Cary
On Tuesday
morning, I woke up in Los Angeles.
Even as I
sat up and looked around the familiar guest room in Nick’s condo, it was hard
to believe I was actually there. I’ve
never been a spontaneous person; I’m more cautious, a planner, the kind of girl
who looks before she leaps. But the only
plans I’d made over the past couple of days had been thrown together at the
last minute, just to get me to LA. It
was, I knew now, where I was meant to be.
Although
I’d tried to play it cool and not sound too eager, I had known the moment Nick
had asked me to be there for the transplant that I would come. I couldn’t imagine not being there. The two weeks of separation following the
tour had been hard enough for me, and ever since that kiss at Relay, I’d known
I wouldn’t be able to stand being apart from him again. More than anything else, I wanted to be with
him. That emotional need felt as strong
as any physical one; it was a hunger, a thirst I just had to quench. Now that I was back in LA with him, I finally
felt satisfied.
The rest of
the weekend had been a whirlwind of last-minute arrangements. Nick had managed to find me a seat on the
same flight he’d booked back to LA on Sunday, which gave me only a day to pack
my bags and say my goodbyes, yet again.
We went over to my dad’s house for dinner on Saturday night, to drop off
my poor Hambelina and tell him why I was leaving. I told him the whole truth this time – about
Nick’s cancer and the treatment he was facing, about everything except for the
kiss. I left that part out, but I think
he was starting to notice that there was more between us than just
friendship. I know he wasn’t happy about
my leaving again, but as a widower who had lost the love of his life to cancer,
he understood better than anyone my need to be with Nick and see him through
this.
And so,
back to California I went.
We had an
appointment that afternoon, a consultation with Nick’s oncologist. He had called on Monday to tell her his
decision, and she had found time to meet with him the very next day to discuss
it. I was going along, and so was
Kevin. “You know Kevin; he likes to get
in there and put himself in charge of everything,” said Nick when he’d told me,
rolling his eyes. He acted annoyed, but
I could tell that, deep down, he was pleased.
Even though the decision to go ahead with the stem cell transplant had
been made, he still seemed so unsure about it that I knew he would need as much
support as he could get. I was excited;
Kevin was the only Backstreet Boy I had yet to meet, and along with Brian, he
had always been my favorite. When I
realized I’d be seeing him in a few short hours, I felt butterflies in my
stomach.
I got out
of bed and went to the bathroom to do damage control on my hair and brush my
teeth before I left the guest room. Nick
wasn’t up yet, so I let him sleep while I made breakfast.
It was
funny how quickly we had settled back into this routine. I enjoyed it, being domestic, having someone
other than just myself and a pet pig to take care of. Not to mention, Nick’s kitchen was
awesome. Everything was shiny and new
and stainless steel, and he had just about every gadget I could imagine – he
probably didn’t even know what to do with half of them. I had learned my way around the place from
living there before, so in no time, I’d mixed up some pancake batter and was
ladling it onto a hot griddle.
“Whatcha
makin’?” a deep voice rumbled behind me, over the sizzle of the griddle.
“Pancakes,”
I answered, turning around with a smile, as Nick staggered into the
kitchen. He looked like a zombie, with
his hair sticking out in tufts and dark circles under his glazed, heavy-lidded
eyes. The bright kitchen lights washed
out his tan, and he seemed pale and exhausted.
My smile faded. “Did you sleep
okay?” I asked, trying to sound casual and downplay my concern.
He
shrugged, sinking down onto a kitchen chair.
“Not really.”
“Aww… how
come?”
“Dunno… too
much on my mind, I guess.”
The honesty
of his mumbled answer surprised me. He
was nervous, I realized. We hadn’t
talked much about the stem cell transplant since he had agreed to pursue it;
he’d made it seem like he wanted to forget about it, to avoid thinking more
about it until he had to. That was
typical Nick, wanting to pretend everything was normal even when it
wasn’t. I had played along, not wanting
to push him, but now I could see how much it was still weighing on him.
“Understandable,”
I said, offering a sympathetic smile.
“Hopefully talking to the doctor today will help put your mind at ease.”
“Or give me
even more to think about,” he countered, making a face.
“Well,
that’s what Kevin and I will be there for – to help you sort out
everything.” I kept my voice light and
cheerful, hoping to reassure him. “I
know it’s overwhelming. It’s okay to be
nervous.”
But he
shrugged off the nerves, playing it cool again.
“I’m good. Nothin’ a big stack of
pancakes won’t help.” He flashed a wide
grin.
I smiled
back. “It was either pancakes or dry
cereal. Your fridge and pantry are
looking pretty bare. How about we stop
at the grocery store on the way home from the doctor?” It didn’t look like he’d done much in the way
of grocery shopping since getting home from tour, which made me wonder what
he’d been living on. I was eager to fill
his shelves with healthy food and cook him nutritious meals in this beautiful
kitchen.
