Chapter 100
Amputation… amputation…
He tested the word, repeating it in his head, even daring to
mumble it out loud with a wavering voice.
Each time he heard it or thought it, a wave of nausea washed over
him. Dr. Kingsbury wanted to amputate
his leg. He thought back to the
conversation in her office, probably one of the worst conversations he’d ever
had in his life.
“You mean, cut off my leg?!” Nick cried shrilly, his eyes bugging
in sheer horror at the very thought.
“Nick, I’m so sorry. This
option is just a last resort. If there
were any other way…”
“So… so there is no other way?” he whispered, the reality of the
situation slowly sinking in.
Sadly, the doctor shook her head.
“I’m afraid if we don’t act soon and amputate, the tumor will not only
continue to spread through your leg, but cancer cells will move to other parts
of your body, and then we’ll be dealing with a much worse situation. Once Ewing’s metastasizes, the prognosis
drops to only a twenty-two to thirty-three percent chance of survival.”
He stared at her, chilled by those harsh odds. He thought maybe he should say something, but
his foggy brain didn’t seem to want to form words, and even if it did, he
hardly trusted his voice to speak.
Dr. Kingsbury went on, “You do have a choice about this,
Nick. We can’t do anything without your
consent, and you have the right to refuse this.
But, as a professional, I would advise you to go through with it. I know what a shock this is, and I know that
right now, you can’t even imagine what it would be like to live without one of
your legs. But, believe me, you’ll still
be able to have a normal life. With the
use of a prosthesis…”
She trailed off, and he could feel her gaze on him. His eyes had begun to well up, and he blinked
furiously, his head down, refusing to look up at her. It was not the first time he had broken down
in front of her, yet he still hated crying in front of anyone. He felt her hand grip his shoulder, which
only prompted more tears to spill.
“Nick,” she said gently, and finally, he looked up, focusing his
watery, red-rimmed eyes upon her kind face.
“You don’t have to make this decision now. Go home, do some thinking, make some phone
calls… just give it some time. Think it
over and decide within the next few days, and we’ll go from there.”
“W-would you do it, if it were you?” Nick asked shakily, ignoring
her words and looking pleadingly into her eyes.
“Yes,” Dr. Kingsbury
replied with a firm nod. “I’ve been a
doctor for almost twenty years, and I’ve seen many of my patients go through
this. And almost all of them have gone
on to live normal, productive, healthy lives.
All it takes is a positive attitude and a little effort. And Nick, I can’t even imagine how hard this
must be for you especially, being in the public eye, but living without your
leg is better than not living at all. It
isn’t the end of the world, and although things will never be the same, you
will be able to go on with not only your life, but your career. Do you understand?”
Her voice was gentle, yet firm, her words confident and
encouraging. He nodded slowly. “I… I just need to think about it,” he
mumbled, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“Yes,” Dr. Kingsbury nodded.
“Do like I said. Go home,
Nick. Call me in a few days when you know
for sure what you want to do.”
So that was it. She had
given him a hug before he had left, and he had broken down again at the show of
compassion, crying shamelessly like a child and moistening the shoulder of her
crisp white lab jacket with his tears.
Then he had driven home, his mind in a haze the whole time, not paying a
bit of attention to the road or anything else around him, navigating the
familiar route based on pure instinct.
Now he sat outside, sprawled lifelessly in the sand on the private
strip of beach behind his house. He
could hear the ocean, just feet away, its waves gently lapping against the
sand. But the sound, usually so
soothing, brought him no comfort. His
thoughts were racing, yet felt slow and restrained by the thick fog that
swirled around in his brain. The beach
normally relaxed him, but now his body was tense, a jumbled bunch of nerves,
still trembling slightly whenever he repeated that dreadful word… amputation.
Stretching his legs out in front of him, he let his eyes travel up
and down the left one and tried to imagine it gone. What would it be like? What would it look like? What would it feel like?
Other questions banged against the walls of his mind, as he
realized how much his life would change if he went through with this. He’d never walk on his own two feet again,
but be forced to use a prosthetic leg.
And even if he learned to walk on that, he couldn’t imagine how he’d
ever be able to run again… play basketball… swim…
Swim.
He eyed the water, its waves rippling in the oceanic breeze, its
surface sparkling beneath the late afternoon sun. A large wave rolled in and washed onto the
sand, almost reaching his toes. It
seemed to be beckoning to him.
It had been weeks since he’d been out on the ocean. Fatigued from the radiation, he had mostly
lain around indoors or lounged on the balcony overlooking the ocean, never once
setting foot in the water.
He realized he’d taken it for granted, assuming that the ocean
would always be here, and he would always be here to enjoy it. If he let them take his leg, he was more
likely to live, more likely to be here.
But would he still be able to enjoy the water? Would he be able to take his boat out? Would he be able to surf? Would he even be able to swim, with only one
leg?
But if he decided against the amputation, it was likely the cancer
would kill him. And then what?
Nick had never been a deeply religious person, and though he
believed there was a God somewhere up above, he had never really considered
death and what occurred after it. Was
there a Heaven? And if so, was he
destined to go there? If not, what would
happen to him?
He was so confused, but one thing was clear – he didn’t want to
die.
But he didn’t want to live without his leg either.
Desperate tears rose in his eyes, and his head ached with the
weight of the many thoughts that were on his mind. What was he going to do?
Somehow, he knew this was a decision he could not make alone. He had endured so much on his own… but this
was just too much. He had to tell
someone, had to talk to someone, had to get advice.
For a brief moment, he thought of Claire, remembering how she had
called him in tears, distraught after getting the news of her need for a bone
marrow transplant. He longed to call
her, to hear her voice, to have her cry with him and be there for him and
assure him that everything would be all right.
Claire was the one person who would almost understand what he was
going through.
But he couldn’t call Claire.
He would call Brian instead.
Brian, the big brother he’d never had, his best friend. Brian would be there for him; Brian would
help him through.
He stood up slowly, his leg aching under his weight as his feet
sank into the sand, and turned to go back to the house, his heart heavy at the
thought of the phone call he was going to have to make. But a seagull’s cry made him turn back, his
eyes drawn instantly to the glistening water.
He set his gaze on the horizon; as far as he could see, there was
nothing but ocean. And oh, how he longed
to set sail and never look back, drift out on that vast expanse of water and
let it simply carry him away. An escape.
Without a thought, as if possessed by the enchanting power the
ocean held over him, he staggered toward the water, relishing the feel of the
wet sand squishing between his toes, the coolness of the water tickling his
ankles. The bottoms of his rolled-up
pant legs grew wet as he walked further in, but he did not care. Before he knew it, he was waist-deep, and his
pants were soaked. But he hardly
noticed, nor did it matter. Nothing
really mattered, after all.
And with this attitude, he hurled himself headfirst into the
water, the shock of the cold water numbing his body and soul, deadening the
physical and emotional pain, rendering him blind to the world above the surface
and opening his eyes to the peaceful world below. How he wished he could simply sink to the
very bottom of the ocean and stay there, leaving his problems bobbing like cork
on the top.
But as soon as he rose to the surface, sputtering and gasping for
breath, his brief escape was thwarted as he was captured by reality. And though his body remained free to drift in
the ocean’s current, his soul was bound, bound with the decision he knew he had
to make.
Face losing his leg?
Or face death?
He kicked hard, propelling his body through the water and
wondering if it would be the last time he swam with both legs. The very thought made his eyes well up
again. Hot tears dripped down his wet cheeks,
mixing with the salty sea.
He shook his head desperately, his chest heaving, his head
pounding, his heart racing. This was not
something he could face now.
And so, he simply plunged beneath the surface once again.
***