When I Die [Wattys 2016]

Chapter 8: Fever

I found out later on that my fever spiked to 106-and-some-change. I was very close to actually frying my brains. My mom said she walked in to check on me while I slept at some point and said I wouldn't wake up. She shook me and I didn't respond. That's when dad decided to take matters into his own hands and throw me in a tub full of ice water. We found out later this isn't actually proper protocol, but hey, it worked.
After my ice bath, we were on the way to the hospital. I was laying on the waiting room table, I felt sicker than I ever had before. My body was hot but I was shaking. I was sweating and then dry As I sat in the exam room waiting on a doctor, I puked twice; once down my shirt, which my mom promptly removed as I couldn't even muster the energy to do so myself. The second time in a trash can my mom had sat in my lap after the t-shirt problem. I was in a hospital gown now. I felt uncomfortable. Like there was a giant rock in my stomach. I laid silently shivering, arms wrapped around my abdomen.

The doctors came in and out, they blabbed things about platelets and numbers and chemo, tumors and growth and shrinkage. I remained oblivious to it all. Basically, what I got out of it is that I was now almost more cancer than I was me.

They admitted me to the hospital for an overnight stay while we waited on some test results.

I dozed in and out of sleep all day.
My mom had stepped out to call my father when I woke up the next time, I was surprised that the black haired girl was standing right outside of my room, back turned towards me. I cleared my weary throat and croaked out a "hey!" I said. She turned around then, smiled and came across the room. "Oh hi, Leo, it's so good to see you again, but I'm sorry you're here." She sat on the end of the bed. 
I scratched at the IV tape on my arm. 
"Well, I'm just a bit sick. I should be better soon."
"Well, I hope you feel better." She said, looking at me with a grin.  She looked down at my hand, picking at the IV.
"Thank you. Say, what's your name anyway? I'm sorry I forgot to ask last time... there was kind of a lot going on."
She reached over and touched my hand to stop me from picking at my IV.

"It's Ophelia."

Then, she held my hand.

"Leo, if you ever need anything, I'm here for you." She trailed off. She looked back up at me, "but you seem to be handling it pretty well. You're strong, Leo."
I scoffed. "I'm not... Not strong."
She scooted towards me. "Well of course you are! You know, Leo, you will always feel weaker than you are... Something is keeping you going. Sometimes you just have to imagine what that something is. Your cancer is practically a death sentence and you have found something to keep you awake every day. What is it?" I closed my eyes tightly. I wanted to think hard about it, although I wasn't sure of the answer she was looking for. I felt myself beginning to doze off and opened my eyes again, and she was gone.
My mom was back. She had a red face and looked like she'd been crying. "Uh, mama?" I sat up a little. I winced. The rock in my stomach was feeling heavier. It had jagged edges and a flat base. It sat perfectly in my stomach and stabbed me when I moved. My mom turned to look at me, "yes, sweetheart?" She rubbed her nose with a wadded up tissue. "Is everything okay?" She looked somewhat defeated. "Um... No. Leo, everything is not okay."
I tried to sit up some more, I felt like I was stabbed in the gut. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" She told me she wanted to wait on my father. She told me she didn't feel right talking to me without him. We sat in silence for hours.

When my dad got off work at 6, he came straight to the hospital. He came in the room abruptly. He looked so tired. He hugged my mom. And so, they sat down together and pulled the rolly sofa up to my hospital bed. They sat a puke-pan in my lap, I reckoned I looked green.

You know the way you can kind of, sort of hear when you're underwater? That's what it was like. I felt like my ears were full of water. Not only my ears, but my head, too.
My head was full of water and the rest of my body was full of cancer. And there, I felt the world get smaller, and my tumor was getting bigger. And my chances of surviving were going down and my chances of dying went up. I remember collapsing back into the bed, I was too tired to process everything they said about numbers and experiments and medicines. I was swollen up with fluids already and had gained almost ten pounds of liquid weight. I was bald, and had giant bags around my eyes from being sick. The back of my head had an uneven spot where my mom says she let me lay too long as a baby. You know how usually in movies or shows about Kids With Cancer™, they are beautiful, radiant kids with beautiful facial features and maybe occasionally a perfectly round, bald head? They keep their eyebrows, usually, too. They have color in their faces. This idea is a farce. I was not cute, I was not handsome, I was ugly, I was sick, and I was weak. I could hardly even open my mouth to speak or puke or take medicine, or anything. I realized now that I was dying, and it was not cute.

The doctors, I was told, were baffled that my cancer had progressed so quickly. They weren't even able to detect all of it when they did my first round of scans. They said that I would continue aggressive treatments and probably would be in the hospital for a while.

That night, I laid awake until morning. All night, I imagined a world where there were no accidents. I imagined a world where there were no accidental deaths, no chance meetings, no lightning strikes on people's homes. There was no illness, no death, and no sadness.

I imagined myself before cancer and when I tried to imagine myself afterwards, there was nothing. It was black. My imagination is not that great.

I stayed awake because I was afraid that if I fell asleep, I would never wake up again. What if my brains fried this time? I was frustrated, sad, and hurt. I didn't know how I was supposed to react. For the next four days, I sat alone in my hospital room. I sat quiet and still, with the realization that my Yale interview was soon and my notes were all at home. I called mom and asked if she would bring them when she came back up to visit.

 I wondered if Ophelia would come again.