“Sounds
good,” he replied, chuckling. He seemed
perkier, but when we sat down to breakfast together, he got quiet again and
only picked at the big stack of pancakes I’d piled onto his plate.
Lunch was
the same, but then, it’s not like I ate much either. I was nervous, too, for a completely
different reason: the green-eyed,
black-haired Backstreet Boy sitting across the table from me. We had met Kevin for lunch at a nice
restaurant on our way to the appointment, but we probably should have just
waited until afterwards. No one seemed
very hungry – Nick was fidgety, I was flustered, and even Kevin acted anxious,
pushing the food around on his plate and checking the time on his cell phone
every few minutes.
We’d made
small talk while we waited for our meals to arrive, but with Nick being so
unusually quiet, the conversation felt stilted and awkward. Kevin was pleasant, but reserved, and I felt
shy around him. Still, I hung on to his
every word, even when they were few and far between, totally entranced by his
mellow Kentucky drawl. I’ve always had a
thing for Southern accents – and tall, dark, and handsome Southern gentlemen. Even with Nick sitting beside me, I was in
awe of Kevin.
When he
finally pocketed his phone again and said, “We should probably get goin’,” no
one hesitated. We all got up from the
table at once, leaving our unfinished meals and a generous tip behind, and
headed for the door.
I don’t
know how Nick felt, but for me, it was a relief to finally arrive at the clinic
where his oncologist had her practice.
He may have been dreading the meeting, but I figured he would leave it feeling
more confident about his decision, with a better idea of what to expect in the
coming weeks and months. If nothing
else, I hoped it would put his mind to rest.
The
clinic’s waiting room was decorated in shades of beige, with eggplant-colored
chairs, rather than the sterile whites and sickly pastels I was used to seeing
in hospitals and nursing homes. It gave
the place a warmer, less institutional feel, yet the clean, modern lines of the
furniture and architecture reminded me that we were in a place of science, a
place full of professionals, who could offer Nick the best chance for a
cure. I felt encouraged as we were
called back to meet with the doctor.
I had
talked to Dr. Subramanien several times on the phone, but it was my first time
meeting her face to face. She was a
petite Indian woman, slightly younger-looking than I’d pictured her, with long
hair braided down her back. It seemed
that she’d already met Kevin, but I introduced myself to her, and she
recognized my name at once. Cary Hilst,
the nurse practitioner Nick Carter had tricked into helping him carry out his
idiotic scheme – I’m sure that’s what was going through her head as she shook
my hand.
She invited
us to sit down around a table in a small conference room, where another doctor
was waiting. “This is Dr. Schnabeltier,”
she introduced him, as he stood up to shake hands. Apparently, it was Nick’s first time meeting
him, too. “Dr. Schnabeltier is part of
our bone marrow and stem cell transplant team; he specializes in lymphoma.”
“A pleasure
to meet you all,” said Dr. Schnabeltier, nodding around the table as we all sat
down. He was middle-aged, with blonde
hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and some sort of European accent – German, I
guessed. To Nick, he added, “Dr.
Subramanien tells me you’ve chosen to proceed vith a stem cell transplant.”
Nick
nodded, licking his lips uncertainly.
“If that’s my best shot at beating this thing, that’s what I wanna do,
yeah,” he answered. He looked between
the new doctor and Dr. Subramanien. “Are
you, like, in charge of the transplant?
Will you be my new doctor if I go through with it?”
“I vould
vurk closely vith Dr. Subramanien to oversee your care, yes, along vith a team
of nurses and other specialists. If you
vould like, vee can discuss vot the transplant vould entail.”
Nick nodded
again, watching Dr. Schnabeltier closely.
He seemed to be hanging on to his every word, but maybe that was just so
he could understand, in the most basic sense, what he was saying. I found myself having to focus hard to do the
same.
“First, vee
vould need to decide vich type of transplant vould be best. There are two types, you see. An allogeneic transplant uses cells from a
donor, most likely a sibling or an unrelated match vee vould find through a
database. An autologous transplant uses
your own cells, vich have been harvested prior to chemotherapy. Vith the allogeneic, there is a slightly
higher cure rate, but also a higher risk of complications – rejection, you see,
or graft verses host disease. The autologous
is much simpler because your body vill not reject its own stem cells.”
I could
practically see the gears in Nick’s mind turning, as he weighed these two
options. It was a tough decision. Either one had the potential to extend his
life by keeping his cancer in remission longer, but he had to choose between
the riskier procedure and the safer, yet less successful alternative.
“Which
would you recommend, for Nick’s case?” Kevin asked, looking from one doctor to
the other.
“Ven an
autologous transplant is an option – it isn’t always, you see, because cancer
cells can be found in the bone marrow or peripheral blood – but ven it is, that
is the option I usually suggest because it is less stressful on the body, you
see. Studies show the long-term survival
rate is only slightly less than vith an allogeneic transplant.”
