Dying Wish

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “The mass behind your eye is stage four cancer.”

  “What does that mean?” Dad asks, interrupting the doctor before he has a chance to finish.

  “It means it’s at the final stage.” He doesn’t need to explain anything else. The word ‘final’ screams everything I need to know.

  Oh.

  “And the other mass?” I ask almost devoid of any emotion. There’s no good way for me to tell you this.

  “Is also stage four.” His voice is heavy. He doesn’t want to deliver this news, but he has to. “We can try to hit the masses with radiation to give you more time . . .”

  “YES!” Mom shouts. “When can we start?”

  “Mrs. Brackman, the radiation may give Alice more time, or it may not.”

  “It doesn’t matter, we’re going to do it,” Mom says. “Start her, and start her now.”

  “How much more time do I have?” I ask feebly. I can feel the tears in my eyes. My breath has almost stopped now, and I’m trembling badly. I reach out and grab Mom’s hand, waiting to hear the number he’s about to give us.

  “Four, maybe five . . .”

  “Years?” Dad interrupts hopeful.

  “I’m sorry, no. Four, maybe five months.”

  I let go of Mom’s hand, my arm dropping beside my body. There’s a loud ringing in my ears, as I blink like crazy, trying to hold the tears back. But my tears are winning. I can’t stop them.

  Oh my God. I’m not going to see my seventeenth birthday. I look to the doctor and stare at him. “How much longer if I have the radiation?”

  “In my professional opinion, with both of the masses in the last stage, I don’t believe it’ll be more than a few extra weeks.” I nod my head absentmindedly. “I’m sorry, Alice.”

  His words are heavy. They’re sitting on my chest, constricting my breathing; choking me.

  I’m going to die.

  And soon.

  Dad jumps out of his seat, and comes to me. He swings my chair around and crouches in front of me. “We’re not going to let it take you from us,” he says with tears streaming down his face. “We’re all going to fight.”

  The words are so heavy in my mind. I can’t get past the fact I’ll be dead within months.

  Mom starts mumbling behind me. She’s talking aloud, but more to herself. “We’re going to get her the treatment,” she says in a low and determined voice. “She’s going to get better. She has to.”

  I look over my shoulder to see Mom ripping her hands through her hair while Dad cradles his head. This is too much for all of us.

  I look around me, and see the devastation in this office. Both my parents are desperately trying to hold on to hope.

  But what is there to hold on to? I’m going to die.

  “No,” I finally say, looking to my parents.

  I can’t be hooked up to machines and getting treatments to gain just a few weeks. What quality of life will I have? I’ll be sick, and I’ll be miserable. And I don’t want my parents to have to see that. They’re going to lose me. I’m going to die many years before them. I don’t have much time left, so why would I want to do it hooked up to machines? I want to make the most of the time I have left, and not be a slave to machines for only a few extra weeks.

  “What?” Mom asks. “No, what?”

  “No treatment,” I say to them.

  Mom’s mouth falls open and Dad grabs onto my hands. “You have to. It might give you a few extra weeks.”

  “At what cost?” I ask.

  “Doesn’t matter about the cost, we’ll get another mortgage.”

  “That’s not what I mean. At what cost to me? At what cost to you? I’m not going to do the treatment because I don’t want to be any sicker than what I’m going to get.”

  “Well, too bad. You are going to get the treatment,” Dad demands in his authoritative voice.

  “Dad.” I grab hold of his hands and squeeze them between mine. I know how much they want to fight for me. I can see it. They’re beside themselves, unwilling to accept the devastating news that they’re going to be burying me soon. But I want to pack as much life as possible in what little time I do have left. “I love you and Mom so much. You’ve always been there for me, encouraged me, and told me I can do anything. All you’ve ever done is believe in me.”

  Dad’s tears intensify, and Mom clutches her chest while her own tears fall down her face. I move so I’m between the two of them, our hands are clasped together, entwined so tightly. “I’ll get a court order and make you have the treatment,” Mom whispers angrily through her heavy sobs.

