Cary
It was hard
being back home again, after spending the better part of the year in LA or on
the road with Nick. I missed both. I missed Nick. But I had also missed my Dad and my pig and
my apartment when I was away from them, so I tried to enjoy being back in
familiar territory, with my family and friends.
I didn’t go
back to work right away, though I didn’t cash the check from Nick, either. I tucked it into a desk drawer, planning to
forget about it, and there it sat, while I eased back into the rest of my old
life. I spent the first week at home
just catching up with the people I hadn’t seen in awhile. I spent time with my dad, Jessica, and my
other friends. I spent time alone, too,
just me and Hambelina, hanging out at home.
At first,
it was nice to not be on the go all the time, to take some time off for
myself. I needed it. I felt a little disoriented, like I’d lost
sense of my place in life. Before American Idol and all the craziness that
had come after it, I’d been happy here, living where I did and working where I
worked. But after a few days at home, I
started getting restless. I wanted to be
on the road again, seeing a different city every day, performing on a stage
every night. And I wanted to be around
Nick.
I thought
of him constantly, and I missed him like crazy.
Every day, I fought the urge to call him and wished instead that he
would call me. But he didn’t call, not on
the Fourth of July or on my birthday, nor after we’d both been home a few
days. I hadn’t heard from him since the
day we’d left Vegas, when he had replied to my text letting him know I’d made
it home safely to tell me he had, too. I
had wondered about him every day since.
What was he doing? How was he doing? But I was determined not to be one of those
clingy girls and take advantage of the fact that I had his phone number. He had mine, too, I reminded myself, and if he
wanted to talk to me, he’d call.
I got my
hopes up every time my cell phone rang, but it was always someone else. Finally, I got tired of feeling disappointed
and set a special ring tone just for him, so I’d know it was him the minute he
called. I made it “Evergreen,” the song
he’d sung to me over the phone the first time he had called me. But even after I did that, I always forgot I
had and still got excited when I got a phone call.
One
evening, the phone rang, and it was my dad.
Recovering quickly from my disappointment, I made my voice sound bright
and perky as I answered, “Hi, Dad!”
“Hey,
honey,” came my father’s voice. We made
the usual small talk, and then he got to the point of why he’d called. “I just wanted to remind you of the schedule
for Friday…”
Like he
thought I’d forget? I glanced at my Anne
Taintor wall calendar, where I’d written in the squares for July sixteenth and
seventeenth with a purple pen. That
coming Friday was our county’s Relay for Life, an annual fundraising event for
the American Cancer Society. My dad had
headed a team for as long as Relay had been around, in honor of my mother. It was made up of friends and neighbors,
people who had known her or had come to know my dad and me since her
passing. Every year, we raised money and
walked the twenty-four-hour relay to celebrate survivors of cancer and remember
victims of it, like my mom. It was
important to me and even more important to my dad, which explained the
unnecessary phone call. He always wanted
to make sure everything went off without a hitch.
“I know,
Dad… kick-off at four, opening ceremony and survivor lap at six, I’m on at
seven, and the Luminaria ceremony’s at nine.”
Pacing my kitchen, I rattled off the events in quick succession, so he’d
know I had them straight. It had been
March, right after my elimination from Idol, when I’d been invited to sing as
part of the entertainment lineup at Relay, but I hadn’t forgotten. I was honored just to have been asked, and I
was looking forward to it. Even if the
Relayers weren’t exactly like the American
Idol audience or the crowd at a Backstreet Boys concert, it would be nice
to be back on a stage, no matter how small.
At least my set would be bigger, a mix of my own material and covers,
crowd-pleasers. It was going to be fun.
“You got
it. And don’t forget, we’re signed up to
walk the zombie shift,” my dad added.
I laughed,
leaning over the countertop. “Better
bring lots of caffeine so you can stay awake, old man.” The two of us always volunteered to walk in
the middle of the night. I’m sort of a
night owl, so it’s no trouble for me, but my dad’s asleep by eight p.m. on a
normal night. It was always a bit of a
stretch for him to stay up and walk into the wee hours.
“Oh, I’m
counting on you to keep me awake, kiddo,” he said.