“On the
other hand, Nick is young and strong and tolerated a rigorous chemotherapy
protocol quite well,” put in Dr. Subramanien, her eyes circling the table. “These factors make his risk for
complications relatively low. I believe
he could handle an allogeneic transplant, if a donor were available.”
Nick spoke
up. “If I went with that one, you said a
sibling could be my donor?”
Dr.
Schnabeltier nodded. “Siblings have a
tventy-five percent chance of matching.
Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Four of
them,” Nick said flatly.
Four siblings who don’t even know you’re sick, I thought. I’m sure that’s what was going through his
head, too.
“Four? Then it’s likely at least one of them is a
suitable match,” replied the doctor.
“They should be tested as soon as possible.”
Nick didn’t
say anything to that. He just nodded,
looking down at his lap. I knew he must
be trying to decide how he was going to spring that kind of news on his family
so soon, after keeping his secret so long.
“No matter
vich option vee decide on, the timeline is much the same,” Dr. Schnabeltier
went on. He passed a piece of paper
across the table to Nick. Kevin leaned
in to study it; I sat back, once I saw that it was just an overview of the
transplant process, broken down by phase.
The doctor pointed to each phase as he discussed it. “First, you vill undergo a pre-transplant
evaluation, vith medical testing to make sure you are fit for the
procedure. Then vee enter the
mobilization phase, vich is ven the stem cells are harvested, either from you
or a donor. The next phase is called
conditioning, and that is ven you are given high-dose chemotherapy. The transplant takes place two days after the
chemo, and then vee vait for engraftment, vich is ven the stem cells grow into
bone marrow and start making new cells.
Vithout complications, you vill spend about three veeks in the hospital.”
Nick
slumped back in his chair. “I’m supposed
to go back on tour in two weeks.”
I saw Dr.
Schnabeltier look over at Dr. Subramanien, but before either of them could
speak, Kevin did. “Nick,” he said
sharply, his heavy eyebrows furrowing as he frowned. “Your health is more important than any tour,
and if the other guys were here, you know they’d agree with me. You can’t delay treatment just to finish your
tour.”
Go Kevin, I thought, secretly thrilled at seeing him in action. If anyone could convince Nick not to tour
again, surely Kevin could.
“It’s just
for a month,” Nick muttered. “You know
what a hassle it’d be to reschedule all those dates?”
Kevin
didn’t miss a beat. “We did it for
AJ. And we should have done it for
Brian.”
“But the
fans…” started Nick.
“…will
understand,” finished Kevin, and I nodded for emphasis.
“You just
have to tell them first,” I added.
Kevin
nodded, smiling at me. I felt my heart
flutter. He and I were on the same
team. “That’s what you need to spend the
next few weeks doing, Nick,” Kevin said wisely.
“You need to talk to your family first, then go public with this. Don’t worry about the tour; get your personal
affairs in order so that you can just focus on getting through this and getting
better. That should be your top
priority.”
“I know,” Nick
admitted, ducking his head sheepishly.
“I mean, it is.”
“Then get
your head in the game and stop talking about touring.” Kevin sounded like a coach, lecturing his
star player. It made me smile, though I
was careful not to let Nick see. “You’ll
enjoy the tour a lot more when you’re healthy again, and all this is behind
you.”
Nick
nodded. Watching him, I couldn’t wait
for that day to come. He didn’t deserve
to be sick, to have to make these kinds of life or death decisions. Not that anyone does, but cancer is
especially cruel when it strikes someone so young. People our age were supposed to focus on
their careers and families, not worry about serious health problems. But I knew all too well that it didn’t always
work out that way. My mother was younger
than me when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and she’d died from it at
thirty, the same age as Nick.
I had been
trying to hold back, but I couldn’t stop myself from speaking up. “He’s right, Nick; you can’t delay this. You can’t give the cancer a chance to come
back.”
“Studies
have shown a significantly higher survival rate when stem cell transplantation
occurs after a first remission, rather than a relapse,” Dr. Subramanien added,
before Nick had a chance to reply, and Dr. Schnabeltier nodded, backing her up.
“Alright,
alright,” Nick grumbled finally, dragging a hand through his hair. I could tell he was frustrated; he probably
felt like we were ganging up on him. I
hoped he could see that we were on his side, that we all just had his best
interests at heart. Everyone in the room
just wanted him to be healthy again.
“Forget I mentioned the tour. The
transplant comes first.”
He didn’t
sound happy about it, and I couldn’t blame him, but he had made the right
decision. I felt relieved.
Kevin
patted his shoulder and said, “Good.
It’s not gonna be easy, but you’ll get through it, and you know we’ll be
there to help you through, whenever you want or need us.”
I nodded,
slipping my hand underneath the table to find Nick’s. It felt cold and clammy, and I realized again
how much more apprehensive he was about this than he wanted to let on. I squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him,
to let him know I’d be right there with Kevin and the other guys, if he still
wanted me.
“Thanks,”
Nick told Kevin. He didn’t look at me,
but I felt him squeeze my hand back.
Message received.
***