We Meet Again (Sequel to Without You)

Worse News

"We'll be shifting you back to Singapore in a chartered plane because your doctor is there, and he has your whole medical history. He'll take better care of you," the doctor says. I smile at him and nod my head. Days of medical treatment has definitely taken a toll on me. I wish that I could go home and snuggle up in my bed.
"Thank you," Harry says. I look up to find him leaning against the door, staring at me. I didn't even realize that he had come in. The doctor hands Harry a file and exits the room, shutting the door behind him.
"When'd you come?" I ask Harry, pushing myself up with the help of my elbows.
"Right now. I stopped by a store and brought you a drink." Harry says, walking toward me and handing me a small, white plastic bag. I open it eagerly, sick of eating the bland hospital food and having nothing but water.
"Thank you." I say, as I take out the cold Fanta bottle. Harry smiles and takes a seat on the stool that's lying on the right side of my bed.
"I hope you didn't annoy the nurses too much while I was not here." Harry teases, chuckling.
"They were so mean!" I whine. "Harry, they didn't even let me have a piece of chocolate. Like one piece is going to kill me." I roll my eyes. When my eyes land back on Harry, I see that he's frowning. Shit! I need to stop making crappy jokes.
"Anyways, did the boys leave?" I ask Harry. He nods his head, a frown still adorning his face. "Did you speak with Darcy?" Harry shakes his head. "Why?"
"Because I can't lie to her anymore. Mus, she wants to hop onto the next flight and come. I can't let that happen. And then, as if Darcy isn't enough, Zahra is irritating the hell out of me. Zahra's not a child and she can sense that something's seriously wrong." My annoying best friend, and my inquisitive daughter. I've surrounded myself with comedic characters.
"Harry, if you don't answer their calls or texts, they'll get more worried and suspicious. Just tell them that it's best if I don't take stress and with them coming, I'll definitely have my hands full." I say. Harry has never been a great liar. He cannot cook up tales like I can.
"Mus, speak to them yourself. I'm sick of lying." Harry says, placing his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry that you're having to go through so much trouble because of me." Sighing, Harry looks up at me, and raises his eyebrows.
"Firstly, stop apologizing and acting like Mother Teresa; we've had this conversation before. Secondly, you're no trouble. In fact, I'm the one who's causing trouble because of my poor lying skills." Leave it on Harry to take the blame off everyone's shoulders, and place it on his. I lift my arm to smack his. However, it just rises a few inches above the bed and then falls limply by my side. Harry notices this, and purses his lips. Why did I have to be the one who got targeted with this rare case of terminal cancer? Couldn't I just have normal terminal cancer? Of course, not! Because everything that happens to me, happens in extremes. I sigh as I turn my head away from Harry, letting a drop of tear trickle down my cheek, onto the pillow. He doesn't have to see that my strong armor is breaking. He doesn't have to find the chinks in it.
"I'll go and check up on the arrangements." Harry says, getting up. He opens the door and turns around. "If anything happens--"
"Press the blue button. I know." I say, rolling my eyes. Every time Harry leaves me alone - which is not too often - I hear the same sentence. I glance around the room, trying to find something to occupy myself with. However, there's nothing that I can do except lie on this bed, like a dead person. A dead person. Very soon I'll be one. Lying in a graveyard, underneath a tombstone, with a lot of dirt over my head. Suddenly, a wave of anxiety hits me. The doctors have said that I won't feel a thing the day that my heart decides to stop responding. However, I'm scared. I don't know what to expect, and I don't want to experience whatever awaits for me. For Harry's sake, and my courage's sake, I put on a strong exterior. However, I'm breaking, piece by piece, from the inside. My strength is getting scraped away. My arms are swollen and bruised all the time. My hair is starting to shed. I don't want to be bald. I've never loved long hair, but I like my hair. I don't want to lose my curly locks. I don't want to look sick to other people. I don't want their sympathetic words or gazes. I've seen cancer patients at the hospital that I used to work at. People always sympathize with them, and that's fine. However, I don't want people to pity me. I'm not a helpless wreck. Neither are those patients. We are equals. The Divine Being just feels like our time's coming to an end. Maybe he's saving us from some dreadful ordeal that lies in our future. I always told my mother that I'd die before her because God liked me more and that he rather take me than her. Alas, now my words seem scary. Suddenly, my phone starts to ring beside me. The doctors have kept it right beside my palm so that I can easily press the screen, if need be. It's Doctor Ross.
"Mus, I just got your lab results." Dr. Ross says the minute I press the green button. He didn't even give me a chance to say hello. "I-I don't know how to say this."
"What happened? Nothing can be worse than what I already know, right?" I chuckle at my lame joke.
"I don't know how you'll take the news." I can tell that he's nervous.
"What's going on?" I ask him, anxiety and curiosity lacing my tone.
"Y-You're p-pregnant," he stammers.