Chapter 34
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
My foot bounces on the linoleum floor, halting only once Dr. Alvarez knocks on the door, poking her head into the exam room.
“Adhira, so good to see you,” she says, her easy smile giving nothing away as she shuts the door behind her and pulls up a chair, taking a seat in front of me rather than looming over me like the Grim Reaper.
Prior to these last few months, I’d never known it was possible to feel equal parts overjoyed and crippled with relentless anxiety.
Now that I’m experiencing it, I can say I’d like to return this newfound ability because the combination of the two leaves my head fuzzy and my soul aching for release.
“I’m hoping it’s good to see you too,” I tell her, my trimmed nails digging into my leggings-clad thighs.
She crosses one leg over the other. Perfectly curled, thick waves hang over her shoulders, and her light-blue blouse shifts with the change in posture. “I don’t want you to worry, okay?”
I give her a tight nod. “If it’s bad news, I’d rather skip over the pleasantries, if that’s alright with you. I’m sorry if that’s rude, but I’m dying here, and hopefully not literally.”
She chuckles, uncrosses her legs, and leans forward to plant her hands over her knees, and my body winds tighter than a bowstring. There’s no table between us this time, nothing to hide behind.
“The results of your imaging aren’t what we’d been hoping for, Adhira. I’m sorry, but you aren’t in remission yet.”
A coldness I’ve never experienced before washes over me, my scalp prickling with awareness as hot tears flood my vision, but I refuse to break. Not yet. Not here.
Elijah was right. I should have let him come with me.
“What’s next?” I ask around a mouthful of saliva, my throat raw and heart heavy. I want to sob, but I will the tears to remain in place, pleading for the composure necessary to hear her out and listen for the solution.
Dr. Alvarez snags a yellow floral box from the counter, thrusting the tissues into my lap, but I remain unmoving, my eyes locked on a speck of dirt smudging the wall just past her head.
“While you’re not in remission yet”—she stresses the word—“this isn’t entirely bad news.
Your scans suggest they’re only focally positive, so the chemo is working.
This means you don’t require radiation, and it’s my belief that after two more cycles of chemo, you shouldn’t need further treatment.
We can’t know for sure, but all the signs are there, Adhira. I just need you to hold on with me.”
“Two more cycles?” I ask, my voice cracking as the weight of the last two months of utter hell washes over me like a tsunami.
In the same breath, I feel the hollow guilt that presses on me.
Sure, chemo had sucked, but I've read the forums. Seen the life get sucked out of people in far worse condition than I've ever been. It could've been so much worse.
It could have failed to work. Been for nothing.
But it wasn't.
“Two more cycles, Adhira,” she confirms. “Your prognosis is excellent, even if this isn’t the outcome we’d been hoping for.”
I steady my resolve, fighting back the current of emotions as images of everyone I’ve been lying to, hiding from, and disappointing—even if they didn’t know it—flit through my mind, snaring me in my web of lies. “Two more. I can manage that.” There’s no real alternative. Not one where I live.
She spends the rest of our appointment reassuring me, going through the most up-to-date research, explaining my staging and post-treatment results, and walking me through all of my imaging and labs so I can put a face to the name, so to speak.
When she’s done, I have no idea how I make it home, but I stumble through the door like a hurricane sent straight from hell.
“Adhira! I made Khandvi to cele—” Elijah’s excited voice dies out, crashing around me like waves on the shore, dissolving into a tense silence. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low as he approaches me like I’m a wild animal backed against a wall, and in many ways, I am.
“Elijah,” I whisper. Months of denial, pretending that statistics outweighed the reality of variability and the unknown outlier, claw at the edges of my mind, and I succumb to them, desperate for comfort, for someone to help carry the weight I’ve kept buried.
“I think I need a hug,” I finally manage, and his arms are around me in an instant, crushing me to his solid, warm chest, holding me safe and secure.