by Chelle Bliss
I can’t believe there’s life and nothing else. The thought freaks me out. I never want to fall asleep again because it reminds me too much of what could be coming for me. Nothingness. Darkness. Death.
Snot has dried on my cheek along with drool that has congealed on the hardwood floor while I slept. The old Callie’s gone and the new one is a mess.
I don’t want to leave my apartment. I can shut out the world when I’m here. I can pretend nothing else exists, especially cancer.
The ticking of the clock on the wall feels like a time bomb ticking away, counting the seconds left of my life. I cover my ears with my hands and try to drown out the sound, but I fail. When that doesn’t work, I scream until my throat burns.
Around midnight, I crawl to my feet and grab a glass of water to calm the fire burning in my throat. As I swallow down the cool tap water, I realize my phone is dead. The glass slips from my hand, falling to the floor and shattering into a million little pieces near my feet. My legs are unable to hold me, and my body slides down the cabinet. I sit in the glass bits and cry some more.
All I keep thinking is, why me? It’s not that I wish it on anyone else, but I want to know why I have to be the one going through this battle.
I curl my knees up to my chest and hold myself, slowly rocking back and forth. I sit like that for hours.
When the sun comes up and I realize I’ve wasted some more of the very thing I know is precious and in short supply, I decide it’s time to fight.
8
Stage 4—Depression
The day before I check myself into the hospital, Becca calls, but I lie to her. I don’t want her with me when I go through my first treatment. I don’t want anyone here to watch me as I start my battle to live.
I tell her that nothing will be happening until next week and the doctor says I’m curable. I know it’s wrong as I speak, but I do it anyway.
The weird thing about cancer is that everyone starts to mourn your passing before it happens. Hell, I mourn my death too. I don’t want to watch her go through that process. I don’t want anyone to see me deal with the inevitability of it either.
She believes me and says she’ll give me space, but I know to Rebecca that means that she’ll call me every day. I’ll lie then too.
Bruno is an entirely different issue.
He pounded on my door three times yesterday. Earlier in the day, I went outside and hid my car so he wouldn’t know I was home. I texted him and told him I was going for treatment out of town to give me the best chance of survival. It was a huge lie, but one that was necessary.
“Will anyone be here with you?” the nurse asks when she checks the machines for what feels like the tenth time in the last hour and my newly installed PICC line so I won’t have to feel like a pincushion.
“No.”
She faces away from me slightly and tries to hide her sadness. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” I reply and close my eyes. I don’t even want to deal with her or explain myself.
I don’t want anyone near me. The thought of having to talk to someone and be cordial would be enough to push me over the edge. Plus, my mother’s words keep replaying in my head—don’t rely on anyone.
I’m not giving up, but I need to find my strength and deal with the reality before I invite others to join me.
My phone rings, and I know exactly who it is from the ringtone. I sigh. “Hey, Bec.”
“How are you?” she asks somberly.
“I’m great. Just sitting down to have lunch and read a little.” I don’t feel guilty as I lie to her.
“Want me to come over?”
“No. I’m fine here by myself. I need to be alone a little.” I cover the phone with my hand to muffle the sounds of the machine as it drains my blood, just to stave off her visit and concern.
She sniffles into the phone and I grimace. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“Don’t cry, babe. I’m really fine. I’m going to read and go to sleep early. I need to gather my strength for the hospital next week.” The statement earns me a shitty look from the nurse.
“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow, then. But if you need anything, you call me.”
“Yeah, but I have a million things to do so don’t panic if I don’t pick up. Okay?”
“Yeah. Love you, Cal.”
“Love you too.” I hit disconnect before she can reply.
The nurse shakes her head and mutters something before she walks out of the room, completely disgusted with me. I’m through explaining shit to people. I don’t have to. This is my life, and right now, I just want to be alone. No one has the right to judge me unless they’ve walked in my shoes.
The machines beep nonstop and I watch them, waiting for something to go horribly wrong. I must’ve drifted off because Nurse Bitchface wakes me.
“It’s over,” she tells me and touches me lightly on the shoulder, faking caring because I saw the real her earlier.
“That’s it?” I ask and rub my eyes.
“Yes. We’ll remove the IV in a moment.”
I already feel like a pincushion, but I know it’s only going to get worse.
