In Sickness and in Health ( Fall out boy )

Chapter 19

Hey guys! Important so please read this: again, I do not go to medical school or have any actual knowledge of the issues that are discussed within this book. I am simply a 16 year old writing off of what information she finds on Webmd and other medical pages I find off of google. So, therefore, I do not always know exactly what I'm writing about, so please don't get angry or be offended because it is unintentional on my part.

Anyways, please enjoy the next chapter<3

p.o.v Andy

The hours that are spent in the waiting room drag on for what seems like ages, and among those many hours, about 3 words are exchanged between the three of us as we wait to hear of Patrick's fate. There hasn't been a time in my life before this where I have been this nervous, my leg bouncing uncontrollably as I sit in the uncomfortable chair around other strangers waiting for their loved ones to return.

After hitting the five hour mark, a young woman calls out our names, and we silently follow her through the grey halls, our heads down, my eyes tracing the cracks in the tiles of the spotless floor. When we reach room 84, she leads us inside where the monotonous beeping of the heart monitor keeps a steady beat, Patrick sleeping peacefully next to it.

He doesn't look any better than he did five hours ago, and when I sit down on the chair next to his bed, I hesitantly reach out and grab his wrist. I don't know why I do it, but holding onto him feels as if it is the only thing that will keep him here, with us.

"Dr. Abrams will be right with you," The young nurse says, a small smile on her lips as she exits the room. I wish we were back in Boston, with Patrick's usual doctor. He always knows everything. 

"I hate seeing him like this," Pete says in a barely audible voice, his sleep-deprived eyes gazing sadly over Patrick's frail frame. I nod in agreement and tighten my grip slightly, staring at the floor.

"I'm assuming you're his band mates?" A voice interrupts, knocking on the open door of the room. I look up to see a man walking into the room, holding a clipboard. Pete and Joe stand, but I can't. Not only will my legs fail to support me, but I don't think I can bring myself to let go of Patrick, either. The doctor shakes their hands and reaches over to me to shake mine as well, but I never let go of his wrist.

"I'm Dr. Abrams, by the way. I'm glad you brought him in when you did, but I'm afraid I don't have good news." He says, sitting on the edge of Patrick's bed. He takes the glasses from his face and folds them with slightly shaky hands, putting them in the pocket of his white jacket, "After doing an MRI, we discovered two Glioblastoma tumors in his brain, one on his frontal lobe and one on his parietal lobe. They are grade four, and highly aggressive and cancerous. After having my team study them over the past few hours, we think that the best thing to do is prescribe him medication to try and suppress the symptoms, and send him home." He explains, and my hazy mind struggles to comprehend.

Send him home? 

"By send him home I assume that means that you are just going to let him die." Pete replies, a dangerous edge to his sharp voice. "Mr. Wentz, there is nothing we can do for him. The tumors are spreading fast, and no matter what we do they will just come right back, even worse. If we continue the treatments and make Patrick go through even more intense remedies all that will happen is prolonged suffering." 

"Battling with Leukemia for a year, and then getting diagnosed with two brain tumors. I am merely doing what is best for him." The doctor says, trying to calm us. But all it does is cause Pete to become angrier.

"You're telling me that you can't do surgery? Chemo? Any kind of drugs? You were trained to save people, not kill them!" He yells, and I instinctively bring my other hand up to hold onto Patrick's hand, pulling myself closer to the bed.

 "Surgery is too high risk- the tumors are spread out, and in risky parts of the brain. The chemo will help maybe a little, but overall, it is just another way to extend his agony. If you will just listen for a moment I-" "No!! This man is my family, and he has a lot of fight in him!" Pete yells in return, cutting off the doctor.

"Mr. Wentz, either way Patrick will inevitably lose this battle. I know this is difficult to cope with and understand, but do you want the rest of his life to be spent suffering in a hospital being stabbed and prodded, or living as happily as possible, doing what he wants?" The doctor suggests, and Pete bites his trembling lip.

"But, I-I... What about-" "Pete," Joe says, putting his hand on Pete's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

The room is silent for the next few minutes, taking in everything that was just said.

"How... How long?" I ask, feeling a hot tear slip down my face, leaving a burning trail behind it. "I would say that he has about eight months..."