Nick
Going
through chemo is kind of like working out.
It sucks right from the start, but once you get going, you think, This isn’t
that bad. I can do this. It isn’t fun, and sometimes it’s downright
painful, but you do it because you know it’ll make your body stronger in the
long run. You push yourself to your
limit, sometimes past it, and when it’s all over, you’re exhausted, but you
feel good. You know you made a healthy
choice, even if it was the harder choice, and you feel relieved that it’s over…
for now.
But you
feel it later, in your muscles and joints, sometimes all the way down to your
bones. Even when you take all the right
precautions, you still get sore.
Sometimes it’s just too much for your body to handle. You feel the effects for days after, and at
first, it seems like each day it hurts worse than it did the day before. It has to get worse before it gets better,
before your body heals itself and adjusts to you pushing it so hard. But you don’t quit, because you know it’s a
necessary evil.
I always
hated working out, but chemo was worse.
What I wouldn’t give to be in the gym, lifting weights or running on the
treadmill, instead of lying around, hooked up to an IV and feeling like
shit. On chemo, I was too tired to work
out. Luckily, I didn’t need to; with all
the dancing, each of our shows was a workout in itself.
We had
three of them in a row after our free weekend, and each of them was harder than
the one before it.
On Monday,
we played Kansas City. I did another
round of chemo in the morning, then took a nap to sleep it off, and was late
getting into the venue for soundcheck. Everyone
was pissed at me – especially AJ, who was still being a little bitch about me
blowing him off twice that weekend. Even
the fans were pissed because the soundcheck party started late and was really
rushed, though they didn’t know it was my fault. Some of them probably blamed me anyway – I get
blamed for everything. After the
soundcheck, it was my turn to lead the backstage tour for the platinum VIPs,
which meant I had even less time to rest before the show. I’m sure it wasn’t my best tour; those fans
got gypped. The show itself wasn’t much
better. I did my best, but on top of my
fatigue, the venue was fucking hot as hell, so I felt literally like death
warmed over. By the end, I was about
ready to collapse. I skipped the
showers, even though I was sweating buckets, and went straight back to my bunk
on the bus to crash – and finish the rest of my chemo.
On Tuesday,
we were in Broomfield, Colorado. I only
had one round of chemo to get through that day, so we decided to save it for
that night, so I could sleep through it.
I spent the day trying to get geared up for the show… which pretty much
amounted to drinking mass quantities of caffeine. I had coffee with my breakfast, guzzled
Mountain Dew at lunch, and chugged a Red Bull before I took the stage. It helped.
I got through the show. I even
put in an appearance at the after party, mostly to keep Howie happy. AJ was still acting pissy, and Brian had been
pretty distant lately; I didn’t need Howie hating me, too. I had a couple drinks with him at the club,
which earned me a lecture from Cary when I got back to the bus, about mixing
alcohol and chemo. She said it would
make the effects of the chemo worse, and as usual, she was right.
On
Wednesday, I woke up in Salt Lake City with the worst hangover of my life. That was what it felt like, anyway. My head was pounding. My eyes were burning. My stomach was queasy. My throat was dry, and my tongue felt like
sandpaper. My whole body ached. I didn’t know how I was going to get through
the show that night. But it was our last
one before a break; we had the next day off to travel to California. If I could just get through this one show, I
could sleep it off the whole next day if I had to, and then we’d be on the
final stretch. One more week. Two more states. Seven more shows.
I could
make it.
Before we
took the stage that night, I sat around in my dressing room, finishing off a
pack of Red Bull shots and listening to Queen’s “The Show Must Go
On” on my iPod. It was a far cry from “Eye of the Tiger;”
this song was dark, inspiring in a different way. It fit my mood that night… depressed, but
determined. I wasn’t excited about the
show, but I was going to go out on that stage and give it my all. The fans deserved that much from me, and I
wasn’t sure how many more chances I’d have to give them what they wanted. With the tour winding down, every concert
counted. I tried to perform each one
like it was my last.
“Whatever happens… I’ll leave it all to chance,” sang Freddie
Mercury in my ears. “Another heartache… another failed romance. On and on… does anybody know what we are
living for? I guess I’m learning… I must
be warmer now; I’ll soon be turning… ‘round the corner now…”
It was like
I knew something was going to happen. It
was a gut feeling… a sick sense of dread…
I pushed it
from my mind when I heard the knock on my dressing room door. Pausing my iPod, I downed the last shot of
Red Bull and dropped the bottle into the trash, along with the rest of the
package. “It’s open!” I called to
whoever was outside my door. I figured
it was Cary. The guys never waited that
long after knocking; they just barged right in.
