A Work in Progress

Seven-54 Days

I open my eyes to stare into a painful fluorescent light hovering above me. I am lying down in a soft bed, with a heavy blanket weighing me down. I heat a shuffle in the room, followed by an opening door.

"Ah, you're awake. How do you feel, Annabelle?" Dr. Hicks. I can literally smell the disinfectant that coats every surface of the room, including the white walls.

"I feel like I have cancer." I reply with a simple sentence, already wanting out of this building. He pulls a wheeled stool up next to the bed and I hear a pen click. I roll my eyes. 

"Anna, we're-"

"Don't call me that." I interrupt him, rather rudely. I only let friends and family call me Anna, not people who diagnose me with cancer.

"Okay, Annabelle, we're going to put you on chemotherapy. There's no other way to control this, and your condition is moving abnormally fast." He emphasizes the word 'condition,' as if this is just a passing injury that won't haunt me for the rest of my fifty-nine days. Fifty-nine.

"How long was I asleep?" The question is obviously a cliched one, considering the dull look that paints his face.

"Five days." Oh, my god. Five days. Fifty-four days left. Only fifty-four. I begin to sob, not believing, not wanting to believe. The sound of my tears fill the room and echo back to me, making me listen to my sadness and fear again and again.

It must have been at least an hour before I calmed down. My mother came into the room sometime during my episode and told me about how Max called 911 when I fell, and then found my phone and called her. She was crying too, and I felt horrible for putting her through this.

When I ran dry of tears, Dr. Hicks began talking again. "We're putting you in chemotherapy, Annabelle. This is the only thing we can do to slow the cancer cells down."

"Are you putting me on it today?" I ask a question, and he answers quickly.

"No, but tomorrow if it's possible. We're going to have to transfer you to an oncologist in Naperville."

"Okay." I nod. I should be scared, but I'm not. I'm only hopeful that there might be something that can give me more time. Suddenly, I realize that I'm going to have to learn to depend on hope in my condition.

***

About three hours later, and after a struggle with Dr. Hicks to let me go, I'm home and lying in bed. The haunting words repeated themselves over and over in my head, carving a hole in my stomach as it begins to retch. I lay on my side, dry-heaving as the sentence laughs while it tortures me.

Fifty-four days. 

Fifty-four days. 

Fifty-four days. 

Fifty-four days.

Fifty-four days. 

Fifty-four days.

And it doesn't help that most of those are going to be spent in the hospital, being poked with needles. 

I look across my room at the full-size mirror hanging on the light blue wall, and notice that the bruises are back.

My throat is dry, and my head aches. I open my bedroom door, and a warm thought sets itself free in my mind.
Max. It took until just now to realize just how happy I really was in the hour or so I spent with him. I miss him.

My head pounds as my body shakes with each step descending the stairs. I enter the kitchen to get a drink of water and see the smartphone on the counter. I take it after refreshing myself, and lay back sown on my bed. Turning on the phone, I look at the notification bar and see something: New message: Max: U doing ok?

I smile, not knowing how he got my number, and not caring anyway. I open the notification and respond excitedly.

Me: Yeah, I'm ok.

Me: Thank you for the other day.

Max: No problem. What happened???

Me: I fainted. I think it had something to do with my. . . cancer.

Max: Oh.

Max: Hey, do u wanna go see a movie?

He's asking me to a movie? I nearly jump for joy, but I hold it in.

Me: That sounds great.

I see that he isn't active anymore, and I hope he saw my agreement. Maybe this kid will make my fifty-four days a little better.