Nick
I don’t remember much from Days 3 through 8 of my transplant.
You know when you drink too much, so much that you black out, and
then you wake up the next morning not knowing where the hell you are, or what
the hell you did the night before, or why the hell you feel so bad? Yeah… it was like that for me on Day 9, only
the hangover lasted a lot longer.
I only have vague memories from the days in between, mostly images
and sounds. Cary’s face. The guys’ voices. Other people I didn’t know touching me and
talking to me. The rest is kind of a
blur. I just remember being incredibly
tired, more exhausted than I’d ever felt in my entire life, like I could sleep
forever. All I wanted to do was sleep.
Only after I woke up, when Cary explained everything, did I
realize how close I’d come to literally sleeping forever – as in, dying. It freaked me out. I’d always known that the cancer could kill
me and that the transplant could be risky, too, but I’d never had such a close
call before. I was glad to be alive and
eager to get better and get out of the hospital so I could start really living
again.
Before they would discharge me, though, there were three things I
had to prove I could do: eat on my own and
keep it down, drink on my own and stay hydrated, and of course, make my own
blood cells.
Sounds easy enough, right?
Turns out, not so much.
I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for a week; instead, I’d been
getting nutrients and fluids completely through IVs. My mouth was full of sores from the chemo,
which might have caused the infection and were still causing me a lot of
pain. It hurt to put anything in my
mouth, even water. For a few days, all I
could do was suck on ice chips, until the mucositis cleared up. Then, finally, I started eating and drinking
again. Lots of protein shakes. Lots of soft, bland foods. Nothing too spicy, sour, or sweet. Eating became more of a chore than a
pleasure, something I did because I had to, not because I wanted to. But I did it.
I had no control over my blood counts, so it was just a matter of
waiting until they started coming up again, a sure sign that the stem cells
were working. They tested my blood every
day and kept track of the numbers.
Finally, on Day 16, they started to climb. My
immune system’s back, alright! I posted on Twitter, to satisfy the fans
who’d been freaking out since hearing the news that I’d had complications. There
gonna kick me outta this joint soon.
It took a few more days for that to happen, but I could feel
myself getting stronger. I was still
really tired most of the time, but I was able to get out of bed and walk
further than the bathroom without feeling like I was about to collapse. I did slow laps around the transplant ward and
rode the exercise bike in my room for short bursts at a time. I had no stamina, and my legs were shaky and
weak from not using them. It would be
awhile before I was back to dancing on stage; that was for sure.
But twenty days after my stem cell transplant, my doctors decided
I was strong enough to be discharged from the hospital. I’m
gettin out today, I tweeted, while Cary and I waited for them to finish the
discharge paperwork. Goin home to rest up and I’ll be back on
stage again before you know it!
This turned out to be a mistake.
By the time we made it down to the lobby, a small crowd had gathered
outside the entrance. How they knew
which hospital I was at, I’ll never know for sure. Maybe the guys had been spotted coming to
visit me. Maybe it was just a lucky
guess. In any case, the fans had found
me, and they were armed with stuffed animals and signs they’d made to show
their support.
Looking out the glass doors at them, I started getting
nervous. I hadn’t thought to ask a
bodyguard to come escort me out; besides the nurse who had pushed me down in a
wheelchair, I just had Cary. Luckily,
the hospital security was on it. I guess
the place gets its fair share of celebrities, some a lot more A-list than me,
so they were prepared. “You want me to
get rid of these girls?” asked the guy guarding the door. “Or would you rather go out a back exit?”
I considered both options, as I scoped out the situation. There weren’t that many girls out there,
maybe a couple dozen, and they weren’t doing anything crazy, not screaming or
pushing or anything. They seemed pretty
calm. I couldn’t imagine any of them
wanting to hurt me, not when they’d come to a hospital to support me.
“No,” I answered finally, “I’m good. Just don’t let ‘em jump my wheelchair while
she’s pushing me out.”
The guy chuckled. “You got
it.”
“Could you also tell them they need to stand back?” Cary
added. “And no touching… or stuffed
animals. He can’t be exposed to germs.”
“Yeah, you don’t happen to have, like, a giant plastic bubble you
could roll me out in, do you?” I joked.
I already felt like the Bubble Boy, behind the surgical mask I was
wearing. I’d been told to wear it out in
public until my immune system had recovered, so I wouldn’t get sick again. I hated it already.
The guard laughed again. “Sorry, man, no
can do.” But he did go outside to talk
to the fans about keeping their distance.
We waited inside while the valet brought my car around. Then Cary asked, “You ready?”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
She went out first, carrying both our overnight bags and a box of
all the extra stuff I’d accumulated, from get well cards to new prescription
drugs. The nurse pushed me behind her in
the wheelchair. I hadn’t even cleared
the door when I heard the chorus of voices calling my name, shouting things
like, “Nick! Hi, Nick! How are you feeling, Nick? Are you feeling better, Nick? We love you, Nick!” Blinded by the bright sunlight, I squinted
and tried to smile, before I remembered they wouldn’t be able to tell with the
mask covering half my face.
