Every Last Drop: A Novel

by Sarah Robinson

  “Mr. Falls, that’s not what I’m saying. Her symptoms are normal. I want her to have the best resources to help her body fight this,” the doctor assured my husband. “We will get control over this.”

  I’ve never felt much control over my life, and often find myself grasping at straws and pretending that it helped. Pretending that a broken pen and stained desk top made up for a doctor’s cold demeanor. Pretended that hiding an anchovy in the lining of my middle school bully’s backpack made up for how she and her mean girls squad turned up their noses at me. Pretended clear, plastic wrap over the gym teacher’s toilet seat in his private bathroom would make up for when he teased me for starting my period halfway through volleyball practice. It was miniscule and petty, but I’d felt better.

  Silently, stoically, and a little psychotically, I’d taken back control.

  Now the only thing ever actually in my control—my own body—had been stolen from me. Everyone thought they had the answers, feeling confident we got this…we can beat cancer. With each treatment and onslaught of symptoms afterward, I was finding that harder and harder to believe.

  “Fine, let’s set up the nurse visits. I’ll check with our insurance.” Kyle sounded resigned.

  Money. Another thing no one warned me about. Some of my shots cost several thousand dollars. Seriously. A vial of liquid bent on making me vomit for hours costed nearly five thousand dollars. Kyle’s insurance through the military is excellent, but even so, it’s barely enough and our savings account is dwindling fast.

  “Once she is awake and the nurses have done the morning vitals, she can be discharged. She’ll need to be on bed rest at home. Nothing exerting.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Page.” The bed sagged by my feet and a strong hand rubbed my calf for a few quiet moments. “He’s gone, Tessa. You can quit pretending now.”

  I kept my eyes closed, but a small smile crept over my face. “How’d you know?”

  “You weren’t snoring.”

  I opened my eyes and shot him an angry glare. “I do not snore!”

  “Whatever you say, babe.”

  He was laughing so I pulled up into a seated position and crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t!”

  It was the first time I’d stopped and looked at him since he’d brought me to the hospital. I had spent most of yesterday sleeping and hooked up to anti-nausea meds which had made me drowsy. He’d missed work two days in a row to stay by my side, which was no small feat for him.

  His normally bright green eyes were dull and drooping. His hair was disheveled, his shoulders slumped, and his clothes were wrinkled; the same outfit he’d worn when we had arrived here. Thinking back on it, I realized he’d never left my side.

  “Ready to go home?” I asked, wanting him to get some rest as much as I wanted to be out of here.

  “Of course, but are you? They can’t rush you out of here if you’re not ready.”

  “I feel much better. Plus, they’re sending a nurse to visit me.” I paused, biting my bottom lip and looking down at fidgeting hands.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, it’s just a nurse…coming to our house. It’s so…” I paused, unsure how to finish the sentence. Honestly, I didn’t know what to think or why it bothered me. It felt strange. My independence was a point of pride, something I cherished. A daily visit from a nurse felt…senile.

  “Tessa, don’t over think this. She’ll only come by to administer injections and check your vitals, pretty basic. It doesn’t mean anything more than that,” Kyle assured me.

  I nodded, knowing he was right, but still disbelieving. It wasn’t basic. It was another reminder, now daily, of my illness and how I couldn’t take care of myself. How I wasn’t the independent person I had been before cancer had crept into my brain.

  How I wasn’t in control anymore.

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday, April 26, 2014

  “Delores?” I looked up from the kitchen table where I sat gingerly nibbling the edge of a piece of plain toast, as my dad escorted the familiar woman into the room. Delores was sporting hot pink scrubs adorned with kittens, a jarring sight at first, but I was instantly obsessed with how proudly she wore it. Her strut had a confidence I’d long since been missing in my own. “What are you doing here?”

  “New job, hun. When I saw your name on the roster, I was like ‘Oh, I know that girl!’ Figured it’s a good first assignment for me since I just saw ya’.” Delores spoke as if she had known me for years, though we’d only met a few times. Still, I had bonded with her more than with any other hospital staff member over my stays.