  God, I love them so much. “We all know, by the time it gets to court, I won’t be here anymore.” Tears escape my eyes, but I need to be courageous.

  I’ve been given an expiration date on my life, and I need to face it. So do my parents.

  Mom’s crying increases to the point where she’s almost hyperventilating. Dad maneuvers one hand out of our hold, and swings it over Mom’s shoulders. “You have to,” he says weakly.

  I’ve made a million decisions that have meant nothing, but this one, I’m going to make sure means something . . . in my life and in my death. “I don’t want to regret missing out on anything. And I don’t want you to know I’ve regretted it. So please, let me not have the treatment, and let me live what time I have left.”

  The tears increase all around. Including mine.

  An indefinite amount of time passes; I can only measure the moments in tears shed. A lot of them. Heavy, fat tears are coming from everywhere in the office. Even when I sneak a look sideways at Doctor Wesley, I can see him wipe at his face.

  “Alice,” he says, and we all pay attention.

  “Yes,” I swing around, sit back down and look at him.

  “You’re a courageous young lady.” I smile, though I’m not doing this to be courageous. I’m doing this for my own selfish reasons. “When the pain gets to be too much, I’ll be able to prescribe morphine to help you manage it.”

  Pain. Ugh, not a word I’m fond of. But if I can dance on pointe, have my toes bleed, my calves killing me, and my body hurting from ballet, then I can deal with this.

  “Thank you,” I say knowing his words are meant to ease the destruction.

  Mom and Dad calm to a point where they can now talk to Doctor Wesley without erupting into more tears. He gives them some advice on how to manage my pain. Apparently, everything I’ve gone through so far is only going to intensify and get much worse for me. There’ll come a time where the pins and needles in my legs will get so bad I may even lose mobility in them. I’ll likely have more seizures, and I may even lose my eye sight.

  More is said, but I switch off. I don’t want to know. I just want to live the rest of my days in bliss, to feel the love from those around me, and for them to know how much I love them.

  Mom. Dad. Becky and Elijah. I want them to have not one doubt in their minds. I want them to know I love them more than my own life.

  “Come on, sweetheart. We’re going home,” Mom says as she stands from her chair. When I stand, Mom wraps me in her trembling arms and walks out of the doctor’s office with me.

  As we walk through the waiting room, there’s an older woman sitting on her own. Her eyes are red rimmed and she’s clutching at a few tissues.

  How heartbreaking, to be here alone. To have no one with her when she’s delivered news that holds so much force. I break away from Mom and head straight to her. She looks at me from beneath her tear soaked lashes and gasps when she assesses my family. “It’s okay,” I say to her. “No matter what, it’s going to be okay.”

  She bursts into tears and hugs me. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. We both know what I mean.

  I stand to leave, walking out of the Doctor’s office with my parents by my side.

  When we get home, the first thing Dad did was get on the computer to look up the cancers I have. If it makes him happy doing that, then I’m okay with it. I figure they’ll be doing a lot of re
search so they know in their heart they did everything they could to save me.

  But I can’t be saved. I caught some of the conversation they were having with Doctor Wesley, and he said he got a second and third opinion on the cancers to make sure he was giving us the right information.

  “Do you want to lie down?” Mom asks as Dad disappears into the office.

  “I’m not tired.” We both stand in the kitchen and I look out back to our old red maple tree. The swing beckons me; I can see it as a slight wind makes it move gently.

  “You have to rest,” Mom says.

  “I might go sit outside for a little while.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. If you need anything, call me.”

  “I will.” I offer her a weak smile before leaving the kitchen and heading outside. I go directly to the swing and sit on it. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I bring up Becky’s number. She’s waiting for me to call her and tell her what’s happening. But this isn’t something I can say over the phone.

  Instead, I dial her number and wait for her to pick up. “Alley-cat,” she says as soon as she answers.