“Yeah, okay…
you’ll probably still sneak naps while I’m out on the track.” We could have gone on ribbing each other like
that for awhile, but all of a sudden, my phone beeped. I lowered it quickly to see that I had
another call… from Nick. “Hey, Dad?” I said, jamming the phone back up
to my ear. “I gotta go; Nick’s trying to
call me.” My dad didn’t know what was
going on with him, but he did know Nick meant a lot to me. I knew he would understand.
“Okay,
sweetheart; I’ll talk to you later,” he said, and I switched to the other call.
“Hello? Nick?”
My heart was already pounding hard; I knew he had to be calling with
news from his appointment, and I immediately started to worry. What if it was bad?
“Hey,
Cary,” his voice rumbled in my ear. It
always sounded lower on the phone than it seemed in person, but I liked it that
way; it was sexy, the way he said my name.
“Hey!” I
squeaked, just the opposite – my voice always went higher, especially when I
was talking to him. “What’s up?”
“Not too
much…” He paused. “Just chillin’ in the hospital, waitin’ for
the rest of my chemo to finish. How
‘bout you?”
It was hard
to translate the emotion in his voice, since he kept it pretty monotone. He sounded casual, but then, he always seemed
to play it cool and act like things were okay when they weren’t. If he wasn’t going to come out and say it,
I’d have to ask. “Well… just wondering
how things went with your tests. Any
updates for me?” I sank down into a
kitchen chair, trying to prepare myself for the worst.
“May-be,”
he sing-songed, and I felt myself start to smile. It had to be good news… right? He wouldn’t mess with me if it were bad.
“So…?” I felt impatient. “What’s the deal?”
Even though
I couldn’t see him, I could tell he was grinning ear to ear when he finally
said, “So… I’m in remission.”
I probably
pierced his ear drum squealing over the phone.
I just couldn’t contain it.
“Really??” I gushed, pressing the phone tight to my ear. “Oh Nick, that is so amazing! That’s such a relief!”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m pretty relieved. The doctor said it was a complete
remission. The tumor in my chest is
gone.”
“That’s
awesome news. I’m so happy for you!”
“Me too.”
We were
both silent for a few seconds, while I soaked up the good news that the chemo had
worked, that Nick was getting better.
Still, even though the tumor was gone, I knew he wasn’t completely in
the clear yet. My mom had been in
remission almost four years when her cancer came back. She died less than a year later. A relapse is almost always harder to put back
into remission.
Lost in my
thoughts, I’d almost forgotten I was still on the phone until I heard Nick’s
voice in my ear, saying, “So my doctor wants me to decide what kind of
treatment to do next. She said there’s,
like, a maintenance chemo that is basically just a bunch of pills I’d have to
take, not a big deal, but she also talked about a stem cell transplant…? She gave me a bunch of shit to read and said
I should make the decision, but hell, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t know anything about any of this.”
I could
hear the relief in his voice turn to frustration, and my heart went out to
him. As a medical professional myself, I
knew it was important to give patients a say in their own treatment plan, but
with plenty of support and guidance, too.
The way Nick talked, I imagined his oncologist dumping a pile of
pamphlets in his lap and walking out, leaving him to muddle through them by
himself. I knew that probably wasn’t
exactly how it had gone down; surely, she had asked if he had questions first,
and maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he just
hadn’t known what to ask.
“It’s
okay,” I said reassuringly. “You don’t
have to decide anything today. You need
time to talk it over and get answers to your questions, so you can make an
informed decision.”
“What would
you do?” he asked, and I realize he hadn’t just called to tell me his good
news, but to ask my advice.
I was no
expert, but then, I did have more experience than him. I thought back to what I’d read about his disease
after he’d first told me the diagnosis.
“Well…” I said slowly, thinking out loud. “The type of lymphoma you have is similar to
a form of leukemia, so the treatment is similar, too. A stem cell or bone marrow transplant is a
pretty standard course of action for leukemia that has relapsed or is likely
to; I saw quite a few kids go through it when I was working in pedes oncology.”
“You think
I should do that?” Nick asked, his voice flat.
