This is my Goodbye

I wish they wouldn’t keep putting me back in the same room, with the same boring view, and same uncomfortable bed with itchy sheets, though I doubt the other beds here are much better. The fact I come back to it in the exact same way, makes me feel like I never left, like I never had a life outside these four walls. But, right now, my life relies on being in these four walls, and as much as I dislike it, I need it.

“Back again, Melody?” doctor young, jokes as he walks past my door, winking at me, before hassling Cindy, another regular who gives me a welcoming smile, back to her room. She likes to try to escape, but can never get past the entrance before someone notices her. It doesn’t help that every other ward has been told to phone this ward if they see her wandering their halls.

I try to get out of bed, and wander over to “the social” as us patients call it, a place on the teenage oncology ward where we can all hang out and watch TV, no adults allowed, except doctors and nurses of course. Unfortunately, I’m attached to a needle, a needle with a long tube, filled with a clear fluid, running into a bad above my bed.

I sigh, couldn’t they just give me my fluids in the normal way when they’re low, as in let me drink them. I expertly hooked the portable drip attachment with my right foot, and dragged it towards me. I reached up and detached the bag, first go, and re-attached it to the stand. Patients aren’t supposed to do that themselves, but the nurse makes a massive fuss of me, and asks a ton of questions, before she even considers letting me up. I’d rather just receive an ear-bashing when they see I’m up, because they can’t send me back to bed saying I’m not up to walking around if I already am.

I slowly dress and pace over to the room, wheeling the stupid bag, and flop onto the sofa, keeping my arm still so the needle doesn’t tug painfully. “Hey Melody” Chris says to me, “slipped out of reminision already?” he says light-heartedly, although we both feel the weight of his words. I nod, “you too?” He nods too.

Chris is a fellow regular member of the oncology ward too, he’s been here as long as I have, and is forever being re-admitted too. We’re good friends, it’s nice to have some friends here, it gets a little lonely otherwise. I’m not shocked to see him here, everyone knew he wouldn’t be out of the hospital for long, and he’s not shocked to see me either.

Last night I had a turn. It started with light-headedness and a nose bleed, as always, and then the world around me goes dark, and I disappear. I’d only been out of the hospital for two weeks; I was supposed to go swimming today. Guess that’s out of the question right now, as I’m also guessing chemo starts this afternoon.

My stomach lurches ready, “Not again” it screams. It was tricked into thinking it would never come again, and so was I. When they let me go home, I was wishful thinking, thinking that this would be the last time I’d ever be in an oncology unit, that I was better. But deep down I knew that was too good to be true. There was a chance my reminision could have stretched years, or more, but no, I only get two pitiful weeks.

But I’m grateful, I love being out of the hospital, I feel like life is moving without me when I’m here, losing track of the outside world. And there are no itchy needles or sickly drugs. Doctor Young comes in and sits down beside me, we don’t mind him sitting in here; he’s more like one of us than a grown man sometimes. His name fits his personality well, but not his wrinkle lined face, aged with seeing death and illness so many times.

He nudges me, “your parents are on their way, your mums frantic as always”, he says with a smile. His expression turns pitying, “sorry chicken, chemo starts this afternoon.” He says the word chicken often, especially when talking about treatment; it’s his way of lightening the blow. This will be the last time I hear those words for while, I know it. I’ll ever go into reminision, or the cancer will have progressed and I will die, this is my last chance in a way.

I hear my parents before I see them, well I hear Tommy shrieking. I exit the room, and my legs are blasted back as my little brother runs full pelt into me, burying his face and wrapping his arms round my legs. “Hey squirt!” I say, and pick him up cuddling him close. “I missed you Autty” he mumbles into my shoulder, even though I only went into hospital yesterday.

My mum and dad walk round the corner, chasing Tommy, and shouting at him to stop running off every time we come here. They hug me alternately, and I can feel their worry in the way the hold me too tight. I take them back to my room and spend the morning playing games with Tommy, until a much dreaded one o’clock goes, and they leave so I can start my chemo.

Once they go, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair had finally grown down to my shoulders, the longest it has been in ages. It would be gone soon. People don’t realise what a privilege hair is, what some people would do to keep theirs. I wish I had long thick hair, that came down to my waist, that I could style and brush every day. I was resigned to baldness.

I sat on my bed, as it commenced, a bowl between my legs, as it made me queasy. Within minutes I was throwing up, so violently I’m surprised my organs didn’t spill out of my mouth. I hated this, hated it! Every bone in my body ached, and my head reeled. If this doesn’t work, I’m never doing it again.

I fell asleep as soon as it had ended, exhausted, and dreading the morning. I awoke, stretching and forced myself to look behind me. My hair always fell out so quickly. A pile of brown tangles lay across my pillow. The sight of which, made me run my fingers through my hair, or lack of. It was thin and wispy, and my fingers grazed across frequent bare patches.

I ran to the mirror, as I did every time, to see a sad girl. She had sorrowful blue eyes, surrounded by dark bruising, and a near bald head, with small tuffs of fine hair falling around limply. I ransacked my bag, hoping my mum had put it in there, and it was. I pulled out the razor and ran it over my scalp, cutting away the pointless hair left.

Goodbye hair.