And Then Death Held Out His Hand

Life in the Hospital

Voices sound as if through water, the bright lights hurting my pounding head. I hear my name called and give an undignified whimper as an answer. Faces swim above my, my vision to blurry to focus. The darkness pulls me back under and I don't fight it.

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My throat aches as if it's being repeatedly stabbed. A voice calls out and I hear footsteps coming too my side. A hand strokes mine and I strain to focus on the features of the faces above me. I blink and my vision clears. A nurse shines a light in my eyes, checking my pulse. She frowns and writes on a clipboard then leaves the room.

Jacobs face comes into view, the gold flecks of gold in his eyes glinting in the harsh light. I grimace, squinting and he flicks the switch to turn it off. He sits on the edge of the bed.
"You have an infection, as you progress, it becomes more likely." I nod. He must know a lot about this.

I feel a wave of fatigue wash over me and I try to fight it. His face is the last thing I see as I fall asleep.

Dreams come quickly in my feverish state. There I am, screaming for my mother, their blood splattered on my shirt, my fathers hand growing cold in mine, as I pleaded for them to stay. Evie cries, not understanding why she isn't being fed, her cries rising over the wail of the sirens, the lights of the ambulance tinting her baby face red and blue. The glass is shattered, drawing blood as it stabs into my mothers torso. I scream, waking up in the dark hospital.

A nurse comes running and I let the tears drop into my hair. She strokes my hand, whispering comfortingly. It does nothing to penetrate my despair.
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For 8 hours every day, my IV stand pumps in the chemotherapy drugs for seven days. Another week and then it starts again.
Jacob lies by my side, holding my hand as  I try not to throw up from the medicine. A thunder storm rages outside but I'm in too much pain to notice. Jacob tells me that Echo's the same, unresponsive and lifeless.
I ache with the possibility that she may not survive. Her hairless face haunts the darkness behind my eyelids, she can't die.
Jacobs the one person I can feel halfway to normal with. Evie is too worried, the nurses too uptight. Jacob takes my mind of the illness that's ruining my life, can make me laugh away the ever present tears.
More tests are run now that I am better from the infection, the goal to find out if the chemo worked. I am pricked by hundreds of needles, the doctors conversing in low voices to quiet for me to hear. Time passes slower than ever as I struggle to stay positive and believe that the cancer has lessened. But I don't trust myself.
It's a day like any other, I'm staring at the wall, my mind wondering when a doctor walks in with my foster mother. She's biting back tears as she stands by my side.
The doctor stands with a smile playing on his face. "The chemotherapy treatment is working, the amount of cancerous cells decreased significantly."
"It's going slowly, but the good thing is, you've got the upper hand against cancer."
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In another two weeks, I begin the chemo again, the doctors saying I'm strong enough to handle it. I spend most of my time sleeping as Evie struggles to find time and it's too far too drive daily.
I start to fall asleep, something I do a lot these days.

"The doctors think she has a month left."

I crack open my eyes to see Jacob in the doorway, standing stiff against the doorway. Tears are running down his tired, worn face.

That night, a bit of my last hope was stolen from me, hope for Echo, Evie.

Myself.

"The doctors say to take her home, that she should be able to do the things she wants. Not be stuck here."

Hey sounds defeated, I don't know what to say.
I open my arms wordlessly and he moves towards me, extra careful of the cords running into me.
"It's a good thing though, she'll be happy."
"I don't get it, she's so happy, talking about what she's going to do, she's got it all planned out."
It makes me think of Evie and how she was happy after I told her about mum and dad.

"It'll be okay."
I don't even believe myself.
The selfish part of me thinks whether this means Jacob won't come to see me. I hate myself for thinking this.