  “So, you’re not at the hospital anymore?”

  “I am. Doing both, got a teenager who’s eatin’ me outta house and home. But let me tell you, I’m lovin’ this job better already. Boss lets me pick my own scrubs, not those boring hospital blues. A girl needs a little color every once in a while!” She bopped up and down with every word, placing her bag on the kitchen table as she spoke.

  I was surprised she had a kid, let alone a teenager. She looked too youthful to have lived so much. I watched her extract from her bag sterilizing pads, gauze, needles, and vials.

  “How’s the nausea today? Did you have a treatment yesterday?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, before I was discharged. It wasn’t too bad yesterday, but I threw up once this morning.”

  “You eaten anything yet?”

  I glanced down at the nearly intact piece of toast in front of me, only a tiny bite taken from it. “Not much.”

  “Honey, I know it seems twisted, but the more nausea you feelin’, the more you need to be eatin’,” Delores said, filling a syringe with clear liquid from a vial.

  I wondered if she could pronounce the letter g, even though I liked her dialect without it. It was comfortable and familiar, instantly filling me with trust and assurance. “That does seem twisted,” I agreed.

  She shrugged. “Well, it’s the truth, hun. You need food and energy to fight that tumor in ya head.” She put down the needle and opened an alcohol swab packet.

  I pulled up my shirtsleeve so she could administer the anti-nausea medication, but she shook her head.

  “Gotta get ya to bend over for this one, hun.” She stood in front of me, shot in one hand, swab in the other.

  My eyes widened. “What?”

  “The shot goes in your tush, hun. Needs the deep muscle.”

  “My tush isn’t very muscle-y,” I stammered, stalling.

  Delores smiled innocently like a shot in the ass while bent over my kitchen table wasn’t a big deal. “You ready?” she asked, undeterred.

  “Um…I guess. Will it hurt?” I stood and turned my back to her. Pushing down the band of my favorite yoga pants that had never seen the inside of a yoga studio, I bared my cheek.

  “A tiny pinch. You’ll be fine.”

  The cold, wet alcohol swab swept a small circle over my ass, causing me to shiver. Seconds later, I felt the pinch and inhaled sharply at the pain. The cold liquid injected into me, invading my body.

  “Oh wow, wrong moment to come get some breakfast.”

  I turned my head to see my dad standing in the doorway, looking ten shades of red past uncomfortable. I wanted to laugh or tell him it was fine, but nothing really felt fine about today. My mind was blank and overloaded all at once.

  “Ain’t nothing you hadn’t seen changing her diapers,” Delores reminded him.

  My dad quickly turned on his heels and shuffled out. “Yeah, uh, Tessa, I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” he called over his shoulder.

  Delores chuckled. A moment later, the needle pulled away. “There, see? Not so bad.”

  Gauze swabbed the injection site and I breathed out, relieved the sharp pain had been replaced with the soft cotton. Finally, Delores returned to her supplies and I pulled my pants back to my waist.

  I stood awkwardly, wanting to sit, but unable since my ass was stinging. I ran my hand through my
hair, taking care to avoid where the biopsy had been done.

  Delores clucked her tongue softly. “Oh, hun.”

  Her voice sounded so sad that I looked at her in alarm. “What?” I croaked out, surprising myself at the raspy scratch in my response.

  Her gaze was on my hand, and I followed it to see my fingers tangled with clumps of light brown hair.

  “This been happening for a while?” she asked.

  If anyone else had asked me this, I would have lied out of embarrassment. I’d have been irritated they even asked in the first place, and probably had a snippy reply ready for them, but not with Delores. Her words came from a place of maternal love, radiating care and kindness that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. She wasn’t teasing or prodding, only caring.

  I nodded in affirmation, afraid if I spoke again, I might cry.

  The truth is, I feel silly for still being so vainly attached to my hair. I’ve known that I would lose it eventually, and I also know that when treatments are over it will grow back. That’s just the nature of radiation, and after all, it’s just hair. Even still, every lost tendril was a stab to my heart. As if my femininity, what made me a woman, was being taken from me.

