by Heidi Lewis
He could tell she was ill, very, very ill. She had long brown hair, but he could tell it was a wig. Her skin was like porcelain, although a slight tinge of yellow tainted its flawlessness. She was petite – actually quite fragile and delicate and she wore a flowing, colourful maxi-dress as if declaring that she was still alive, despite her illness;
“She looks like an absolute goddess.”
He watched as they left the waiting room, and even from behind he was captured by her beauty. His mother was still silent. He turned and looked at her, forcing a reassuring smile. She responded by placing her hand on his. And so they sat, side by side, hand on hand, still, in utter silence.
“Jack?” Dr O Rourke called out.
Jack stood to attention, his mom followed suit. This was it, the moment he had been waiting for, it all leads up to this. Good or bad, cured or terminal, there was no running away from this. Reluctantly, they entered the room. As he heard the door close behind him, he could not help but feel like the door was somehow closing on his life.
“Please take a seat,” said Dr O’ Rourke, gesturing towards the two chairs on the opposite side of this desk. Jack froze for a moment, staring blankly at the seats, knowing that they were the very same chairs that the previous patients had been sitting on when they received the bad news. Knowing there was no way out of it, he sat down alongside his mom.
He could feel the thud of his heart, sweat glistened upon his forehead, and a lump formed in his throat. In that moment, before Dr O’ Rouke said a word, Jack knew the answer. It was bad news. How could it be anything else? He had been growing weaker and weaker by the day, pain manifesting itself in different parts of his body. He had been fooling himself, but now the game was over.
“It’s not good news Jack, I’m afraid.”
Tears welled up, and he refused to make eye contact with his mother, knowing that it would send them both into distraught weeping, like that of the earlier patients. The shock set in. Jack struggled for breath, his palms became sweaty, and the room began to spin. He gasped for air like a drowning man. Eventually, he was able to force out the question he so desperately needed an answer to:
“How long?”
“Well, let’s not talk about that now Jack. There are further options and some clinical trials you may be suitable for.”
This was life or death, not just any life or death - this was his life, and his death they were discussing calmly. A sudden sense of anger surged through his veins:
“How goddamn long, I asked?”
His mother remained completely silent and still. She stared blankly as if she was frozen in time.
“Weeks Jack. More than likely just weeks,” replied Dr O’ Rourke.
The words were inconceivable. Suddenly, loud sobs filled the room as both he and his mother cried inconsolably. This was the worst possible news. Rising to his feet, he leaned down towards his mother, and wrapping his arms around her he whispered,
“It’s okay Mom. It’s okay.”
Of course, it was not okay. How could it be? At twenty-seven he had been given a few weeks left to live – a death sentence. All he wanted to do was to get out of that room, out of the hospital, to get home and feel safe in the familiarity of their home.
He placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder, where she sat still sobbing loudly.
“I just want to get out of here Doc,” he stated, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“I understand. I can give you a call tomorrow to go through more details,” replied Dr O’ Rourke. They made their way out of the room as the doctor held the door open.
“I am so sorry Jack,” he heard as they passed.
***
Slowly they walked through the waiting room, down the hospital corridor and outside towards the car. Knowing his mother was in no fit state to drive, he helped her into the passenger seat and took the keys from her hand.
“I should be the one supporting you Jack. I just can’t believe this is happening, I just …..”
“It’s okay Mom, honest, let’s go home.”
Once home, neither could remember the journey. Jack helped his mother to settle on the sofa, and they both just sat there with red, bleary eyes from crying.
“Hey guys, how did it go?” his Dad called from the kitchen.
When no reply came, he rounded the corner into the living room. Their eyes said it all.
“Weeks Dad, I’ve just got weeks.” As Jack heard his voice saying those awful words, the reality finally sank in, and he crumbled to the floor, head in hands, wailing like an abandoned child…there was no coming back from this. It was irrefutable.
Chapter Five
It had been three days since Maria’s diagnosis. The reality of it all had still not sunk in. Her father refused to talk about the situation, her mother’s days were spent secretly sobbing, but Maria felt nothing. The initial wrenches of anger, despair and frustration had abandoned her and made way for an emptiness she could never have imagined.
Her days were spent doing mundane things like watching TV, checking her Facebook and staring out the window, blankly. Sometimes, just for an instant, she felt fine and then without warning, a sense of panic would erupt from deep within her, sending her body into convulsions, and the violent sobbing would begin. She only allowed this to happen when she was alone.
Mornings were the worst. She would wake and enjoy those fleetingly blissful seconds of early morning drowsiness before she remembered that she was terminally ill. Following those brief few seconds, reality would hit, harder than ever. The facts of her diagnosis dissolving any trace of bliss or happiness. She had been handed a death sentence and now it was just a waiting game.
Sitting up on the side of her bed, Maria took some deep breaths. Looking around her room, it was hard to believe that she would soon be gone and the items she was so attached to, would return to being mere objects, unloved and unappreciated. She decided there and then to give away as many of her belongings as possible: clothes, ornaments, cds, anything that she no longer needed would be given to appropriate people, people who would appreciate them as much as she did.