“We’re going start the first round of chemo before we release you.”
Did she want me to clap or thank her? I definitely won’t. I should respond, but I ignore her.
Silent tears stream down my face and I stare out the window. It’s horrible to lie there helplessly and watch life continue. It reminds me that even after you’re gone, everything moves on.
While waiting for chemotherapy, I doze off out of boredom and exhaustion. I wake to fifteen missed text messages—ten of them from Rebecca and five from Bruno.
Going to the settings on my phone, I turn off the ability for them to see that I’ve read the messages before I dare to open them.
Bruno: I know you’re away, but how are you?
Bruno: Callie, please let me know you’re okay.
Bruno: I’m worried.
Bruno: If you don’t reply, I’ll call Rebecca
Bruno: Callie?
Fuck. The last thing I want is for him to call Rebecca. He’ll know I lied. I’m sure she won’t be quick enough to put two and two together and cover for me either.
A new nurse, thank God, walks in with an IV bag. “Good afternoon,” she says in a chipper and annoying voice, which grates on my nerves.
“Hi,” I respond and frantically start to reply to Bruno.
Me: I’m fine. I was sleeping.
“I’m going to grab you something to eat before we start your treatment.”
“Won’t I get sick if I eat?”
“You’re probably going to feel sick afterward, but it’s different for everyone. It’s important that you get your nutrition now. I’ll leave it in here and you can snack on it during too. But it’s important that you eat.”
I wrinkle my nose when I think about hospital food. “I can’t eat the food here.”
She laughs and pats my hand, knowing exactly what I mean. “I know it’s not the best, but who can mess up toast?”
“Hospitals, I’m sure,” I mutter under my breath and roll my eyes.
“Let me go get it for you,” she offers and places the IV bag on the hook before walking out.
I take the time to finish my message to Bruno and hopefully ease his anxiety and get him to leave me alone for a while.
Me: I’ll be going through treatment and won’t be able to talk much.
Will he believe that? I need to remember that he has been through this with his sister and won’t be so easy to fool.
Bruno: I’m calling bullshit.
Me: Bruno, I need some space.
I figure he’ll think I’m lying. I mean, I am, but I don’t want anyone to know—even him.
Bruno: It’s the last thing you need.
Me: Don’t tell me what I need.
I’m so angry my hands start to shake. Who the fuck does he think he is? Seriously. I fucked him. I didn’t marry hi
m, and he has no say in my life.
The nurse walks into the room with the tray of goodness in her hands, and I stash my phone under the blanket. “Here we go. It smells so good.” She pretends to smell the lid and makes a “Mmm” sound.
She’s entirely too happy and a complete liar. “Great.”
Bruno: I’ve been through this. Are you really out of town?
I look around the room, wondering if he has someone watching me. How did he even think to ask such a question?
Me: I’m not in town. I think it’s best if we don’t talk anymore. I don’t have time to deal with you. Please leave me alone.
“All righty.” She pulls the cover off, speaking in a bubbly voice as she exposes the dry, burned toast. “Doesn’t that look good?”
I glance down and wince when I see the other stuff on the plate. The hash browns are gray and limp and the eggs are powdered, and again, the toast looks like a cracker. “Yeah.”
“Let me connect you,” she says, grabbing the IV line and hooking it up next to my bed. “You can eat while you start treatment.” There’s no way I can eat. Food is the last thing on my mind.
I’m not even thinking about death anymore. Only Bruno. He’s on my mind a lot, more than I’d like to admit. At a different time in my life, we could’ve worked, been something amazing and life-changing. I also would’ve been perfectly content being his booty call from time to time. But now that’s all impossible. I’m so lost in thought that I missed her hooking the IV up to my PICC line and I startle.
Bruno: Don’t do that.
I grimace reading his reply.
“Everything okay?” she asks, peering across the bed at my phone.
“Yeah,” I lie and turn my screen off to avoid her nosy gaze. “Just fine.”
She adjusts the drip, checks the machines, and starts toward the door. “If you need anything or if you get sick, remember to hit this button. I know it’s your first time going through this and you’re probably scared and unsure, but don’t hesitate to press it anytime.”
“I promise.” I smile, hoping to reassure her enough that she’ll leave.
“Do you need anything else before I go?”
