Always and Forever (9 page)

“Go on.” He was almost to the door when she called him back. “I—uh—forgot to ask … How’s Mom?”

“She’s pretty rung out.”

Guilt pricked at Melissa’s conscience. “I said some things to her last night I didn’t mean. I’m so sorry. You’ll tell her I’m sorry, won’t you?”

“You can tell her. She’s planning on coming by during her lunch hour.”

“I really am sorry, Michael.”

He nodded, his blue eyes holding hers. “We’re all sorry, Melissa. Everything about this business stinks. But we’re family, and we’ll make it through.”

Once Michael left, Jory sighed. “Why do I always act like such a fool in front of him?”

Melissa picked up a lock of hair from the bed and it fell through her fingers.
Lucky Jory
. Nothing more heavy to think about than acting silly in front of a guy she wants to impress. She asked, “Could you help me
clean this up before you go? I don’t want them to bring me back to a hairy bed.”

Neither of them spoke as they scooped up the wads of hair and threw them into the wastepaper basket. Together they brushed off the mattress until no wayward strands could be found on the clean white sheets. When they hugged each other goodbye, Melissa sensed a tension between them. Jory could walk out the door. Melissa could not. Jory had school and friends and everyday life to return to. Melissa had chemotherapy to face. She ran her fingers through her cropped hair and settled against her pillows to wait for the technicians.

The chemo room wasn’t anything like Melissa expected. It was painted buttercup yellow, with bold graphic prints on the walls and gray carpeting. There were beige contour chairs that looked to be quite expensive. The only thing that belied the serene comfort of the room was the metal IV stand beside each chair.

“Hi, Melissa,” a nurse said cheerfully. “I’m DeeDee Thomas, and I’ll be administering your medication.”

Feeling more terrified than sociable, Melissa forced herself to acknowledge the nurse’s chatter while DeeDee inserted a needlelike contraption of plastic tubing and a rubber plug into a vein in her arm. “This is a heparin lock,” DeeDee explained. “Not very glamorous-looking, but you’ll wear it for the next few days. That way, we have access to your blood supply and can administer your chemo regime without having to jab you so often.”

Melissa wondered if she was supposed to feel grateful. She lay back in the chair and DeeDee hung a
bag of liquid on the IV stand next to her bed. “Relax,” the nurse said. “This will take about an hour.”

An hour!
Melissa saw her days dripping away through snaking lines of flexible tubing. “I feel sick to my stomach,” she said.

DeeDee patted her shoulder and handed her a small bowl. “In case you need to vomit,” she told her. Her eyes were kind, but they didn’t even attempt to hide the truth from Melissa.

“It’s going to be bad, isn’t it?”

“What seems bad now is ultimately for your good. I’ll be here for you if you need me.”

Melissa swallowed against her own bile and swore to hold back as long as she could. She watched the fluid trickle from the inverted bottle and down the tubing into her arm. She watched as it began its long, steady journey into the microscopic battleground in her body.

That evening Melissa was too sick to eat dinner, too sick to receive visitors. Her mother held her through it all, but Michael had to leave because he couldn’t stand to see her hurting. After her mother left, Melissa fell into a fitful sleep, awakening when she had to vomit again.

In the stillness of her room she sensed someone next to her bed. A hand smoothed her bangs from her brow. “I’m here, Melissa,” Ric said.

“Go away,” she murmured through parched lips.

“It’s worse to be alone,” he whispered, blotting her cheek with a damp cloth.

She didn’t want anyone to see her this way—exposed, vulnerable. Yet his hands were gentle and knowing. “You were right,” she said when the violent nausea had subsided. “I do feel like I want to die.”

“Haven’t you heard?” he chided tenderly. “Only the good die young.”

“I hate the way they treat me.”

“Who?”

“The doctors. The people here.”

“How do they treat you?”

“Like I’m not a person. Like I’m just a blob of cells. Like there’s something unclean inside me and they’ve got to drive it out … no matter how much it hurts.”

“Should I call up a witch doctor? Or a sorcerer?”

