49. Zoey
49
Zoey
T hese have been the hardest five weeks of my life. Every day has been a challenge, but without Noah, my family, Hope, and of course, Allie, I know without a doubt that I wouldn’t have had the strength to get through it.
My body aches. I’m weak and have spent every day of the past five weeks throwing up, and what’s worse is that despite the side effects and the torture of having to endure the chemotherapy, I know I’ve failed. Dr. Sanchez hasn’t officially confirmed it yet, but I feel it in my gut. Feel it in the way my body continues to weaken, feel it in the way the nurses look at me with such sorrow. It’s as though I’m already dead.
I’ve failed.
My body is giving up, and it’s no longer a question of if I will die, it’s when.
I’m on all kinds of medication, including something for the pain. My kidneys didn’t appreciate the high dosage of chemotherapy, and neither did the rest of my body.
Dr. Sanchez said that there are other options for me, radiation therapy or stem cell transplant considering we can find a suitable donor. But she also said that the chemo was my best option for survival, and now that that’s failed, it doesn’t leave me with great odds. The only question is, when it comes time to start those alternate treatment plans, will I be strong enough to endure them?
My knee bounces on my bed as I hold a sleeping Allie to my chest, the anticipation of these test results making me want to be sick. I’ll be discharged as soon as Dr. Sanchez gives us the final results of my chemotherapy, then I’ll be sent home to try and put my life back together or figure out my next steps.
Don’t get me wrong, of course I’m desperately hoping for good news. I would love to know that the pain and torture of the past five weeks wasn’t all for nothing, that I’m going to miraculously recover from this a second time, but I’m also not willing to lie to myself either.
The small ray of hope I had that I could survive this has quickly dwindled and burned out, and now I’m just waiting on pins and needles for someone to tell me what I already know—I’m not getting any better.
Noah paces my room as I clutch Allie. She’s been my little sidekick for the past two weeks. She hasn’t left my side for a moment, even after Nurse Kelly found her hidden beneath my blankets. Where I go, she goes. Even if it’s just to have a shower. She’ll curl up on the floor mat and wait patiently as if knowing just how much I need her.
Allie has become my best friend, my sweet little baby, and getting to be her momma gave me everything I needed to get through the chemotherapy. I’ve been starting to wonder if perhaps that’s why Noah gave her to me in the first place. If maybe he knew how badly I needed something more to help push me through this. He’s always been so in tune with me, always knew what I needed before I did.
Hazel climbs up on my bed beside me. She’s been such a good sister through all of this. I know the days she spends here with me are long and boring for her, but she hasn’t whined or complained even once. She’s always here for me right when I need her. Plus, apart from Noah, she comes fully loaded with the best hugs imaginable, and the fact that she always smells like strawberry shampoo makes it that much better.
She helps straighten my bandana, and I give her a weak smile, thanking her as my eyes grow watery. I never wanted her to see me like this. She was so young when I was sick last time, but I don’t remember it ever being this bad, and I’m sure she doesn’t have any memories from that time. She just knows what she’s seen in pictures or from the brief stories Mom and Dad have shared with her. But this, seeing me this way . . . I hate it. On the other hand, I’m also not willing to pull away because every day I open my eyes, I’m left wondering just how much time I have left with the people I love.
A soft knock sounds at the door, and the second Noah glances up and sees Dr. Sanchez striding in, he crosses to my other side. His grip on my hand is so tight that it hurts, but I don’t dare tell him that, not wanting him to let go.
His hair has already started growing back, and I know he did it for me, but damn it, the buzz-cut look is really working for him. But then, everything always works for him, whether his hair is long or short, he’s always been so undeniably gorgeous.
Just like last time, Dr. Sanchez takes a seat at the end of my bed, her gaze dropping to Allie pulled up against my chest. She gives me a fond smile, and I see it right there in her eyes, the same look she gave me after my last round of chemo.
It failed.
“How are you feeling today, Zoey?”
“Like you’re about to give me the news we’ve all been dreading,” I murmur, not having the patience to do the whole small talk thing. Put me out of my misery. Rip it off like a Band-Aid and get it over and done with so I can figure out my next step and work out how much time I have left on this earth. “It didn’t work, did it?”
Dr. Sanchez presses her lips into a hard line, regret shining bright in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s time to start looking into alternate forms of treatment.”
Noah crumbles beside me, his knees failing as he drops to the ground. His face falls into our joined hands as Hazel breaks out in a gutted sob, crushing herself into my arms, and squishing Allie between us. My parents cry, but I already feel so broken that I don’t shed a single tear. I’m just empty now.
“Am I . . . am I going to die?”
“Zoey!” my mom gasps in horror before breaking into even harder sobs, struggling for air.
“No, Zoey,” Dr. Sanchez says, squeezing my foot as she always does. “You still have a shot at beating this. We’ll arrange an appointment in a few days to go through your options, but I don’t want you getting yourself down. I know it’s getting harder, but I need you to keep your spirits up. You can still fight this.”
I nod, not believing her for even a second, and when she asks my parents to go out into the hallway with her and have a private conversation, I realize she was just sugarcoating it for me or Hazel.
I watch them through the small window and whatever Dr. Sanchez is telling them has Mom crumbling into Dad’s side, heaving sobs tearing from deep within her. “It’s okay, Zo,” Noah promises me, lying through his teeth. “I’m not going to lose you.”
Noah grabs my chin, forcing me to hold his stare, and I see nothing but pure desperation shining in his dark eyes. “Tell me,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “Tell me you’re going to keep fighting this.”
“I will,” I promise him. “I’m not ready to give up yet.”
“Good,” he says, letting out a shaky breath with fear in his eyes. “Then we take you home to rest and give you whatever you need to get stronger. Then we come back and finish this. We do whatever we need to do to keep you breathing. You hear me, Zozo? I’m not fucking losing you.”
I lean in and drop my lips to his, hating that one day I might have to break my promise, that one day it’ll become too much, and I won’t be able to fight anymore. “I swear,” I tell him. “I’m going to be right here by your side until we’re old and gray. I’m not going anywhere just yet.”