When I Die [Wattys 2016]

Chapter 32: A Choice

On the eleventh day of my stay, I woke up to my mom's voice,
"Leo! Leo wake up!"
My eyes shot open, she was normally so quiet when she was around me. She was constantly walking on egg shells to make sure she didn't disturb me in any way, and that alone disturbed me.
"Leo!"
I looked at her, my vision focusing.
"Uh? What's up?" I asked, and I rubbed my eyes. I pulled myself with Herculean effort into a sitting position. That act alone exhausted me. I sunk back against the pillows against the wall.
My mom clicked the side of my bed and made the head of my bed lift.
She was standing in front of me, her eyes tired but excited about something. What was it?
She had her hands behind her back, and then in a swift move, yanked her hand from behind, uncovering a tiny white envelope in it. I focused my eyes on the envelope and tried to understand. I looked at her in anticipation, and she did not disappoint.
"Leo..." She breathed,
"It's from Yale."
My eyes were set on the envelope, in a bit of shock. I'd tried everything I could to forget about the prospects of Yale. In fact, I felt as though there were no longer any prospects of Yale.
She held out the envelope and I took it in my hands.
Myra and I had talked about how big envelopes were good and little letters were bad. I imagined that was every senior's rule of thumb.
I imagined Myra's collection of big envelopes that she pretended were tiny letters.
"Leo," my mom whispered, her voice dripping with anxiousness, "are you going to open it?"
I looked at her, and I knew my eyes looked bewildered. I felt a sudden pain in my chest, then, and breathing became incredibly hard. I clutched my chest and gasped.
I was frustrated in both body and mind.
"No." I answered in a tone I hoped conveyed my finality.
"They just need to formally reject me is all."
My mom paused for a moment and looked at the letter in her hands, and although I knew it was killing her, she nodded.
"I'll sit this here, then."

That afternoon, there was a knock at the door. I was sitting as still as possible, trying not to hurt myself. My mom was reading in her chair beside me.
Dr. Ballard came in, he had a solemn look on his face, but he was always so hard to read.
"Hi, Leo, hello Mrs. Hendricks," he shook our hands. He leaned his back against the table in the front of my room, he crossed his arms over his chest.
"We need to consider some things, Leo. It's time to talk."
I rattled in a breath. God, no.
"Leo, the treatments are not working. I want to be honest with you. Nothing we can do will save your life. Unfortunately, all measures right now are attempts at prolonging it. Do you understand that?"
He furrowed his brow, I could tell he was being sincere. He really cared for me, and I knew this.
My mom sat silently, she was staring down at her hands in her lap.
"I guess so," I replied.
"There are measures we can take to make sure you are comfortable... Not in any pain. You can go home. You understand what I am saying?"
I closed my eyes, I shook my head slightly. He took a deep breath then.
"Leo, the fight you have given has been... Incredible to watch, truly. I have never seen a kid fight so hard, and I have been doing this a long, long time," he added.
I nodded, closing my eyes. I knew where this was headed. The fight was over.
"Leo, I can't tell you what to do. I don't want to do that. But I want you to know that you should not be ashamed of this fight. Even if you don't end up winning in the way you want... You have still won."
His words hit me like a ton of bricks, straight in the heart. I tried to wrap my head around it. I'd never considered there was another way to win at this, but I wouldn't call those kids down the hall who died last week "losers". Maybe they did win, in their own rights. Maybe winning is about the fight you give. Cancer fights dirty. Cancer kicks you when you're down. Cancer breaks all the rules. Cancer doesn't care if you try to tap out. I often felt like I was wrestling outside my weight class.
Fine. Time to be honest. Now or never.
"I don't want to die, Dr. Ballard..." I whispered. The tears were welling up in my eyes and I was angry.
Weak, you're so god damn weak!
He was silent for a moment. I wiped the snot running with a napkin and wiped my eyes with my hands. My mom was still quiet, she looked so damn tired.
Dr. Ballard drew in a breath and nodded, "Leo, it's scary. I know, and I have never been in your shoes. I can't tell you that I know how it feels. I can't say what I would do in your situation. This shouldn't happen to a teenager. You're not even eighteen. When I was first starting out, I'd go home every night, and lie in my bed, and for a long time I would get very upset. My wife said I needed to try to separate my work from my home life, and I had done so well... Until you." He stepped forward, then. He squared my eyes. "For some reason, I just cannot get you out of my head. I think you remind me of myself when I was your age. You're a fighter. You're brave as hell. I'm proud of you, kid. And if one day, this bed is empty, whether you're at home or otherwise... I will miss treating you."
A shiver escaped me, tears flowed. I was embarrassed. I hated this.
Dr. Ballard stepped around my bed then and my mom placed a hand on my back. Dr. Ballard leaned in and hugged me tightly.
"It's always been up to you. You're the boss, Boss Man," he winked, releasing me. He hugged my mom as well before leaving the room.