As she walked towards her desk, a familiar sense of light-headedness nearly threw her off balance. She sat down on the swivel chair and reached into the drawer for a notepad and pen.
Impassively, she made list after list of her most prized processions, and alongside each possession was a space to write in the name of the potential recipient. Five pages were soon filled and Maria began the task of matching up the items with the names of those whom she felt would benefit and appreciate the items the most. Although it was an unpleasant task that she would not wish on anyone, it provided her with some relief, it quelled her anxiety and gave her something to focus on. It felt good to feel busy again.
Engrossed in her DIY-will, she failed to notice the hours passing by until a knock on the door caused her to jump:
“It’s me, Honey. Can I come in?” her mother’s voice sounded dreary and downcast.
“Sure, just give me a second,” Maria replied, whilst hastily stuffing the notepad and pen back into the top drawer of her desk.
Proceeding to the bedroom door, she opened it to find her mom standing there, doing her best to force a smile. Maria could not remember seeing her mother look so distraught. It was a shock she did not need.
“Did you sleep?” Maria asked.
Hesitantly, she said, “I don’t think so.”
Tears began to well up in her mother’s eyes and, before she knew it, Maria felt a lump rise in her own throat. Making their way to the edge of the bed, they sat side by side, huddled in their pyjamas, sobbing.
“You need to tell your sister. I can do it if you prefer.”
“No mom, I’ll tell her. I think she needs to hear it from me.”
The thought of telling her sister, Kathleen, that she had just weeks to live was horrendous. Although she had called Maria shortly after her PET scan results, she had avoided telling her the truth and simply stated that mor
e tests were needed. She hated lying to his sister but in some way, she felt as if she was protecting her.”
How am I supposed to tell my sister I’m a dead woman walking? What about the kids, my little nephews? Oh my god, they won’t remember me, they’re too young.”
Panic rose once again inside, causing her to vomit into the bin beside her bed. Crying and wiping the residue of vomit from her mouth, she said aloud:
“Nobody should ever have to do this!”
In a moment of madness, she grabbed her mobile phone from the bedside table and hit the message icon. With shaking hands, she typed:
“It was bad news. The chemo did not work, I have only weeks left to live.”
Crying and shaking hysterically, she hit the send button. That was it, there was no going back. It was harsh and cold – just like the truth of her diagnosis. The phone vibrated within seconds, an incoming call from Kathleen flashed across the screen. Curling up in a ball, Maria cried and cried and cried while watching the phone ring and ring and ring.
Later that day, the home care nurse arrived to administer her medication. Lying on the sofa, Maria drifted in and out of consciousness, while the nurse prodded and poked at her with various pieces of equipment. Her parents were in the kitchen making lunch so it was just the nurse and herself in the living room.
“This is the perfect opportunity,” Maria thought.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of my folks, but I have been in quite a lot of pain the past day or two - and I mean a lot of pain.”
Surprisingly, the nurse seemed rather taken back by the sudden revelation.
“Oh, I see. On a scale of one to ten how bad is the pain?”
“It’s a nine.” Maria replied.
“Oh Honey, you mean it’s a ten, but you’re trying to save it?”
“Yea, you got me! Just don’t say anything to my…”
“My lips are sealed,.” said the nurse kindly, while pretending to zip-lock her lips shut.
“But Honey, you need to tell me or your parents when you are in a lot of pain. There are many different pain-relieving options so there is no need for you to be in pain, at any stage over the next….”
An awkward silence followed the unfinished sentence. The nurse looked at Maria, that awful look Maria hated. It was the same look people used at funerals when sympathising with those who were grieving. Lately, she felt people where mourning, before she was even dead.
The nurse finished and headed into the kitchen, while Maria lay on the sofa, hardly conscious. Waking sometime later, she was surprised to hear the nurse’s voice in the kitchen. Although groggy from all medication, she could just about make out what was being said:
“It’s a tough choice, but in my opinion, she would get more appropriate care in a hospice. She’s in so much pain, pain which she is trying desperately to hide so that she can spare you the anxiety. It is difficult for us to monitor her closely enough on our daily visits. Plus it’s not fair on her or you guys.”
Maria’s eyes widened. Had she heard correctly? Where her parents and the nurse conspiring behind her back to abandon her in a hospice? Anger boiled up inside her, but the sedating effects of the powerful painkillers snatched the anger away and she drifted into oblivion again.
“Honey? Honey?” Maria recognised the familiar voice, but she could not seem to put a face to the sound. She felt tired. So, so tired. Eventually, her eyes opened and she saw her parents hovering over her. Mustering all the strength she could, she sat upright on the sofa and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“You’ve been sleeping all day”
“I know I’m just so tired.”
“The nurse said that it’s hard to regulate your pain medications here. That’s why you’ve been experiencing pain and feeling so tired. Until they get the correct dosage, you’ll be quiet sleepy.”
“This is not what I want. I don’t want to spend my final weeks sleeping or so numb that I am unable to feel, unable to laugh, unable to spend time with my loved ones. If that’s the case, I might as well just die right now! I can’t let death come and take me so easily. I have to fight back.”
