The first time I mentioned feeling sick, I immediately regretted it. Anytime I couldn't account for a bruise, or I wasn't sleeping well, you would go pale, shut down, retreat into that deep dark side of your mind. It scares me when I don't know how to bring you back. I don't know what to say to make it go away, especially when you won't talk to me. It can't be an easy thing to recover from, what you went through, and I wish more than anything that I knew how to help.
.
.
.
They were so hopeful. They were so sure. I could see you getting thinner and paler, but they assured me it was just side effects, never mind the fact that you were starting to cough up blood. I caught on pretty quickly that they were just trying to pacify me. You told me over and over not to antagonize your doctors, that they really were doing their best to get you better, but anyone could see it wasn't working. Finally, some new blood tests came back from the lab and your doctor sat down with the both of us, promising a straight conversation,
"I got your test results back." he said,
"So when can I go home?" I frown at your tone, you sound like you're joking, like you don't want to let yourself believe you'll get to go back, and the fact that I can't read the Doc's face is really putting me on edge,
"I'd like to say you can go home whenever you like." He begins, your joking smile melting away. He takes a breath, I'm not ready for this bombshell, "I'm afraid the tumors have spread to both your lungs and your stomach."
I go completely cold, the room tilts around me. I hold onto the side of the bed to keep from slipping to the floor.
"You said it was looking promising," I hear you whisper. Your voice is far off, I'm hardly able to hear it over my pulse pounding in my ears.
"It was. We seemed to be in a holding pattern for a few weeks there, but these new results show that the cancer has been resistant to this treatment."
"Resistant?"
"Not only have we failed to shrink the tumors, but the growths are increasing in size and multiplying."
Your hand slips from mine, which gets my attention. I stare at your profile, taking in the tightness in your jaw, half of your hair had fallen out when you decided to have me buzz the rest of it for you, now there is no sign of hair left. You are refusing to look at me again, you always do that when you are trying to shield me from something,
"How long?" You ask He hangs his head for a moment, more in a show of remorse than deliberation. He already knows the answer,
"At this rate, I estimate no more than a month." You blink a few times and nod.
I keep expecting to wake up again, I've dreamt this a few times before, always waking to you holding me tighter, kissing my forehead, smoothing my hair back.
Why can't I wake up now?