“Nothing.” Just for you to leave.
“Okay.” She gives me a half smile before disappearing into the hallway.
I should reply to Bruno, but I know it would just turn into a fight. He’d argue and I’d eventually cave because I’m a pussy. So I turn off my phone and close my eyes.
* * *
My mouth feels strange and tastes worse as I walk into my apartment after the taxi drops me off. When I pour myself a glass of Pepsi, my stomach starts to churn. I gulp it down quickly, hoping to stave off any nausea. I instantly realize my mistake and run toward the bathroom as the soda starts to climb up my throat.
I quickly lift the lid, everything inside me spilling into the toilet—the dry toast, the shitty hash browns I tried against my better judgment, and the Pepsi.
My knees crumple and I hug the bowl as I’m powerless to stop it. As I hold on to the seat, my skin pebbles with sweat and I feel flush. Heat consumes me. I hug the seat tighter, resting my head on the cool plastic and keeping my mouth facing the bowl just in case something else decides to come out.
I moan and cry, cursing everything and everyone in my life, but I’m at fault. The sickness wasn’t from the chemo; I know it’s too soon for it to have this effect on me.
I literally made myself sick from fear.
In my haste to get to the toilet, I didn’t hold my hair back, and now, I have puke on the tips. I start to think about every side effect that I could possibly have once I get further along in the chemo treatments. Vomiting, I’ve already experienced, but there are more—mouth sores, weakness, loss of balance, hair loss, and shit I couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Even though there’s nothing left in my stomach, I still feel sick and I don’t dare move. I just sit there and cry softly.
There’s a pounding on my front door, and I close my eyes to try to block it out. “Go away,” I whisper and pray they do as I ask. “Please just leave me alone.”
“Callie.” The voice is faint, but I know it’s him. Fuck. Just stay here and don’t make a sound and he’ll leave.
He pounds five more times before there’s silence again. Still scared to leave the bathroom, I push myself off the seat and lie down on the cold tile floor. It feels amazing against my skin and I close my eyes, thinking about anything but the nausea that consumes me.
Even though I want to live, I feel like death would be a better option. I don’t know if I can take this over and over again. It doesn’t help that I know I’ll pile on more side effects with each treatment. I mean, I could get lucky and get nothing else besides the nausea, but this had been bad enough.
My phone goes berserk in the kitchen, but I can’t get to it. My eyes are too heavy for me to keep open, so I close them and give in to my exhaustion.
Just as I start to drift off, the bathroom door creaks and my eyes fly open. “What the fuck?” Bruno growls and takes a step inside the tiny guest bathroom, filling the space entirely.
I moan and close my eyes again. “Go away.” I try to pull myself up, but my elbows give out. He grabs my arms and stops me before I hit the floor. “Jesus, Cal.”
“Just leave,” I tell him and close my eyes.
He kneels behind me, resting his knees at my sides and keeping me upright. “I’m not going anywhere,” he tells me, winding my hair around his hand and out of my face. “You’re a mess. Why isn’t Rebecca here?” He’s angry with me; I can hear it in his voice.
All I can do is moan. I don’t have the strength for a conversation, let alone a lie. There isn’t a day in my life I remember feeling this horrible. The chemo may be working through my system and killing everything in sight, but I need to make sure I do everything in my power not to end up on the floor again, puking my guts out.
He leans forward and touches my forehead with his palm. “What happened? You’re sick.”
“Fuck,” I whisper and relax against the toilet.
His knees tighten at my side, and he reaches behind him into his back pocket. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Stop,” I groan. “I had chemo. I’m not dying.”
“Callie,” he whispers, and I can hear the pain in his voice. “By yourself?”
I want my bed more than anything, but I don’t have the strength to make it there on my own. “I just need sleep.”
“You sleep,” he commands and lifts me off the floor, cradling me in his strong, safe arms. “We’ll talk when you wake up.”
I would protest if I had the energy, but I don’t, and Bruno wouldn’t listen either. My head rests against his chest, flopping slightly as he walks. I listen to the strong, steady beat of his heart and seal my eyes shut, closing off everything else around me. My body’s limp, but he carries me easily and walks gently, trying not to jostle me too much.
Bruno’s tender and it’s the complete opposite of how I’d always