  As if, I was losing myself. Maybe silly, but…maybe not.

  “Hun, how about you let me take care of that today?” Delores asked, her voice softer than before—if that’s even possible.

  I returned to the kitchen chair, positioning my offended ass cheek off the seat’s edge to avoid direct contact. “What do you mean?”

  Delores shrugged, calmness to her movements that in return, calmed me, too. “I cut my boy’s hair all the time. It’d only take a few minutes to shave it off and then you don’t have to be shedding pieces of yourself all over Chicago.”

  I swallowed hard, picturing a bald head. “I don’t know…”

  “Hun, it’s coming off no matter what. You know that, right?” Delores was blunt, but somehow her words still came off as kind. It was an impressive feat, and it ignited a small flame in me. She suddenly became my teammate, and her support filled me ever so slightly with a strength I’d been missing.

  I bit my lip, studying her gentle expression as I considered her proposal. Finally, I nodded.

  She clapped her hands triumphantly. “All right, let’s do this. It’s time you got the first say about something.” She headed toward the doorway. “Fuck cancer.”

  I laughed at her sudden energetic outburst, my flame growing hotter. “Fuck cancer.”

  “Hey, anyone got an electric razor?” Delores called out, sticking her head into the hallway. “We ’bout to kick some cancer ass in here!”

  My dad quickly brought everything she needed, his eyes on the ceiling the entire time, probably worried he’d see my naked cheeks again. This only made me laugh harder—especially when he clipped the doorjamb with his shoulder on his way out and cussed up a storm.

  “Men, I swear,” Delores muttered, rolling her eyes at his retreating figure.

  I waited as she put everything together, running my fingers through my hair again and again. It was still soft against my skin but had thinned dramatically. I hadn’t noticed how much until now, and my flame flickered, dampened ever so slightly.

  As silly as it may or may not be, I’d miss this feeling. I’d miss my hair.

  “Here we go; I have everything ready.” Delores fluffed the ends of my hair and smiled. “You’re gonna look great. You look like ya’ got a smooth head under that hair.”

  “I…what?” Was that a compliment? “Is that good?”

  “Oh yeah, you want a smooth head, means your mom did somethin’ right.” Delores tied a towel around my neck and plugged in the electric razor. “See, me? I didn’t know all that when I had my boy. Was just a teenager, no one told me I gotta make sure he had a smooth head.”

  “What would you do if he had had a lumpy head?” I laughed even as I heard her turn on the razor. I was nervous and terrified, and a mix of other unpleasant emotions, yet Delores’s voice and storytelling distracted me.

  She stood facing me, parting my few remaining hairs into smaller sections with the razor. “If? Girl, that boy’s head is like a mine field of speed bumps. Momma said I should have smoothed his head when he was a baby, rub it until it had no more lumps. Babies heads are like Jell-O, make ’em into whatever shape you want.”

  “You shaped a baby’s head?” She had to be lying.

  “Girl, you listening?” She put one hand on her hip. “I was supposed to, but I didn’t know, so I didn’t do it. Shoulda though, ’cause that boy is a walking mountain range.”

  I laughed, enjoying the banter. “What happens if you shape it wrong?”

  “I dunno, you end up with an ugly ass cone-head baby? Or maybe that little football head baby on that cartoon. Don’t do that, though—nobody wants to play sports with a baby’s head.”

  Tears invaded my eyes for a new reason, my flame brighter than ever before. My insides were light and warm, and I wanted to throw my arms around Delores to thank her for bringing laughter to this ugly moment. Hell, I was laughing so hard she had to stop shaving so she wouldn’t nick my skin.

  Delores joined in alongside me. When our laughter finally subsided, she was ready to get back on task. “You good, hun?”

  Seamlessly, the intensity of my laughter turned serious and stoic. I wondered if she had done this on purpose. It was as if she knew laughing and crying were almost the same, and she hadn’t wanted to see my tears. A lump formed in my throat as I nodded, satiated from the strength she’d given me, but fully aware of the seriousness of this moment. “Go ahead.”