I could tell that wasn’t what he wanted to hear me say. It wasn’t at all what I was saying, either.
“I don’t
know… Honestly, it’s a pretty intense
treatment…”
When I
heard the words “stem cell transplant,” I pictured the little ones I’d cared
for throughout the process – bald, weakened, deathly ill children, sealed off
in sterile, isolated rooms because their immune systems had been completely
wiped out. They were so susceptible to
infection that anyone who entered the isolation unit – only immediate family
and a select number of staff members – had to thoroughly wash their hands and
gown up in full gloves, mask, cap, booties, and protective gown, as if they
were scrubbing in to the OR. Any thing that entered the room, even a
teddy bear, had to be carefully cleaned and disinfected first. Weeks would pass before they were well enough
to leave after the transplant, assuming there were no complications, and even
then, it took a long time for their immune systems to fully recover.
I knew if I
told Nick all of that right then, I’d freak him out, so I chose my next words
carefully. “The transplant procedure
itself isn’t a big deal; it’s basically like a blood transfusion. It’s the high-dose chemo they do beforehand
that is the rough part. The goal of it
is to kill off any cancer cells left in your body, but it also destroys your
bone marrow. That’s why you’re then
given stem cells, so your body can start making healthy cells again. It’s sort of like wiping your whole hard
drive to get rid of a computer virus.
It’s extreme, but it works.” I
figured the computer analogy was one he would understand. “The worst part is the side effects you’ll
have from the chemo, and the hospital stay can be pretty lengthy, depending on
which kind of transplant you do. It’s
definitely not the easy way out, but at the same time, if it works, it could
mean a longer remission or even a cure.”
“So… would
you do it, or not?” Nick pressed.
I shook my
head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I
really don’t know. I can’t make that
decision for you.” I knew he wanted me
to tip the scale one way or the other for him, but it wasn’t my place to do
so. In the end, this had to be his
decision. To reassure him, I added, “I
will say, you’re young and strong, and you tolerated chemo amazingly well. A stem cell transplant won’t be a walk in the
park, but it’s something you can get through, if you want to go the aggressive
route. But if you’d rather wait and go
with the maintenance plan for now, no one would hold it against you. You have to do what feels right for you.”
He sighed
into the phone. “That’s the thing,
though, Cary. I have no fucking clue
which one feels right. I mean, know
which one sounds easier, but that
just makes me think it’s not the way to go.
When has taking the easy way out ever paid off?”
I could
hear his hesitation, his fear of choosing wrong. “You don’t have to decide today,” I reminded
him. “Sleep on it tonight. Take a few days, if you need them. Talk to your doctor; ask her questions, and
get some more information to help you decide.
Ask her what she would do; she
has more specifics about your case than I do.
She’s the expert.”
He sighed
again. “I know. You’re easier to talk to, though.”
That made
me smile. A lot. “Well, thanks. I didn’t mean to pawn you off on someone
else; you know I’m always here to talk if you want to. Just a phone call away.” Even
though I wish I was closer, I added in my head. It had been just over a week since I’d hugged
him goodbye in the airport, but I wished I could talk to him in person, give
him another hug and see him through this.
I hated being so far away.
“I
know. I appreciate it,” Nick said. He sounded genuine, and that made me miss him
even more.
It was
tempting to tell him to screw the transplant and go with the maintenance chemo,
so he could finish the tour, and I could go with him. But I wasn’t going to sway him to suit my own
ulterior motives. His health was way
more important than the tour or my feelings for him. For once, he had to put that first and make
the decision that would offer him the best chance of beating his cancer.
In the lull
that followed, my eyes wandered back up to my calendar. The picture for July was of a perfect forties
housewife smiling down at her perfect little girl as she took a pie out of the
oven. The typically snarky caption
printed over it said, “Remember,
sweetheart… mommy loves you, but she doesn’t have to like you.” It made me smile, but also put a lump in my
throat, because with her dark curls and pretty, smiling face, the woman in the
painting looked like my own mother, during the years when she wasn’t sick, when
she was just a regular young mom who baked stuff with her daughter. I saw my own handwriting, the words “RELAY
FOR LIFE” scrawled in purple pen across Friday and Saturday’s squares, and I
got an idea.
