and run my fingers through his hair. About two hours after the infusion ends, Will starts vomiting again, but by this point, he’s delirious with exhaustion and can’t even tell us when he’s about to be sick. He’s so out of it that Jenny suggests we try an anti-emetic again—Will didn’t like the way it made him feel at the beginning of the chemo, but at this point, he’s not really going to know the difference. The drug appears to help because his vomiting becomes less frequent, but he can’t really rest because of the intensity of his pain.
Finally, at around three in the afternoon, Jenny comes in and tells us Dr. Evans left an order to increase Will’s morphine because enough time has passed that most of the last drug will have been processed through Will’s liver. And oh, thank God, it’s enough. About twenty minutes after the increase in dosage, Will’s grip on his side slackens, and he falls into an exhausted sleep.
Tears course down my face as I watch him, and I thank God and every other deity I’ve ever heard of that Will’s suffering has ended. It’s not over, but somehow, he’s made it through this part. I smile at Jason, and then sleep claims me too.