Sure
enough, the door opened, and there she stood, looking like a perfect Bettie
Page pinup in a little polka dot dress and heels, her cheeks all flushed from
being onstage. As she walked in, her
skirt swishing around her bare legs, it occurred to me again how hot she was
all dolled up like that, with her hair curled and her cherry red lipstick. She was a pretty girl without all the makeup
too, but she sure cleaned up nice. In
any other circumstances, I probably would
have “tapped that hot little piece of ass,” as AJ so tactfully put it.
“I just wanted
to come see how you’re doing before I go change,” she said, dropping onto the
couch beside me and reminding me why there would be no ass-tapping tonight or
any other night on this tour.
“I’m
alright,” I replied. It wasn’t a total
lie, just a half-truth, as usual. I was
far from a hundred percent, but with the energy shots kicking in, I was
starting to feel better – less tired, anyway.
I still had a nervous feeling, but I blamed that on the caffeine making
me jittery. It would pass once I got onstage. “How was your set?”
She
grinned. “It was good!”
“Yeah? Good crowd tonight?”
“Seemed
like it.” Her smile faded to a look of
concern. “Are you sure you’re gonna be
okay to perform?”
I rolled my
eyes. Despite my attempts to distract her,
she had been in nurse mode since she’d walked through the door. “Yes, Nurse Cary, I’ll be fine. It’s a little late to decide I’m not okay, at
this point.”
She gave me
a look. She opened her mouth, like she
was going to say something, then apparently changed her mind and closed it
again. I knew there was a lot she wanted
to say to me, but I guess she felt like it wasn’t the time to bring it up
again. I was grateful. The last thing I wanted to do before I took
the stage was argue with her about the same old crap. I had enough on my mind already.
“Seriously,
I’m good to go,” I added, to reassure her.
“I’ve been rockin’ out, gettin’ myself pumped. I’m ready.”
Her eyes
fell on my iPod. “What are you listening
to?”
“Queen. ‘The Show Must Go On.’” I flashed her a crooked grin. “It was one of the last songs Freddie Mercury
recorded before he died. The rest of the
band didn’t think he’d be able to do the vocals, but he went for it and fuckin’
killed it.”
Cary didn’t
look too impressed by my music trivia.
She just looked sad. “And then he
died,” she said flatly. “A day after
finally admitting he had AIDS. Is that
what you’re going to do? Hide this right
up till the day it kills you?”
I felt my
face heat up, and my stomach clenched.
“No. I just think he had some
balls, to keep making music as long as he could. He knew it was gonna kill him eventually, but
he didn’t let it kill his career, too.”
She shook
her head. “This doesn’t have to kill
you, Nick.”
“If I
thought this was gonna kill me, I wouldn’t even bother with the fucking chemo,”
I replied. “I’m not planning on dying
anytime soon. I’m gonna go out there and
perform, and after the tour, when I’m done with chemo, then I’ll tell
everyone. They’ll take it better then.”
“You’re crazy,”
she sighed, as she stood up. “I’m done
trying to change your mind. Go kill it
onstage. Just don’t kill yourself.”
I couldn’t
tell if she was being sarcastic or not.
She just sounded sort of defeated.
She’d been like that for a few days, ever since Kansas City. I think both of us were glad the tour was
almost over. “Don’t plan to!” I called,
as she walked out, closing the door behind her.
I pushed
play on my iPod again. “The show must go on… The show must go on…”
the chorus chanted again, and my ears rang with the legendary voice of Freddie
Mercury. “I’ll face it with a grin! I’m
never giving in! On with the show…” The electric guitar squealed, and my
heart raced. “Ooh, I’ll top the bill! I’ll
overkill! I have to find the will to
carry on with the show…” I stood up, as the song echoed to a finish. “The
show must go on…”
I let it
fade out before I turned off my iPod and put it back in my bag. I took a quick look at myself in the mirror –
I didn’t look nearly as vibrant and polished as Cary had, but I could still
make the ladies scream. I gave my
reflection the smoldering smirk I had perfected, which could make up for any
missed note or messed-up dance step. Once
again, I would need that smirk to pull this off.
Looking
more confident than I felt, I left my dressing room and went to find the other
guys. It was almost time to take the
stage.
***
The best
thing I can say about the show is that once it started, it went by
quickly. One song led into another, and it
was only during our quick changes, while they showed our movie spoofs on the
big screen, that I even had time to think things like, One more half to go... One set
left… One last song…
For me, it
was a countdown to that moment when we took our final bows and left the stage,
when I could go back to my bus and lie down.
