where truth and fiction meet // buckin

thirty-three

Jonny's POV

The night that I left the house because of our argument, I felt so sick. I was dizzy, nauseous, and my personality seemed to flip in a completely different perspective than usual. But these same feelings have crept in; always wandering around my head but I let the feelings subside though, thinking it was all in my head and that I was only upset. I recall that I had experienced these symptoms for quite sometime. To be exact—maybe two years. Two years had it began that I first started noticing these things.

I then went on to rent a hotel room for my head to stay clear of everything. I just needed a break from him, Hannah, and the limelight. Like this, it let my view on things change a little more for the better.

As the days crept and the same feelings came—the nausea, confusion, drowsiness, and terrible migraines—I felt that I needed to go to the doctor. These feelings were about ten times worsening that what I could have gotten from the sickness since the beginning. I was puking constantly, and the pain in my head I felt was so extreme to the point that I couldn't bare to even get up in the day and be productive. I usually slept to avoid the pain, and the times that I was awake I cried at the amount of pain and tension that took place. I knew then something was definitely wrong. I shouldn't have let it go on that long. If I'd had known what I know now I could have done something to help myself.

I went to the emergency room, and the doctor decided to take an X-ray of my head. He also performed a series of small tests on me that I didn't know what were for. When he came back in, he gave me a puzzled look. Then, he explained to me that I needed to seek a neurologist. And fast. He handed over some paper work but I couldn't focus enough for like—a few days to even bother reading them.

This whole thing had me stressed worser than I've ever been when he handed me a card with information on a neurologist nearby who specializes in brain functions.

Four days passed after this, and finally it was the day. He brought me in a room where he told me that I would be given an MRI. He said that the ER doctor told him that he believed I had an acute brain tumor, but needed to find out if it was or not. Apparently X-Rays are only for those with immediate head injuries. But mine wasn't immediate. It had been reoccurring for a long time.

He drew for blood as well, and informed that he would call back with the MRI results when they came in, and schedule an appointment to tell me what my actual blood tests came back as.

I was too nervous to go home and mention this to Chris at the time of the events that led up to the news. I couldn't find the words to say to him. So, I just continued to live that point of time in the hotel.

*

A few days later after I was waiting for a signal—Dr. Watson called and told me that he needed me to come in at 9:30AM the next morning. He expressed to me that this was way more extreme than I could have expected, and couldn't believe that I let it get this bad.

I arrived at his office at the right time, if not a little bit earlier. The amount of anxiety and stress I was in was almost as unbearable as the physical pain I felt.

This is when he told me that I had a primary brain tumor, which started in my brain. He said it was grade III, which is a cancerous tumor that was rapidly spreading to my spine. Treatment would have to start within the next few days, and that I would likely have to be prepared for the worst.

He said I had a malignant tumor—and to be more specific—it was glioblastoma that develops from cells thought to provide the brain's framework.

I could no longer argue with Chris over something so childish. I loved him. With all my heart. I knew at the time that I wouldn't be able to make it through. I sat in that very hotel room and just cried knowing that I would soon leave the world if I refused treatment. Because—who loves me anyways? I don't have the strength to make it. I just cannot let myself suffer through chemotherapy and radiation while my body is burnt from the inside out. I'm not worth it; I have no reason to fight a disease that clearly was meant to kill me.

So, I felt the need to come home and explain all of the information to Chris.

Once I was done rambling on, he was in tears. I tried wiping them away but he couldn't fight against them. He soon bared his face with his own hands to hide his face from me. I couldn't take seeing him so torn apart because of this. How could he possibly feel pain when I leave?