On sudden
impulse, I blurted, “Hey… not to change the subject, but I have a proposition
for you.” I smiled to myself,
remembering how he’d said the same thing to me the first time he had called, on
that fateful day back in April. Then I
backpedaled and added quickly, “I know you’re just finishing chemo, so if you
don’t feel up to it, you can say no; it’s not a big deal, but…”
He laughed
and interrupted, “What is it?”
“Well…” I cleared my throat, feeling like I had a lot
of nerve just for asking him. But what
the hell? I’d already started; I might
as well spit out the rest. “I was just
thinking… This Friday, I’m doing Relay for Life – I don’t know if you know what
that is, but it’s an all-day walking event to raise money for the American
Cancer Society-”
“I know,”
he cut in again. “We almost performed at
one of those one time. I think it was in
Tennessee. We were supposed to, but our
flight got cancelled. What, you want me
to come and perform?”
Even though
I was glad he knew something about Relay, I suddenly felt ridiculous for even
thinking he might fly to Illinois to come to one. He had just
gotten home; he had to be sick of traveling, and he was still in the hospital
doing chemo, so he was probably sick from that, too. I was selfish and stupid for even bringing it
up. Still, I babbled on, “Only if you
want to. I’m singing, and I’m on a team,
so I’ll be walking, too, but I just thought, maybe… well, if you’re not doing
anything… maybe you’d wanna get away for a few days and come out. We could talk more, too, about… you know…
your options. But I totally understand
if you don’t feel like it. I’m sure
you’re tired from the tour and all the tests and chemo and everything this
week, so…” I trailed off awkwardly, glad
he couldn’t see my red face for once.
But leave
it to Nick to take me completely by surprise.
“I’d love to,” he said, hardly missing a beat. “When is it again? This Friday?”
“Y-yeah,” I
replied, my voice going high again.
“Friday and Saturday… but most of the events are on Friday. Are you serious? You would come?” I was stunned by his response.
“Sure. It’s for a good cause, right?” I could tell he was smiling, that smirky
half-smile of his.
“A very good cause,” I emphasized.
“Then I’m
happy to do it.”
My heart soared,
then sank, as another thought occurred to me.
“You probably won’t get paid,” I warned him. “The American Cancer Society… everything’s
volunteer-based.”
“Trust me;
I have enough money,” he replied dryly.
He was definitely smirking that time.
“Besides, if I can help them raise more money by drawing a bigger crowd,
some of that will go back to me, in a way.
I mean, the research and stuff might help me out down the road.”
I
smiled. “That’s a good way to look at
it. Thanks, Nick… It means a lot to me,
and I know the committee who’s organized the whole thing will be thrilled to
get a big act.”
He
chuckled. “I dunno how ‘big’ I am by
myself, but I’m sure we can find some fans in the area to come. I’ll do some Backstreet songs, some solo
stuff, some covers… It’ll be fun.”
“And we’ll
talk,” I promised, “face to face. We’ll
figure out a game plan for you to take back to Dr. Subramanien.”
“Yeah,
that’d be good. Thanks, Cary.”
“Thank you, Nick. But seriously, if you don’t feel up to it at
the end of the week…”
“I’ll be
fine,” he interrupted, feeding me his usual line. “Anyway, I owe ya, for everything I put you
through. And since I notice you haven’t
cashed my check yet…” Once again, I was
glad he couldn’t see me blushing.
“…we’ll count this as part of me returning the favor.”
He owed me
nothing, but I wasn’t going to try too hard to change his mind. We spent another ten minutes ironing out a
few details, and he promised to call again the next day, once he was home and
had gotten a chance to book his flight.
I promised to have spoken with the head of the Relay committee, to get
him on the entertainment lineup. The
committee was going to be thrilled; they’d never had anyone famous perform at
the event before, and while I may have been somewhat of a local celebrity since
American Idol, Nick was famous on a
global scale. I figured fans from all
over the Midwest would make the drive just to see him in person.
When I said
goodbye and got off the phone, I looked one more time at my calendar. Just three more days, and I would see him in
person again, too.
I couldn’t
wait.
***