A Collection of Imagines

Nick

Fighter

I feel weaker than usual. I'm not used to it. I need help getting out of my bed. I need help walking across the room to go to the bathroom. I need help changing my clothes. That's the state I'm in now. My own personal hell. 

This last round of chemo has been the worst for her. I can see her body's in constant turmoil with itself. It's still deciding on which side should live: her or the cancer. It's terrifying to watch. She shuffles around the room most of the time. Occasionally reaching out to me when she needs help. Her skin clings to the little muscle she has left. The radiation took that. It's taking her little by little and I don't know if I can watch it do that. 

I rise from my bed and swing my legs on the side of it. He leans up in his chair, but I shoo him away before he gets up to help me. I can do this. I plant my feet on the linoleum, cold as usual. My hands pressed on each side of myself as I push myself up off the bed. I stand, wobbling. I take a few moments to gather myself. Looking down on him from where I stand. His eyes plead for me to let him help me. I sigh, reaching my hand out. 

I take her hand and stand next to her. My other hand goes to her lower back and her arm slings around my shoulder. "Where do you want to go?"   

"The bathroom. I need to shower." He nods next to me and steps forward. He aids me towards the large oak door in the room. He opens the door with the hand that used to hold mine. He reveals the white room that's decorated with more white. I look down at myself. My skin almost matches the same color of the walls. My stomach churns at the realization. 

"Do you want me to help you?" 

"No. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine." 

She lets go of me and walks into the bathroom, clumsily closing the door behind her. I stare at the door, waiting for the shower to turn on. When it does, I go back to my chair. I slide it from its place by her bed and I move it to just outside the door. I sit down, my face in my hands. I know she thinks she can do this, but I don't believe she's strong enough. She needs my help and as soon as she can register that, the easier this becomes. 

With much effort, I turn on the shower. I wait for the cold water to turn warm as I lean against the counter. I look at myself in the mirror. I can barely recognize myself. My cheeks have sunken in on themselves. My eyes look bigger than usual. My hair ... My hair is falling out. I bring a hand up to grab a few strands that have clumped together on my head. It falls off, landing on my other hand that clutches the counter. I gasp at it. My eyes filling with tears. Something catches my eye on the counter. The gleaming metal of the electric razor. The nurse put it in here with a pitiful and sympathetic comment 'if you ever need this, it's right here.' I grab it. The metal feels heavy in my grasp. I look at myself in the mirror again. The woman I once was isn't there anymore. So, what on less thing to get rid of while the virus takes hold. 

After few minutes, I hear the water shut off. I watch the door to see if she comes out feeling a little better than how she was before. Of course, a shower isn't going to cure her cancer, but it might lift her spirits. Instead, I hear her shrill voice from the other side of the wood, 

"Nick..." 

I stand from my seat and open the door. At first, I noticed that she was still in her hospital gown, which made me conclude that she hadn't taken a shower. Then, my eyes go to her face. Her eyes filling with my realization at what she did. Her head is completely shaved. A few spots of bald pops up in a few places. My mouth falls agape. She lets out a sob with her hand clutching her mouth. The loss of that hand on the counter makes the other one too weak to hold the rest of her body up. She starts to fall to the floor and I'm quick to catch her. We hit the floor of the bathroom. My legs slide themselves under hers. She cradles into me as she lets herself go. She shrieks into me. Her screams making my eyes water as well. 

"I'm so ugly! I can't do this anymore." 

"No, listen to me. Please. You're a fighter, okay? I love you because you're a fighter. You hear that. I love you because you can fight this and I'll be here every step of the way. You're not alone in this fight, okay? I'm always going to be here for you. We're going to fight this together. So never call yourself ugly, you hear me? You're still the same woman I married and you're still the same woman I fell in love with. You're a fighter for yourself and for me. So please, don't give up. If not for yourself, at least don't give up for me, you understand?" She clutches me tighter. Her cries suppressing as we sit here on the cold tile of this hospital bathroom.