I just wanted to sleep, all night and all the next day, if it would make
me feel better. As I stood backstage
before the encore, my head was pounding from the loud music. I felt jittery from the bright, flashing
stage lights, dizzy and nauseous from all the dancing.
The show
had passed by in a blur, and I wasn’t even sure how it had gone. I’d performed on autopilot, going through the
motions and singing my parts without any real conscious thought. A smirk here, a raised eyebrow there, a
pelvic thrust now and then… I threw those things in naturally; they were part
of my stage persona, the act I’d perfected over the years. The screaming from the crowd told me I hadn’t
let them down.
Police
sirens wailed, as blue and red lights flashed on one side of the stage, and I
heard the collective shriek rise from the audience again as our voices echoed, “Straight through my heart… Straight through
my heart…”
Last song, I thought again, steeling myself.
I can do this. But my heart was pounding, and sweat was
pouring down my face, and I had a sick, nervous feeling in my stomach. I just wanted it to be over.
As the
backing track began, Brian walked out onto the platform to sing his part, and
the fresh wave of screams told me he had leaped onto the stage below. “In the
heart of the night, when it’s dark in the lights, I heard the loudest noise… a
gunshot on the floor, o-ohh, o-ohh…”
“I looked down,” I sang as I joined him onstage, “and my shirt’s turning red, spinning
‘round… felt her lips on my neck and her voice in my ear… like, ‘I missed you,
want you tonight’…”
“Straight through my heart,” we all sang, as
AJ and Howie took the stage, too, “a
single bullet got me; I can’t stop the bleeding… o-ohh… Straight through my
heart; she aimed and she shot me; I just can’t believe it… o-ohh…”
I tried to
stay in step with them as we did the choreography, but even though my heart was
racing, my body struggled to keep up. I
was so exhausted. My limbs felt heavy,
and the rest of me felt weak; it took every last ounce of effort I had in me to
jump and spin and kick and make my arms do what they were supposed to.
“No, I can’t resist, and I can’t be hit; I just can’t
escape this love…Straight through my heart…”
“Soldier down…”
“My heart…”
“Soldier down…”
“My heart…”
I was so
out of breath by the bridge, I could barely sing. “In the
heart… of the night…” I wavered, my voice going flat, “when it’s dark… in the lights, I heard the loudest-” I gasped for air. “-noise…
gunshot on the floor… oh-ohh, oh-ohh…”
The guys
could hear me struggling; they came in beneath me, helping finish my solo. I envied Brian, who held his notes over the
last chorus like he had all the air in the world, belting, “Soldier down… soldier down…” like he could go on all night. There had been a time, not so long ago, when
I’d been like that, too. Now, I couldn’t
wait to introduce the dancers and the DJ, thank the crowd, and get the hell off
the stage.
“You okay,
Nick?” Brian was the first to ask, once we were backstage again. He was eyeing me with concern. I must have looked and sounded terrible, but
we were all sweaty and out of breath; that was nothing new.
“Yeah,” I
panted, “sorry, I just… ran out of air.
Thanks for coming in there…”
“Sure.” He was still frowning at me.
I tried to
make a joke. “Man… I gotta get back in
the gym…”
“I thought
you were getting in nightly workouts with Cary,” AJ put in. He didn’t smile at his little joke.
God, get over it, I thought, rolling my eyes at
him. He had been way flakier than me
when he was drunk or high all the time, so he had no right to bitch. Besides, he didn’t know half the shit I was
going through. None of them did.
So tell them, I could hear Cary saying. She’d become like the little voice in my
head. I ignored her.
“I’m gonna
go change,” I said and made my escape.
In my dressing room, I peeled off my sweat-soaked stage clothes and put
on the gray shorts and white t-shirt I’d worn to the venue. I skipped the shower; I could do that back at
the hotel. I felt nauseous and
light-headed, and all I wanted to do was lie down on my bus.
Cary was
already on the bus, waiting for me. “Are
you okay?” was the first thing she asked when I came onboard.
“Jeez, was I
that bad tonight?” I muttered.
“You were
fine. You just look really pale,” she
said, looking up at me in concern. “Come
here…” She reached for me, but I
shrugged her off, not in the mood for being poked and prodded.
