I'm Scared of Heights | ONC 2023 ✔️

19) Winslow Arizona

Winn

I can't read hieroglyphics.

That's what these reports look like. They're squiggly bunches of pictures that supposedly form some written language. Maybe Natalie would understand this mumbo jumbo.

Dr. Thomas' eyes bore into my skull. I gulp, glancing up at him. "Do you usually show this to patients?" I question while gripping my crumpled black and blue jacket harder.

"I have a tendency," he starts, rubbing his sard-colored skin that gleams in a layer of sweat. "No, I don't." The sight that exits his lips seals my fate further. What else would I expect out of a Monday? "But you're not just a patient..."

Swallowing hard, I let my mind trek to happy thoughts. Natalie isn't leaving me. I try to bat the succeeding thought away, but it creeps in, shooting into my head like the snap of a drumstick against a snare's rim. I'm leaving her.

But... I don't regret anything. No, this weekend has best one of the best in my lifetime. Openly speaking with someone about my melanoma has been oddly freeing. It's weird. I didn't think that feeling was possible in this situation. To be free. Who would have thought?

"What do you mean?" I suffocate the minor chords in my head, drowning the melancholy melody in a roundabout E Major scaled song.

Thinking harder, maybe I thought too much. Yep, a self-fulfilling phrase. I dreamt and thought and daydreamed some more, never executing my thoughts or living my beliefs. I believed and never acted.

"Honorary grandkid?" Dr. Thomas reaches for my file. A smile overloads his lips, spilling over half his face. The look doesn't reach his eyes. His eyes have been glazed over since he walked into the room. "Your family will always hold a special place in my heart," he says, holding back the flood welling in his eyes. Hastily, he turns, tossing the file on the stationary while wiping his eyes.

"I bet." I force another grin, attempting to hold my dam of thought back. My mind falters, nearly losing grip on my flying ability, pummeling at least ten feet through the sky. Clearing my throat, I release another long breath. "So neither treatment responded?"

Dr. Thomas glances at the reports, offering a weak smile. "No. Your system rejected both types of chemotherapy and the small dosage of immunotherapy we did..." He trails off, removing cracks from his voice by making a loud noise with his throat. "The outlook for treatment isn't... it isn't good. You have two options now..."

My brows shoot up. "Wait. I did immunotherapy?"

His jaw drops, and his eyebrows twitch. "Yes..." He scratches his chin. "Have you had memory loss issues? Forgetting small things... what you ate, where you went, what you were thinking?"

"Not more than normal peeps. But I've positively got a fuzzed-up brain." I shrug, digging within my mind for another question. "What are my options now? I can't continue this chemo, right? Because it isn't making the cancer cells respond?"

"Your best option is to terminate treatment." He limply nods while lifting his glasses to rub his eyes. "You can either go into hospice care, or I can prescribe medication to help you cope until nature runs its course." By staring into his eyes, I know which option he wants me to choose. The remainder of his sentence blurs into a conglomeration of slop. Something about possible symptoms and a slew of slurs against my stupidity for not contacting him.

God, do I have to go into hospice care? Snap. What if-.

"Are you paying attention?" A hand slaps against my shoulder, and I wince, noting how gentle Dr. Thomas' tap must have been. How sensitive are my shoulders? I poke myself, reacting similarly. Well, that's new...