Chapter 9 #2
“Hmm.” Is all I can muster, my heart in my throat preventing me from speaking. What words can you say after that? Especially since every time I talk to him, I feel the same. “Thank you,” I say with a yawn. “I should probably hang up, but it was nice talking to you.”
“Well, can we do it again? Maybe nightly?”
“Maybe, but I will be back in San Francisco soon, so we can also try being friends in person.” Most likely, I will be in San Francisco for months while I go through whatever treatment I need.
It’s ironic that I don’t know what I want to do with my life, and now I have to fight for it.
I may never dance on a stage again, and not because I don’t want to.
You would think that would solidify the decision for me, but I’m still unsure if, after this, I want to go back.
Especially now. I want to love every moment I have, and I have to see if I still love dancing.
“You know I don’t want to be your friend,” he says, drawing my attention again.
“That’s all I’m offering. Plus, I’m seeing someone anyway.”
“Yeah, I know. Charlie right? I don’t know what that has to do with us.”
I’m going to kill Rowan.
“There is no us.”
“Yet. There is no us, yet.”
I press my hand to my mouth to keep in both the sigh of frustration and the persistent giggles. Exasperated and delighted by his determination, he gets to me a little.
“Goodbye, Callahan.”
“Talk to you soon.” He does a kissing sound before I hang up on him, and I remember the sensation of those lips on my skin. Not at all prepared to feel like this, this soon, I’m so grateful towards him that I almost call him back.
Instead, I hope this feeling sinks into me enough that I can call the choreographer and let them know I won’t be able to do the tour. One of the things I’ve been dreading; it’s like the final nail, sinking me into my reality. Nothing is going to be the same moving forward, starting with this.
I decided to meet with the oncologist on my own to show myself I can do this. I’m not ready for anyone to see me fall apart, especially my dad.
I walk into the room with my shoulders thrown back and my head held high. I don’t even let it sink in while he breaks down what has to be done next.
“What is a hysterectomy and bilateral blah blah thing?”
He said the procedure, like I’m just supposed to know. I think I recognize a portion, but I hope what I think is wrong.
“Um,” he stares down at his desk. “It’s where we remove your uterus and all accompanying parts.”
“My whole uterus? But that means—” I stutter, my voice dying out as the gust of reality extinguishes my flame.
“It means you can’t carry children.” He flinches and lets out a big breath.
“Oh.” I involuntarily press a hand to my stomach, some sort of motherly instinct I didn’t realize I had. Feeling my gut flip, I for a moment pretend it’s a baby. But there will be no baby in there, ever. I let that sink in with a moment of silence.
The irony of having gone from the possibility of having a child to knowing that I may never have the chance is not lost on me. It only sits on my chest, another weight holding me down.
“You can always have eggs removed and frozen prior to the surgery, and use a surrogate at a later date. This doesn’t mean you can’t have kids of your own.” There is hope in his voice where there should be none as he tries to point out a silver lining.
“Oh.”
He falls silent, unsure of what to make of my quiet responses. I don’t know what to say to him at all.
I think somehow we are both letting this reality sink in. However, it’s only slowly seeping through the walls I built to get past this. Any more revelations and everything bearing down on them might cause my shelter to break. But what else can I do? I need to get through this conversation.
“After the surgery?” I ask.
“Um, yeah, after you will do five rounds of chemotherapy.” He starts to go over the way that the tumors look and their positioning, but I honestly don’t care.
Where they are or how bad they are is the reason why we have to take these measures.
I don’t need to know their first and last name to hate them.
“Can you stop?” I raise my hand, my mind finally registering that he is still talking.
“Ms. Pierce, unfortunately, we need to go over this information.”
“Write it down or something because I can’t do this.” Finally feeling it all start to crumble, I stand up, not giving him a chance to protest. I run out of the room and down the stairs until I can smell fresh air.
With every inhale, a choking sound follows.
It doesn’t feel like I’m breathing from the way my chest is constricting, but at this point, I don’t want to be.
I don’t want to be doing anything at all, which is why I sit down on the sidewalk and curl my knees into myself.
I keep stuttering over my breaths, as my eyes release everything I have been holding in.
It doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing may feel right ever again.
Which is why I finally give in to the hysteria. I finally let myself face what is actually happening to me.
I have cancer, I will never carry a child, and I have to put my body through hell to survive this.
But can I do it? Am I strong enough?
After I scrape myself off the street and stop making a spectacle, I call Farrah on my way home. She meets me at my door and instantly pulls me into a hug.
Once inside, she gets me a tea and wraps her arms around me, surrounding me in her support.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
I explain the treatment plan and let her see the email from the doctor with the paperwork. She reads it all quietly before breathing out a big sigh.
“I’m so sorry, Monty.” She squeezes me tighter and rests her chin on top of my head.
A sob escapes despite my best efforts to keep it together. I hear her sniffling too.
“This isn’t fair,” she says, her voice weak.
What is fair? What is a justifiable reason to get cancer? This disease doesn’t care about fairness; it doesn’t choose people who are “deserving”. It just is what it is, and I need to face it.
Still, the pain in my chest only intensifies every time I think of everything that has to come next. And the tears pour down my cheeks unrelentingly. I have to curl into myself to hold it all together.
“I’m scared,” I whisper, the words pushed free by the building panic.
“I’m scared, too.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.” I breathe out a shaky breath while closing my eyes, scared to face this confession.
Farrah squeezes me in her arms even tighter, the pressure keeping me in one piece.
“Of course you can. You’re the strongest person I know, Monty, and you have accomplished everything you set out to do. There is no way that cancer is going to be the thing to stop you.”
“But what if it changes me? What if it hollows me out?” I press a hand to my chest like I can keep everything inside of me. Every part that I fought to build to make me who I am today.
“It’s going to change you, but it’s not going to break you. You won’t let it, and neither will I.”
I try to nod, but I don’t know if I believe that enough to make it look like I do. She can tell I don’t, so she turns me and forces me to look into her eyes.
“You are going to be okay. I promise.”
“Can you promise that?”
“Yes, because I know how formidable you are. You’re a badass bitch, and cancer is a punk waiting for you to beat her ass. I’m going to hold your earrings and cheer for you the whole time.”
This gets a laugh out of me, before a lighter sob. I look into her eyes and see that she means it.
Can I really do this? Am I strong enough?
My whole life flashes before my eyes, like it did in the office, and I see that I am.
I’ve faced enough things to know she is right.
I’m going to beat cancer, because how dare it try me.
How dare it show up in my life and mess things up.
I don’t care what it takes, there is no way in hell I’m going to lose this fight.
I sit up and wipe my eyes, trying to ease some of the strain that crying so long has brought them. Then I force myself to start to move forward.
“I’m going to move in with my dad and focus on fighting this.”
“Of course I’ll be here the whole way.”
“Thank you.” I look into her eyes and try to convey my gratitude. It’s all that I have to give at this point. The rest I’m rebuilding slowly to form an armor for this battle.
I know myself. I’ll be able to stand up and attack this head-on. I think I can do it.
But for right now, I let myself cry and mourn, and fall to pieces. And I let Farrah be there for it all. I know I should let Charlie be here too, but I can’t get myself to call him. So I push him to the side, like I’ve done everything else.