Maria decided there and then that she had to have some measure of control over the time that remained. Sure, she had only weeks to live but that’s exactly what she intended to do –live! Not sleep all day every day.
She and her parents talked into the early hours of the morning, discussing the pros and cons of hospice care, and they talked openly about her wishes for her final weeks. They discussed things that they had never expected to have to discuss.
After many tears and much deliberation, they all agreed. If Maria was to get the most out of her few weeks, she would need to have the best care and the only place that could be found was in the hospice.
Chapter Six
It had been three days since Jack had received the results of his PET scan. Reality had still not sunk in. His father was in complete denial, and his mom sobbed all day, every day. But Jack felt completely numb. None of them had dared to tell Johnny about Jack’s terminal diagnosis. Jack needed to come to terms with it himself before he could explain it to Johnny properly.
However, today Jack knew that the time had come to tell his brother he was dying. The task at hand seemed impossible. There was no right way to do this. No handbook that he could refer to. How do you tell your sixteen-year-old brother that you’re dying? Could Jack suppress his sorrow and fear for the sake of Johnny? There was never going to be a good time, so it simply had to be done today.
Sitting on the sofa, Jack stared out the window. He could see out over the bay, where the water seemed calmer than usual for this time of the year. Seagulls flew in random directions, enjoying the stillness of the air, calling to each other as they dipped and glided. It was 4 pm. His parents had left the house to run some errands at Jack’s request because they instinctively knew his reasons for wanting them to vacate the house. Johnny would be home any minute and Jack would deliver the devastating news.
“How am I going to do this? What will I say? I can’t believe I’m about to tell my baby that I’m dying. This is so unfair! What did I ever do to deserve this? I’m a good guy. I’ve never hurt anyone. I’ve always tried to do what’s right. Why am I being punished? Why are my family being punished?”
The sound of the front door closing shook him from his thoughts.
“Is that you Johnny?”
“Yea, who’d you think it was? The frikin ghost-busters?”
Jack couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He loved Johnny’s sense of humour.
“Just shut up and get in here. I need to talk to you about something.”
Johnny stood by the door wearing his basketball gear with the remnants of sweat and mud on his forehead.
“How did basketball practise go?”
“Yea good!” Johnny replied curtly as if knowing that something serious was about to go down.
Jack patted the seat alongside him and gestured for Jack to take a seat. Nervousness engulfed Jack’s body. His heart pounded, a lump lodged midway in his throat and his breathing became laboured. Sitting there looking at his brother, he noticed how youthful he looked and, at that moment, Johnny looked younger than his sixteen years and he appeared to have the innocence of a child.
“Remember how I went to visit the consultant the other day?”
“Yea,” Johnny replied in a very matter of fact tone.
“Well, it wasn’t good news.”
Before he could finish Johnny interrupted:
“Well, I figured that already. Do you have to get more chemo?”
Jack’s heart sank as he saw the optimism and hope in Johnny’s young eyes. The lump that was stuck midway in his throat now pushed upwards and he could feel the tears brimming up in his eyes. Unable to control them, he felt the first tear spill out and he knew this was it. The moment he would tell his brother that he had just weeks to live.
“No Johnny, there’s no more chemo. I’m dying. A little tim
e is all I have now.”
Tears flowed freely down his face as Johnny sat there in silence. Just shaking his head as if unable to comprehend the sudden news. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Johnny asked:
“Is there nothing they can do?”
“No, I’m so sorry. It’s spreading everywhere. I’m a ticking time bomb.”
Nothing more was said and for the next few minutes, they sat and shed silent tears. Ironically, at that moment the strength of their brotherly bond became stronger than ever.
Lying in bed that night, the horrible events of the day replayed like an old cinema reel looping the same film sequence over and over again. Jack was unable to shake off the image of his brother’s face when he had heard the news. Lying there, hands behind his head, staring into the darkness, images of his loved ones haunted him. He felt like a burden to his family and he blamed himself for being so ill. He had been so stupid trying to pretend that he was feeling better the past few weeks. He knew that he had been trying to fool himself into believing that there was a chance his test results would be good, but he could not deny he was getting weaker as each day passed.
Sleep did not come easy that night. Images of his family’s grieving faces haunted him and he was afraid to fall asleep for fear he would not wake up again. It was now he needed his faith more than ever, but he was too angry to even consider talking to God, never mind praying.
After tossing and turning all night he was relieved to see the first glimpse of the sunrise through the bedroom window. Rising from his bed, he made his way to the window seat from where he could see right out over the harbour. Somehow, the slow rise of the morning sun cleared the fogginess from his mind and clarity returned once again. He knew that he did not want to live his final weeks in utter sadness, a burden to this family and in constant pain.
“No! That’s not how it’s going to be! I want the few weeks I have left to be epic, to be fun and I want to create happy memories for everyone to remember. I’m not going to just lie down and wait for the Grim Reaper to come knocking at my door! I don’t have much time but I’m going to make the best goddamn use of it! I want to do this right if there is a right way to do this!”