She managed to smile, despite her discomfort. “During treatment today, the psychologist came and taught me about ‘imaging.’ ”

“So what will you use to hunt down and destroy your cancer cells? I pretend I’m manning a ship like Luke Skywalker. I close my eyes and zip through my body firing laser shots at any cancer cells trying to hide and multiply.” He demonstrated by pointing his forefinger and making zinging sounds.

Melissa envisioned his illustration and smiled. “I imagine my cancer cells as hairy toads, all black and bony, with large suction cups for mouths. And they’re sitting inside my bones sucking out my marrow, getting fat and strong while my marrow gets thinner and thinner.”

Ric arched his eyebrow. “Grim picture. So what are you using to destroy them?”

“I … I haven’t thought of something yet.”

“That’s the most important part, Melissa. That’s what imaging is all about. You’ve got to see yourself hunting down the cells and destroying them. That’s how you turn on your inner healing reserves.”

Another wave of sickness churned through her and she clutched the sheets until her knuckles went
white. “I … I can’t think of anything stronger than those toads … ” she said as her nausea turned into pain.

“You have to,” Ric said, uncoiling her fingers from the sheet and making her grip his hand. “Don’t you understand, Melissa? Your life depends on how hard you fight.”

The chemical war intensified, and Melissa experienced battle fatigue. There were setbacks. A reaction to one of her medications that caused a horrible rash. A brief secondary infection that took an extra week to clear up. Melissa’s stay in the hospital lengthened, and she felt more and more estranged from her former world.

Melissa knew she wasn’t the only one having trouble coping. Her mother came daily with tense smiles and false bravado. Michael came, always nervous and fidgeting, revealing to Melissa that he’d rather be anywhere but at the hospital. Jory visited often, but Melissa adamantly refused to let any of her other friends come up to see her.

Late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds as Jory bounced into Melissa’s room, talking nonstop. “Sorry I didn’t get by last night. Steve and Melanie and Dirk and I went out for pizza, and Dirk was cash poor so I had to fork it over—boy, did that steam me. I mean, why pay for your own date?” Jory paused long enough to take a breath, and Melissa forced a smile.

Jory’s visits were the hardest. She always had stories to tell of school and parties and dates. Melissa listened, hating to hear them, yet longing for them.

“I’m sure he’ll pay you back, or at least treat you next time.”

“He’d better.” She tossed her books on the floor along with a sack. “Listen to me, going on and on. How’re things going for you today?”

“Except for chemo, my schedule’s open.”

“This must be such a drag for you.”

“The high point of my day is when they come to disinfect the bathroom,” Melissa said.

“How is the food? You really should eat more. You look thinner.”

“I know. I’ve lost twelve pounds in eight days.”

Jory grimaced. “Can’t keep anything down, huh?”

“I didn’t think it was possible to throw up so much.”

“And me rattling on about pizza. Sorry about that.”

“Let me make my pity party complete,” Melissa said, tugging gently on her hair. A handful fell weightlessly to the floor. “How can you stand to look at me?” she asked, touching the sores that erupted on her face.

Jory’s green eyes grew wide. “You’re not that ugly. I … I mean … ”

Melissa released a short, bitter laugh. “Real homecoming queen material, huh? And how about the junior prom? Who’ll want to ask the Bride of Frankenstein?”

Jory picked up the paper bag that lay with her books. “Here. This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“Scarves. I bought them in that boutique we used to shop at in the mall.”

Melissa momentarily forgot her misery as she fingered the selection of colorful, filmy scarves. “Silk, Jory?” she asked, lifting her hairless eyebrow. She
knew that each elegant piece of cloth must have cost double digits. The irony was not lost on her. Jory never had to give a second thought to what things cost. Or who would ask her for a date. She didn’t have to struggle with anything more incapacitating than a hangnail. “Thank you, Jory. It was nice of you.”

“Do you like them? I picked out what I thought you’d like best. They are okay, aren’t they?”

Her eagerness to please touched Melissa deeply. “They’re great.” Melissa tied a paisley scarf around her balding head.

