When I Die [Wattys 2016]

Chapter 23: Myra

The next morning, I was shaking like a maniac and my teeth were chattering. I didn't know why, I wasn't very cold. My entire body ached and hurt. My head was pounding, pounding, pounding. There was a ringing in my ears that wouldn't go away. I felt the most nauseated I'd ever felt in my life, a churning, debilitating feeling that gnawed at me, it wouldn't go away. If I ate, it got worse, and I got sick. If I didn't eat, it got 10x worse, and I was still stuck with the feeling but never any relief. My mom gave me medicine every hour, keeping me just enough doped up. I was out of it, pretty often. I was grateful for that. As much as I once hated medicine, altering my mind, I was so happy that I could now.

I was sure many times that if I fell asleep, I wouldn't wake up. I tried so hard to stay awake.
I'd force myself to sit up, trying to keep awake. When I did eventually fall asleep, I did wake up. I woke up into the same agony I was in before. 

A week after Christmas, I woke up in the morning shaking uncontrollably and deliriously fevered. I didn't have the strength to call my mom. In my weakest moment, I was sobbing. I cried, huge, ugly tears. I wanted so badly for this to end. I wanted to either fast forward to being okay, or go ahead and die. My mom called my team of doctors several times, and they assured her I was fine, I was just in shock. Well, that was the perfect word to describe this, I thought. My hands shook so much, I couldn't use them for anything. My mom spoon fed me soup and I puked it up almost immediately afterwards. My days went by in cycles of her wetting a cool rag and placing it on my head, medicine, sleeping, and shaking. I couldn't imagine this was it. This is getting better? This is okay?

Reid and Myra came by several times and my mom turned them away a few. I just wasn't well enough to have them over. It sucked.
One of the times mom let my visitor stay, it was only Myra. She came up to my room and sat beside me. She looked broken. She whispered,

"Oh, Leo..." And felt my forehead. I smiled at her, hoping to fool her a little. Don't worry, I wanted to tell her. I'll be fine.

 But I couldn't. I didn't know what to say and I had no energy to say it even if I did. She kissed my head, her lips touching my temple, right where it ached. She hummed In My Life by the Beatles and ran her hand over my back until I fell asleep.

This wasn't my fault. Cancer wasn't my fault. I knew that. I hated it so much, I had no power over what was happening or what might happen in the end. I'd never hurt Myra. I'd never hurt Reid. I'd never hurt my mom or anyone else in my family. But I was about to, possibly in a massive way. I was hurting them while I was alive, shaking, crying and groaning in pain. I wanted to stop hurting and I wanted to stop hurting them, especially.

I was surprised at how bad I was. How sick I looked. I thought I looked sick before, it was nothing compared to this. I was a sick, sick man. The medicine they gave me to help the transplant gave me weird delusions, I was told. I didn't remember them, I blacked out for most of them. I woke up one night, and I was using all the strength I had left in me to try and get into the bathtub, fully clothed.
My dad found me, apparently, and helped me back to bed.
The next morning, my mom moved a twin sized mattress into my room and started sleeping on my floor beside me after three bouts of delirious walking and moving. One day I woke up before her and looked at her, sleeping, curled up on a tiny bed, on the ground. I hated this. I hated it so much, and I couldn't do anything about it. I wanted to get better so badly.

One day, Ophelia came to visit me at home. It was late in the evening and I had been asleep. She came upstairs into my room and I guessed my mom let her in, which was surprising.
"Hey, Ophelia" I smiled when she stepped in, walking towards me and sitting down beside me. She reached out and grabbed my hand.
"Hey Leo, how are you?"
I sighed, "oh, well, I'm not great," I laughed dryly. She nodded.
"I know, you look really sick. Leo, have you... Come home?" She asked. I pulled my hand back, a little.
"What? No, no... I'm supposed to be getting better..." I replied.
She looked in my eyes, "Well, I hope you do... But, Leo, you know... If you can't fight anymore, that's okay." She said.
I closed my eyes tight, shaking my head. I pulled my hand back away from her. I didn't need to hear this.