  Tears spring to my eyes and I want to break down and tell her, but I can’t. She has to hear it from me face to face. “Can you come over?” I can hear the dread in my voice, so I’m sure she can hear it too.

  “Oh my God.” She breathes. “What is it?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here. I’ll call Elijah and ask him to pick you up.”

  “Alice?” there’s desperation in her voice.

  “Just get here when you can.” I hang up before she can say anything else. The tears are threatening, but I need to be courageous and keep it together.

  Next I bring Elijah’s number up and dial it. “Hey, princess,” he says. “How did it go?”

  That damn lump in my throat gets bigger and I’m struggling to keep the tears at bay. They’re brimming and about to fall while my chest tightens with hurt. “Can you pick Becky up and get here soon, please?”

  “Alice . . .” I hear the pain in his voice.

  “Can you please do it?” I successfully keep my voice sturdy, but my heart is hurting and the tears are now falling.

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” I hang up before he begs me to tell him over the phone. I know I won’t be strong enough and I’ll break down.

  I sit on the swing and push myself slightly. Left alone with only my thoughts, my head is jumbled with all kinds of things. Doctor Wesley’s words keep playing around in my mind. Untreatable. Even though I should be terrified, I’m strangely not. I’m not sure if it’s hit me yet, or if I’ve simply already accepted my destiny.

  I’m going to die. It’s inevitable. Hell, we’re all going to die at some stage. I was hoping I’d be old, really old. But as it turns out, the universe has other plans for me.

  I hear the back door open, and Elijah and Becky run down toward where I’m sitting. The moment they’re within feet of me, Elijah launches himself at me and lifts me up off the swing. He smashes me to his body and holds me tightly. Becky joins in the hug, and we extend our arms to include her.

  The tears are streaming down my face, my throat has almost closed with sorrow. “It’s cancer,” I say as I keep hugging my best friend and my boyfriend.

  I hear a gasp from Elijah, and Becky’s heavy sobs.

  We stay entangled for a long time. When my tears finally slow, and I feel their shoulders relax I pull away and go to sit on the swing again.

  Becky and Elijah sit on the ground under the tree and watch me as I keep my gaze down to the few sprigs of grass pushing up through the dirt. “What’s the next step?” Becky finally asks.

  This is the hard part. I need to tell them there is no next step.

  “Princess,” Elijah says urging me to speak.

  I can’t look at them. I just can’t. “Um . . .” God, this is so hard. I’m struggling with it all.

  “Alley-cat?” Becky pleads.

  Closing my eyes, I gather all the strength I can. When I open them again, I look at Becky and Elijah. Elijah’s handsome face drops, and Becky’s beautiful features soften while her eyes fill with tears again. I shake my head and try in vain to smile. “There’s isn’t anything they can do.”

  They both look at me. Eyes staring blankly, mouths open, their shoulders shaking.

  “What do you mean?” Becky’s face drains of all color. “What do you mean?” She springs to her feet.

  “Alice?” Elijah whispers. He too jumps to his feet and comes straight to me. “Wh-what are you saying, princess?”

  Pursing my lips together into a thin line, my eyes water as my breath hitches in my throat. Butterflies go crazy in my stomach as my body begins to tremble. “I don’t have long left.”

  Becky falls to her knees and buries her head in her hands. Her tears are silent. “You can’t die. You’re my best friend. The only person who’s ever been there for me no matter what. You’re my sister, my fucking sister.”

  Her words cut through my heart. “I know,” I cry in response. “I know. You’re my best friend too.”

  “Tell me this is some kind of sick joke,” Elijah mumbles while he grabs onto my shoulders almost painfully.

  I let out a humorless chuckle and shake my head. “Sorry, it’s not.”

  His hands slowly slide off my shoulders and down my arms. He looks down, and the fear in his face screams at me. He’s scared for me. “Alice,” he whispers. His entire body slumps as his hands rest on my hips. “It can’t be the end. We’ve only just found each other. We’re supposed to go through life together. We’re supposed to do stupid things together, fight, get back together, have good times and bad. You can’t d . . .” he stops himself from saying the word. “You can’t leave me.”

