Our Bittersweet Lives

[fourteen]

Fingering the clover around my neck, I sit in the waiting room of the doctors surgery, waiting for the machine to call my name. I flick absent-mindedly through a magazine about cars, but get bored quickly, so resume the staring into space while pondering my fate. 

I mean, this has to be it, doesn't it? It's been two months since I started radiotherapy, and I've put up with fatigue, nausea, hair loss, fainting and more to get rid of this tumor in my brain. It has to have worked. And this must be the appointment where the doctor tells me how wonderfully it is going, how amazed they are, how it's better than they expected...

"Miss Taegan B Green, to room 7, please."

I start to push the wheels, ignoring the eyes of the other patients on me, and wheel myself slowly along the room until I reach the wooden door labelled 'Consulting Room 7'. The door swings open to reveal the familiar lined face of Dr Williamson. He hurries behind me to push my chair in, while greeting me,

"How have you been, Taegan? It's good to see you again."

We exchange small talk until he is sat back behind his desk, his hands steepled and his eyes firm. 

"Now, Taegan. About the cancer. There is news...but I'm afraid it's not going to be the news you were probably hoping for. 

"There is good news. The tumor in your brain isn't spreading any more, as a result of the radiotherapy. The chemotherapy stopped the cancer in your lungs from spreading, too. However, neither treatment has been at all effective in shrinking or completely removing the cancer. It's not working, Taegan. Your cancer is beating the medicine. We doctors don't know what to try next. You have been placed on a waiting list for surgery to remove the tumors, but you are the 35th name and all those above you have cases more severe than you. I'm sorry. By the time it will be your turn, it is very unlikely you would be alive."

I stare at the doctor, wide-eyed, trying to comprehend what he just said. That can't be possible. It can't. 

"C-can't we do a private doctor?" 

"Your mother and father have already told us that there is no way they could pay that sum of money and still protect you afterwards, and sustain the family. They are heartbroken too, but..."

Heartbroken? Pigpoop. It's more likely that they are overjoyed about their trip to Australia. They haven't even seen me in the last two weeks. Maybe they'll change their mind...

But they won't. 

"How long do I have, Doctor?"

"About six to seven weeks before the cancer takes over your lungs and constricts your windpipe enough to let no oxygen through, which will kill you pretty instantly."

I breathe in sharply through my nose and look down at my lap, tears blurring my vision. My hands are shaking. Six weeks to live. I won't even turn sixteen. I'll miss my birthday by about a week, most likely. Now I know what it is too feel your heart ripping in two. 

"Taegan?"

I look up again and see Dr Williamson's kind, sympathetic and worried face and it makes me want to throw a brick at him. He doesn't understand. What does he know? He isn't about to die, in less than two months because his parents don't want to sacrifice their holiday to Australia. He doesn't know how I feel. I nod once, and then ask him quietly to open the door. He obliges, and I wheel my chair out of the room. Out of the surgery, out onto the street. Down to the end of the street and past the parade of shops and right down to the park at the other end of town. I wheel myself to the bench under the huge old oak and then lift myself out and curl into a ball on the green grass and cry.