“Thanks, guys,” I mumbled, feeling self-conscious, as the nurse
wheeled me past. “Sorry, I can’t,” I
added, as girls reached out their hands, ignoring the security guard’s
warning. I felt bad ignoring them and the
stuffed animals they were thrusting at me, but what else was I supposed to
do. I just kept saying, “Thanks… thanks
for the support.”
When I got to the car, Cary opened the door and helped me out of
the wheelchair and into the passenger seat.
I felt like an old man, needing to be helped that way, but I was still
pretty weak. I thanked the nurse, waved
out the window to the fans, and then we were on our way.
It was weird sitting in the passenger seat while Cary drove my car
home. I looked out the window at the
familiar sights of Los Angeles and felt like I’d been living in a cave, instead
of a hospital. It was amazing to see the
sun, up close and personal instead of through a single window on the sixth
floor, and feel its warmth on my skin for the first time in a month. It seemed brighter than usual and extra
hot. I’d been told I would be sensitive
to sunlight for awhile, until the effects of the chemo wore off.
I was like a vampire, with my sensitivity to sunlight, my need for
blood, and my tendency to sleep all day and wake up in the middle of the
night. I was definitely pale enough, and
I even had the scar on my neck to prove it.
Maybe we could do a little roleplaying when we got home, I thought, me
and Cary. I eyed her bare neck; it
looked good enough to nibble and suck on.
But by the time we finally made it up to my condo, I was too
exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed.
My body still felt so weak, and my bones ached. It had only been a short walk from the car to
the elevator and down the hall to my door, but I might as well have just run a
marathon. It felt good to lie down in my
own bed.
Cary bustled around my bedroom, making sure I was
comfortable. “Is the air conditioning on
too high?” she asked, after she’d tucked me in.
“Do you need another blanket?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Do you want the shades down?” she asked, stopping at one of the
windows, her fingers toying with the cord for the blackout shades.
“No, leave ‘em up. I wanna
be able to see outside.” When I was
sitting up in bed, I could see the ocean view from my windows. It was as close as I’d get to the beach for
awhile.
“Okay. How ‘bout I bring
you some water? Do you want anything
else? Are you hungry at all?”
“No, just water’s fine.”
She got me a bottle of water and then asked, “Is there anything
else I can get you?”
“Cary,” I laughed, “Damn, girl, chill out. I’m fine.”
She smiled sheepishly.
“Okay,” she said, seeming to relax a little. “Do you want me to go and let you rest, or…?”
“No, you can stay, if you want,” I replied, then added quickly,
“but don’t feel like you have to or anything.
You know me; I’ll probably just fall asleep…” If I was being honest with myself, I wanted
her to stay – it was boring just lying around in bed, without someone to talk
to – but I didn’t want her to feel obligated.
She’d already spent a month sitting around – and sleeping in – my
hospital room. She was probably getting as
sick of me as I was of feeling sick; I wouldn’t have blamed her for leaving.
But she stayed. “Like I
have anything better to do than watch you fall asleep,” she teased, smiling at
me.
I don’t know what I ever did to deserve that kind of
dedication. Maybe the guys were right,
and Cary was just clingy. Maybe if I
were well, I wouldn’t have wanted her around so much. But being sick changes you; it changes
everything. Suddenly, I didn’t want to
be alone anymore. “Well, c’mere then,” I
said, patting the covers next to me.
“Get on up here, girl.”
She hesitated, then climbed into bed with me. I slipped my arm around her and pulled her
close to my side. It felt good to be
able to hold her like that, without any barriers – no masks, no gloves, no
tubes or wires in the way. I wished we
could strip everything away and get even closer, but I didn’t have the energy
to do anything else but lie there.
“I missed being close to you like this,” Cary said, matching my
thoughts. “I hope I’m not contaminating
you now…”
“You’re not.” I could still
smell the hospital on her, but underneath the antiseptic stench was the scent
of her shampoo, fruity and sweet. I
buried my face in her thick hair for a few seconds, breathing in. “Anyway,” I added, lifting my head again, “my
new immune system better get used to your cooties quick, ‘cause we ain’t
wearin’ those masks around each other anymore.”
“We’ll have to if your counts drop again. Or if I get a cold or something,” she pointed
out.
“Nope. Ain’t
happening. Know why?”
“Why?”
I looked over at her; she was smiling. I smiled, too. “’Cause then we couldn’t do this,” I said and kissed her fully on
the mouth.
“I don’t know if making out is allowed, twenty days
post-transplant,” said Cary breathlessly, once we broke apart. But her cheeks were glowing, and her eyes
were shining; she’d obviously enjoyed it as much as I had.
“Yeah, I doubt Dr. Schnaz would approve. But it’s okay. We’ll just call it exposure therapy.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, grinning.
“Anything we can do to help your immune system recover faster, right?”
“You bet. Kissing’s good
medicine.”
“Hm… maybe we should do a clinical trial on that theory,” she said playfully,
leaning in close to me again.
As her lips found their way back to mine, I realized she’d already
proven me right: I felt more alive than
I had for a whole month.
***