  I run my hand tenderly down his cheek, and lift his face to look me in the eyes. There’s no denying he’s beyond distraught. If the tears flowing down his cheeks aren’t a giveaway, the tension filling his face is.

  I look over to Becky whose face is still buried in her hands. “Having to tell you this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

  Becky looks up at me. Her entire face is blotchy and red; she’s barely coping. “I can’t lose you,” she says. I hold my hand out to her, and she stands to walk over. But I lightly push Elijah back, link my hand with his and we both reach for Becky. The three of us sit beneath the tree.

  The sun is beating down on us, but there’s a soft wind dancing around us. I need to tell them what I want, and how I want to live the last of my numbered days.

  We sit, all in a circle, our knees touching each other. “I know this is hard,” I start off saying. “But you have to know everything.”

  Becky wipes her tears and sniffles. Elijah straightens his shoulders and plasters a fake smile on his face. “What do you want to tell us?” he asks as he places a hand on Becky’s thigh, and one on mine.

  Any normal sixteen-year-old girl might be jealous of that small touch. But this situation is far from normal. And I can see, he’s holding her to give her strength, not to hit on her. They’re going to need each other when I die, they’re going to have to lean on one another to get through it, because once I get too sick, I won’t be able to do anything for them.

  “I have maybe four or five months to live. The doctor offered us radiation therapy which could increase my life by maybe a few weeks . . .”

  “Excellent. When do you start?” Becky asks.

  “I refused it.”

  “What? Why?” Elijah’s grip on me tightens, but his words are full of shock and hurt.

  I give them both a smirk; a sad, pain-filled smirk. “Because I don’t want to be sick for the whole time. The doctor said he can give me morphine when the pain gets too bad. He also said I may end up losing feeling in my legs and not be able to walk. I may lose my sight, and a range of other nasty things. And I may end up having more seizures.”

  Becky’s tears have now stopped and she lifts her chin and stra
ightens her back. “What do we have to do if you have a seizure? We need to know what to look for.” She points to Elijah who’s nodding his head, and then back to herself.

  “It may be best if . . .” You stop coming around so much. Distance yourself because I won’t make it to Christmas.

  “What?” Elijah says in defiance.

  Becky places her hand over Elijah’s on her lap and slightly squeezes it. He looks down at where they’re linked, then back to me. “She wants us to make a break from her.” Damn her and the fact she knows me so well. “But there’s no way in this fucking lifetime that I’m going to walk away. She has another fucking thing coming if she thinks I’m not going to be here, every day; every hour; every minute.”

  Elijah gasps and he blinks at me. I can see his labored breathing because his shoulders are moving frantically as is his chest. “You can’t keep us away,” he says, looking into my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I adore these two, but when it gets hard and I’m unable to walk or even be awake for long periods of time I don’t want them to see me like that. “You have to make me a promise,” I say.

  “What?” Becky asks. And they both look at me, waiting for me to say what it is I’m asking of them.

  “If I get weak, and if I lose my sight and ability to walk, you both have to promise me that you won’t come here.”

  “No way!” Elijah almost shouts, but pulls his anger back before he lets me see it. “You can’t ask us to stay away.”

  “No . . . not now. But if I get really sick.”

  “No,” Becky says. She’s shaking her head and her mouth is turned down. “No! We can’t make that promise to you.”

  “I’m sorry, princess, but there’s no way we can agree to that.” Elijah turns to Becky and slings his arm around her shoulders. United they stand. United we stay.

  “Okay,” I whisper. If they want to spend as much time with me as possible, I can’t deny them that.

  Elijah clears his throat, then stands. “Excuse me,” he heads inside and leaves Becky and me alone.

  “Can you do something for me?” I ask Becky who’s now moved and is sitting beside me.