  Delores eyed me as if she knew I was lying, as if she knew I wasn’t ready. No woman was.

  I thought of Kyle as she turned the razor back on. He’d suggested I shave off my hair a few times. He saw me crying one day when I found too much hair on my pillow, so his solution had been simple: chop it off. If it wasn’t on my head, I couldn’t be sad when I saw it fall out. It hadn’t occurred to him I’d be sad every time I looked in the mirror or ran a hand over my smooth head.

  Yet here I was, taking both his and Delores’ advice because simply put, this problem needed solving. My emotions would just need to get with the program because they were both right—this wasn’t something I could avoid.

  A large lock of hair dropped past my face and I gasped, stiffening as she continued to shave my head. Keeping my head still, I glanced at the floor, or at least as far down as I could see without tilting my head.

  I was surprised by the lack of hair beneath me. I knew Delores was at least halfway done because I felt the coolness on my bare skin, but I’d pictured a massive mountain of discarded hair at my feet and that just didn’t exist. There hadn’t been much left to shave off.

  “All right, I’m almost done,” Delores said. “After this spot, I’ll even everything out.”

  “Is there anything left?” I asked, hopeful I’d grown a thick mane impenetrable to her razor, to radiation, to cancer.

  “Oh yeah, I left a big Mohawk down the middle,” Delores said.

  I squawked, my eyes wide. “What?”

  “Relax, I’m teasing! It’s just a lil’ peach fuzz all over. When we were kids, my sister had a lil’ mustache, and Momma said we weren’t allowed to tease her about it, so my other sister and I started calling her Peach Fuzz.” Delores laughed at the memory. “Told her it was just a cute nickname, but really, we were poking fun at her mustache without Momma knowing.”

  I laughed, remembering more than a few occasions when I’d teased Elly growing up. The razor was now off, and in its place, she held a pair of scissors and was closely examining my head, I’m assuming to catch any stray hairs the razor had missed. Finally, certain she had cut them all, she stepped back and smiled.

  “I used to bleach my upper lip every month before all this. Haven’t needed to lately, because it’s gone. Haven’t needed to shave my legs, either,” I mused, not having thought of it before.

 
I raised my hand to my eyebrows, soft and feathery, lighter than before. I wonder how long until I lose those, too.

  “I wanna call that a silver lining to cancer, but—” Delores paused for a moment, tapping her finger against her jaw as if in thought.

  “It’s still cancer,” I finished for her.

  “Yeah.” Delores removed the towel from around my neck, wiping at a few stray hairs, and put her things down on the kitchen table. She picked up a handheld mirror and gave it to me.

  I lifted it to my eyes and stared at my reflection.

  Sliding a hand over the fuzzy surface of my head, I studied my new look. My scalp was white—very white. Pale with tiny brown dots of hair barely poking through the surface. Some areas had no brown at all, just completely bald. Then there was the still-healing scar where the biopsy had been.

  My appearance reminded me of Frankenstein. I felt hideous. No hair. Gross scar.

  Hideous.

  I put the mirror down on the kitchen table and chewed the edge of my lip. Delores patted my shoulder then returned to putting her things away. I avoided eye contact with her, not wanting her to think I was upset with her. She’d actually been the best part of this, distracting me with funny stories during the worst moments, but I was suddenly worn and tired.

  Finally, Delores finished packing her bag and winked at me. “At least you got a smooth head.”

  I burst out laughing, and Delores quickly joined in.

  At least I had a smooth head.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow for your next shot. You have yourself a good Saturday; try and do something fun,” Delores instructed as she headed for the door.

  I followed her out slowly, feeling self-conscious of my new hairdo—if you can call it that.

  “Tessa?” My dad’s voice sounded behind me in the hallway after I closed the front door behind Delores.

  I turned to him, noting the pull of his brows and frown on his lips.

  “Wow.” he said, after a long exhale. “How do you feel?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Kind of tired.”