Chapter 68
Nick
trudged into the outpatient clinic on the oncology floor in a state of
depression, July nineteenth having come sooner than he would have liked. The enjoyable two weeks he had just had were
to be followed by another torturous week of chemotherapy, and he had to wonder,
when would it all end? Three months of
his life had been spent trapped in this relentless pattern so far. How many more months like this would he have
to endure? Was the newer chemo even
working?
Lost
in thought, he absently crossed the small waiting room and signed in with the
receptionist, not even noticing that Claire was there, as planned, until she
said his name.
“Oh,
hey, Claire,” he responded, offering her a slight smile as he slumped into the
chair beside her.
“Hey
yourself,” she replied. “What’s up? You look kinda… out of it.”
“Just
been thinking,” Nick shrugged.
“Oh. Anything you wanna talk about?”
Typical girl, Nick
thought, always wanting to ‘talk about it.’ Well, he didn’t feel like talking about it;
in fact, he didn’t feel much like talking at all. “Nope,” he replied, hoping she’d take the
hint. Apparently she did, for she left
it at that and went back to the magazine she had been reading before he walked
in. He managed to find a dated copy of Sports
Illustrated hidden among all the women’s magazines and picked it up,
pretending to be immersed in an article about Tiger Woods. As he stared at the pages without really
seeing them, he couldn’t help but realize how awkward the silence between him
and Claire suddenly seemed. Though the
two were still new friends, they always seemed to have something to talk about,
and he felt comfortable telling Claire things he wouldn’t tell most of his
other friends. Then again, who could
really expect to have a good conversation in the middle of a doctor’s office
waiting room, with the dreadful scent of rubbing alcohol permeating the air and
the apprehensive butterflies that fluttered annoyingly in Nick’s stomach (and
probably Claire’s as well)?
He
hadn’t been sitting there pretending to read his magazine for long when Claire
was called back. She stood up and
followed the nurse out of the waiting room without a word to Nick, who began to
wonder if his silence had pissed her off.
He sat stewing about this for awhile until his own name was called and
then followed the nurse, Marianne, to an examining room.
After
he had changed into the usual gown, Marianne weighed him and took his
temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure, then told him to wait for Dr.
Kingsbury to come and see him. He knew
the drill. He waited for a good ten
minutes, and then Dr. Kingsbury came into the room.
“Hi,
Nick,” she said with a smile. “How have
you been feeling?”
“Fine,”
he replied, then added honestly, “Well, a little tired, you know. But other than that, I’ve been good.”
The doctor nodded. “The fatigue is just
another side effect of the chemo, I’m afraid.
Nothing to worry about though.”
“Oh
yeah, speaking of side effects,” he brought up, “that new chemo stuff has been
giving me horrible canker sores. Like so
bad I can barely eat anything but ice cream.”
With
a look of sympathy, she said, “Yes, that’s another side effect of some
chemotherapy drugs. I know they’re a
real pain – no pun intended – but all I can tell you to do is maybe try some of
the over-the-counter products for mouth sores.”
Nick
nodded, sighing. The canker sores were
long gone by now, but he had a nasty feeling that they’d crop up again in full
force after this next round of chemo.
“So,
no other complaints?” Dr. Kingsbury asked.
“How has your leg been feeling?”
“All
right,” Nick said with a shrug. “I mean,
it hurts a little every once in awhile, but not like it used to.”
“Good,”
Dr. Kingsbury smiled. “Well, I’m going
to look you over real quick, and then we’ll get to your x-rays and scans.”
“No
bone marrow this time?” Nick asked pleadingly.
“No
bone marrow this time,” confirmed the doctor, adding with a wink, “Sorry to
disappoint you.”
“Oh
yeah,” Nick scoffed, relieved.
“I
probably will schedule you for one next time you come though,” Dr. Kingsbury
told him, and he sighed resignedly.
The
physical examination, as well as the tests done on his leg, went the same as
always, and when everything was done, Dr. Kingsbury left Nick to wait in the
examining room until the x-rays were back.
He didn’t mind doing this, figuring if there was going to be bad news,
he’d rather just hear it today rather than get another phone call later in the
week.
The
longer Dr. Kingsbury took to come back to talk to him, the more anxious he
grew, becoming certain that there was a problem, that the chemo was still not
working, that he was going to be given his death sentence. But when the doctor finally entered the room,
her arms laden with charts and envelopes and the notorious new chemo pump to
attach to his central line, there was a smile on her face.
“Hey,
Dr. K,” he said casually, relaxing a little when he saw her smiling.
“Good
news, Nick,” she replied brightly, dropping her burdens on one of the counters
and sliding a few black, filmy x-rays out of a tall manila envelope. Sliding them onto the light board mounted on
one of the walls, she flicked a switch, and the board flashed on, illuminating
the dark slides. Nick squinted at the
films of his knee and lower leg, trying to tell what they revealed. “The chemo is doing its job – the tumor in
your leg’s shrinking.”
Nick
smiled, exhaling in relief. “It is? Does that mean I’m in… remission?”
“Well…
I wouldn’t say that quite yet,” Dr. Kingsbury replied hesitantly. “But I’d say you’re definitely heading toward
a remission.”
Nick
felt a slight wave of disappointment, but forced himself to concentrate on the
good news and nodded. “That’s good,” he
said.
“Yes, very good. I
don’t want to get your hopes up, but if your progress keeps up, this week could
be your last round of chemo.
Intravenously, that is. Even
after you go into remission, you’ll have to take chemotherapy drugs in pill
form, but those don’t have near the side effects. So,” she said, smiling, “keep your spirits
up. You’re reaching the final stretch
here.”
Nick nodded, smiling back.
“Thanks, Dr. K,” he said, and as she hooked him up with his new chemo
pump, he didn’t even mind. This week
would suck for sure… but after that, he would be just about home free. Or so he hoped.
Stopping only to set up his next appointment for the ninth
of August, he took off for home in a race against the nausea that would soon
accompany the toxic fluids that were now flowing straight into his bloodstream.
When he reached home, he was still feeling pretty well, but
decided to go up to bed anyway, hoping to head the nausea off, for sleep was
the only relief from it. Removing all of
his clothes, with the exception of his boxers, he sank beneath his sheets and
closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and lull himself to sleep. And he had almost succeeded, too, when the
sudden ringing of the phone beside his bed jarred him awake.
“Damnit,” he mumbled, rolling over to grab the cordless,
cursing himself for not just ripping the stupid cord off the wall. He glanced into the caller ID window and was
surprised to see Claire’s name and number there. He knew she had probably been started on her
next round of chemo that day too; why would she feel like talking now?
She’s probably just calling to give me crap for this
morning, he thought irritably, remembering
the strained silence in the waiting room, and considered just not
answering. But, after the phone rang a
second and third time, he finally sighed and clicked the Talk button, putting
the phone to his ear and answering with a hassled, “Hey, Claire.”
“Nick?” came the voice on the other end, and in just that
one word, he was able to pick out two things.
It was indeed Claire.
And she was crying.
***