That night, I laid awake in bed.
No way am I going home. No way. I can't give up. I'm still fighting. I'm going to live.
I said this over and over and over in my head. I looked over at my mom, scrunched up on the cot, hair a mess from three days without going home. Her eyes were swollen from crying and lack of sleep. Her body looked so frail to me, and that was saying something. She looked pale, and exhausted even in her sleep.
I had to live for her, right? I couldn't die on her. How would she live through the death of her kid?
And my dad? How would he deal with all of this? He was so emotionally constipated as it were, how could he hold this family together when I died?
And Sam? God, Sam would be so messed up. He's only fourteen, I thought, he will have such a hard time coping.
Let alone Hattie... Jesus. Hattie was so little, and she wouldn't understand. It was about my family, not me. Right? Right?
I thought about what Ophelia said. Lately, the things she was saying made me less and less angry and made more sense. She was such a mystery to me, and I loved that just as much as I hated it. I was afraid of thinking she was right. I wanted to keep my anger, my fire. It was going out, I felt it.
The next morning, I woke up in a fit. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe! I was shaking, gasping in small breaths. My mom held an oxygen mask over my face. She went from sleeping to on her feet, taking care of me in record speed. Her eyes had dark bags underneath. She was exhausted.
"Oh, Leo, baby, breathe... Slow down, it's okay."
I focused my energy on slowing my breathing, drawing in every breath consciously.
About thirty minutes passed, the nurses came in and gave me medicine to break down the buildup in my lungs.
I fell into a weary nap. I needed it so badly.
A few hours later, I woke up to my mom on the phone. She didn't know I was awake.
"Hattie, I know, baby... I can't... I... I know." She was being interrupted by the other end.
"Hattie, daddy and Aaron and Sam are going to go watch you dance... I can't leave your brother..."
Oof.
"It's okay, Hattie, baby... I know, I am so sorry. There will be other recitals... Your brother is very sick, you know that, we have talked about this," she pleaded.
I closed my eyes tight and forced myself to go back to sleep.
That evening, my mom rested while I sat up and watched television. Reid called me while I did so, and we talked for a bit.
He told me he was sorry he'd been so distant lately, he was trying to get ready for graduation... Finals were around the corner and he wanted to make sure he did well. I told him I understood.
I wished those were my biggest problems. I wanted to be doing what he was doing so badly.
He asked me how I was, and I told him the truth.
"Not good."
He let out a deep sigh on the other end.
"Man, I'm so sorry, Leo. I wish there was something I could do. I'd stand in your place in a heartbeat... You know that?"
A lump formed in my throat and made me afraid to try to speak.
"Leo?" He asked.
"Yeah," I squeaked,
"Yeah, Reid, I wouldn't want you to."
"I know. But I would. I'll try to come see you tomorrow, bud," he said.
"Yeah, okay, see you later Reid."
That night, my mom went to get coffee from down the hall. She returned with a steaming cup and a handful of creamers and sugars.
She sat her cup down in silence. I focused on breathing.
Then, I heard a sniffle and a gasp.
I looked over to see her, crying.
"Leo, I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm just tired, I guess... I poured the wrong sugar in my coffee..."
I blinked at her, trying to wrap my head around what was happening.
"Okay... I'm sorry." I said.
"No, Leo, it's not you baby... It's okay." She closed the lid on her coffee and took a sip, grimacing slightly.
"See? It's okay. I'm okay."
"Okay."
I hated this. I hated that I was doing this to her. She was exhausted. My family was tired... Was I stubborn? Was I hard-headed? They didn't sign up for this.
I was taking them down with me.

That night, I laid awake in bed and stared at the ceiling. I listened to my mother's even breaths as she slept. I listened to my own rattly chest, greedy for oxygen.

It was time to go home.