“Good grief, you look like a bag lady. Here … let me do it.” Melissa reached for a surgical mask and covered her mouth and nose.

“Why’d you do that?” Jory asked.

Melissa felt overwhelmed suddenly. How could she explain to Jory that the disease was
hers
and she had to join the doctors in the fight against it? Melissa knew that being careful and taking precautions from now on meant helping with her cure.

“Dr. Rowan says I have to be careful not to catch anything. Even a cold could set me back weeks.”

“What do I look like? A germ bank?”

“It’s nothing personal, really. I just want to get out of here so bad … ”

Jory slouched in a chair on the far side of the room. Melissa hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings and didn’t know how to make it up to her.

“So tell me more about school,” Melissa said brightly. “Does anyone ask about me?”

“Sure. As a matter of fact, Brad asked me about you today.”

Melissa’s heart leaped in spite of herself. The afternoon she’d spent with Brad at the country club seemed like a million years ago. And although she
didn’t want anyone but Jory visiting her, she wouldn’t mind if he called. But he hadn’t. Not once. “How’s Brain Bowl coming? Are they still holding my place open on the team?”

“You mean you still want to do Brain Bowl?”

Jory’s surprise irked her. “Of course. Once this part of my treatment is over and I start looking human again, I
will
come back to school.”

Jory flushed and stared into her lap. “I—uh—well Brad did say that they were talking about replacing you …”

“Don’t let them do it, Jory.” Melissa grew agitated, twisting the bed sheet into a ball.

“But Melissa, you’re so sick. Why does it matter to you now?”

“Because it just does.” Her voice went thick with emotion. “Because it’s mine. That seat on the Brain Bowl team belongs to
me.”

“Do you want me to ask Mr. Marshall or Mrs. Watson about it?”

“Would you?”

“Well, they’ve certainly talked with me on enough occasions,” Jory observed dryly. “In fact, if you remember, Watson threatened to flunk me last year. I guess I could chat with her on your behalf.”

Melissa felt relieved, but the intense emotions had drained her energy and she eased down against her pillow. “I’d really appreciate it, Jory. I mean, I could ask my mom, but I don’t think she could handle one more thing. My leukemia is wringing her out.”

“How’s Michael taking it?”

“He avoids it. I don’t think he means to. No one really wants to talk about it with me except the medical types.”

Jory picked at the blue polish on her fingernails. “So who do you talk with here?”

“Ric. Sometimes.”

“That’s the guy with—” Jory paused, “—with the bone cancer.”

“The guy with one leg, you mean,” Melissa said, knowing Jory was embarrassed. “Don’t worry, it took me a while to get used to being honest about it, too. At least once I’m in remission, I’ll look normal again. That’s what they tell me anyhow. Ricter Davis never will.”

“When do you think you’ll get out of here? Have they said?”

“My blood work’s looking better. My platelet count has stabilized and my white blood count has fallen. My doctors say it’s a good sign, but they also say that I still have a long way to go. Once I’m discharged, I have to go on outpatient therapy.”

“What’s outpatient?”

“I can go home, but I have to come here for chemo and bone marrow exams and blood tests until I achieve remission.”

“How long will that take?”

Melissa shrugged her thin shoulders. “They don’t know. But once I do go into remission, I’ll still have to take some of the drugs for a long time. Maybe years. And I’ll have to keep coming to the clinic for testing.”

“But you’ll be all right?” Jory picked the words carefully. “You’ll be well again?”

“I don’t know what ‘all right’ means anymore. I’ll still have leukemia. But the longer I stay in remission, the better my chances of being cured. Five years without a recurrence and I’m home free.” The smile Melissa offered felt stiff and forced.

“And if you don’t stay in remission?”

Melissa studied her friend. She’d turned the statistics and facts over and over in her head for days, ever since she’d asked Dr. Rowan the very same thing. Suddenly she wanted to talk about it, get it into the open and out of the dark corners of her mind. “They’re going to do a bone marrow aspiration on Michael next week,” she confided.