“Nah, I’ll
be alright. I’m just gonna lie down till
we get back to the hotel.” I went
straight back to my bunk, dropped my bag next to it, and flopped down on my
stomach. It was a relief to finally lay
my pounding head down on my pillow. The
pillowcase felt cool against my clammy face.
I closed my eyes, but I still felt sort of dizzy, like the bus was
rocking, even though it hadn’t started moving yet. I could hear my own heartbeat, hammering in
my ears. It was going really fast.
Relax, I told myself, or maybe I was just talking to my heart. You can
chill out now. Show’s over. Day off tomorrow. Everything’s fine.
My heart
wasn’t buying it. It was still pounding
when the bus pulled up behind the hotel, like I’d just gotten off the stage. I could feel it even when I sat up, like a
weird fluttering in my chest. It made me
woozy, and for a few seconds, the bus seemed to spin again. I wasn’t sure I could get up from my
bunk. I did anyway, though, swaying a
little. I put my hand on the top bunk
and held on until I got my balance.
“Hey, you
are up.” Cary appeared, her bag slung
over her shoulder. “I was just coming to
get you; I thought you might’ve fallen asleep.”
“I wish,” I
said. “I’m so fucking tired…” I leaned down carefully to get my own bag,
warding off another wave of dizziness.
The backpack felt a lot heavier than it had before. I put it on over both shoulders, but its
weight seemed to drag me down. I felt
like I was fighting gravity, and gravity was winning. I was tempted to give in and lie down in my
bunk again, but I forced myself to follow Cary up the aisle to the front of the
bus. All I had to do was make it
upstairs to my hotel room, and then I could rest again. That was all I needed… a little rest.
Cary kept her
mouth shut the whole way up to the room, while our bodyguards and the other
guys were around, but as soon as we made it inside and shut the door, she
rounded on me and said, “I wanna draw your blood tonight and send it off first
thing in the morning. I’ll bet anything
your counts are low again.”
I
groaned. “Can we just do it
tomorrow? I’m too tired to mess with
that shit tonight. I just wanna shower
and go to bed.”
She pressed
her lips together, but finally nodded.
“Alright. First thing in the morning,
though. Are you feeling okay
otherwise? You don’t have a fever, do
you?” Before I could answer, she swooped
in and put her hand on my forehead. “You
don’t feel warm,” she said, satisfied.
“You’re probably anemic, though…”
“And sweaty
and smelly, too, I bet,” I said, managing a grin. “I’m gonna jump in the shower.”
But I
didn’t feel up to “jumping” anywhere. I
dropped my backpack and staggered into the bathroom. It had a nice, big, marble tub, so I decided
on a bath instead of a shower. I could
lie down that way, relax a little before I went to bed. I stripped out of my clothes, put on one of
the hotel’s big, white, cushy bathrobes, and turned on the water. I made it nice and hot, so that by the time
the tub was full, I could see steam rising off the surface of the water.
I let the
robe fall and slid into the bath, groaning with pleasure as the hot water
washed over my tired body. I lay my head
back against the edge of the tub and closed my eyes. When the water had cooled off a little, I
stretched out and lowered myself further into the water, until my head went
under. Lying like that across the bottom
of the tub, I could hear my heartbeat again, thumping erratically against my
eardrums. I sat up quickly, splashing
water everywhere, and let out my breath in a gasp. My heart was galloping in my chest, going way
too fast. The sensation was familiar,
and it made me feel sick to my stomach.
It scared me. It was the same
symptom that had sent me to the cardiologist over two years ago, leading to my
diagnosis of cardiomyopathy. Just as I
had then, I thought, Something’s not
right. Something’s wrong with me.
Okay, so
there was a lot wrong with me, and I didn’t know if it was related to the
cancer or the chemo or my heart condition.
All I knew was that I didn’t feel right, and I couldn’t deny it any
longer. I needed to get help.
I pulled
myself up out of the tub, reaching for a towel.
My heart reacted and started racing even faster, and all of a sudden, I
got really dizzy again. I felt hot all
over, then freezing cold. As I fumbled
with the towel, trying to wrap it around myself and stay on my feet at the same
time, my vision started going. It was
like a black tunnel around the edges of my eyes, closing in until the room
started to gray out. In the darkness, I
was even more aware of my heartbeat, thudding against my ribs. Then the bathroom floor seemed to tilt, right
out from under me. My knees buckled, and
I felt myself falling…
I came to
on the cold, tile floor, still dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel,
with Cary leaning over me, saying my name.
I blinked a few times until my vision cleared, bringing her face into
focus.
“You need
to take me to the hospital,” I whispered.
“Something’s wrong.”
***