When I Die [Wattys 2016]

Chapter 30: Dying

When I was nine or so, I faked being sick to stay home and play Nintendo. I'd seen a kid do it on some afterschool special and wondered why I'd never thought of it. Here I was, regularly attending school, and for what?
I'd sat the heating pad over my head and licked my palms until they felt clammy. I had a pack of oatmeal in my pajamas to make into puke in case mom needed extra convincing.
She didn't. Since I'd never done this before, she wasn't very suspicious. Or, maybe she was and just didn't care.
The beginning of the day, I played Spyro and Tony Hawk. I ate popcorn in bed and drank soda. Around noon, I started feeling really sleepy. I let myself fall asleep only to wake up an hour or so later shivering and sweating and holding desperately onto my popcorn breakfast. I found out that afternoon after a doctors appointment that I had the flu and a stomach virus. A double whammy. I'd never felt so awful in my entire short life.
Now, I'd definitely felt much worse and been much sicker, but I shivered just the same. I felt like a child again, meek and helpless. Not sure how to get comfortable and frustrated because of that. It was four days after Valentine's Day and I hadn't left my bed since Aaron helped me into it that night.

I slept constantly. My mom stood in the doorway and watched me breathe in, rattly, shallow breaths. I heard her at night crying in the hallway, when I opened my eyes, her face was pressed into my dad's chest.

"He is suffering, Bill. I told you I wouldn't let this happen."

"I know, dear. I know," he whispered into the top of her hair. He could be so tender.

My mom brought me pain medicine every few hours, and as much as I'd normally refuse, I needed it. Actually, I wanted it. I was in incredible pain, and I decided for the first time that my normal state of consciousness wasn't the best one. It was all I could do to try and forget Myra.

I wanted her near me because I felt so ill, but on the flip side I tried to remind myself that this is exactly why I did what I did. She didn't need this.

That evening, I woke up in full body shakes. My bed clothes were soaked through again from night sweats. I disgusted myself.
My mom came up and helped me across the hall into the shower. She gave me some decency but made sure I stayed upright. She let me sit in the tub on the shower chair I'd received like an old man. My scrawny body was washed over by the steaming water and it felt amazing. I released a shiver before feeling nauseated and a bit better at the same time. My mom had remade my bed with fresh bedclothes and helped me to my room. She'd sat out pajamas for me to wear and I fumbled with them. I was dizzy. My energy was low. I was on battery-saving mode. My hands were shaking and quivering. I was so afraid that I wouldn't be okay ever again. This is how it would end.

Cancer is not beautiful. No. I was not beautiful. I was dying.

I laid in bed with no shirt, trying to cool down but freezing all at the same time. My body ached. What's wrong with me? I had been so okay. Not great, I admitted, I had been feeling the same way for weeks. I knew the cough had been getting worse. I knew the aches had been there. I should have told my mom. I should have gone to the hospital.
That evening, my dad came up to my room. I was shivering again and couldn't stop. Every inch of my body felt like it was crushed by a truck. He stood in the doorway, my room was dark and the hallway lit up his silhouette. I laid on my side, wrapped in a loose ball. My blanket hanging off a shoulder. He stood there as if taking it all in. He inhaled deeply and said,
"Leo, it's time to go to the hospital son."

No, please, please no. I wanted to say, but I couldn't.

But I didn't. I had no fight left in me. I was weak. I was sick.
When we got to the ER, they took me straight back. My mom had called them to tell them we were coming. My dad had to carry me to the wheelchair point at the front of the hospital. The nurses whisked me away and laid me on a bed in the back hallway. I closed my eyes tight and tried to imagine one day leaving the hospital. I was terrified that this was it. I'd never smell the fresh air again. I'd never ride in a car again. I wouldn't be able to go home again. I was so afraid.
The nurse that was pushing me down the hallway saw me with my eyes tight and said,
"Hang in there, Leo. It's okay. We're almost there."
Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.
I was in excruciating pain. My lungs felt like they were being crushed. I breathed in short, desperate gasps. We got to a room and they moved me from bed to exam table and the last thing I remember was the light moving towards me. I wanted to panic but my eyes were closing against my will.
Am I dying? Is this dying? I'm dying.
And then black.

But I woke up, and I was surprised by that. I was shocked, looking around me for some sort of familiarity. My mom wasn't here. My dad wasn't here. Just white, bleak walls scattered with stock paintings.
Everything was so sterile. So white, so empty.

"Leo, you're back."
Her voice was soft and smooth. She stood in the doorway. I looked her way.
Ophelia.
I hadn't seen her in so long. She was still pretty. I didn't say anything.
She walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. She made me feel better. I hated that she came around every time I was feeling less than human. We didn't really know each other very well. She always caught me in delirium...
I didn't want to see her. For some reason, she made me uneasy.
"Leo you look awful..."
"Wow, thanks." I rolled onto my side, away from her. She'd been so inviting and now I felt like I couldn't even talk to her. Why?
"Leo, can we talk?"
I rolled my eyes a bit. I didn't want to talk. Talk about what exactly?
"What? What do you need?" I managed. I was being intentionally short with her. I was frustrated at my situation. I hated being so useless.
"Do you ever want to stop this? I mean, you fight so hard. You're always fighting. Every time I see you you're struggling."
"Well you don't see me often."
"Often enough," she shot back.
We were silent for a moment and she breathed quietly, almost as if to not make me jealous of the simplicity.
I thought about it. All this time, I'd been fighting so hard. Had I thought about giving up? Sure. Could I actually do it? I wasn't sure. There's no turning back, once you've given up. I can't change my mind.
"Sure."
She moved closer. I could feel her near me.
"What keeps you here?" She asked, pressing a hand into mine.
I snatched it away. I looked at her, confused.
"Why do you always ask me these... awful questions? I stay here for my family. I stay here for... for my friends. I stay for a lot of reasons."
"Really? Your family and friends?" She chuckled. I opened my eyes wide, in disbelief. "Leo, are your family and friends happy now? Or are they nervous wrecks?"
Her words stung. She didn't look menacing, like she was trying to hurt me, in fact, she looked as though she didn't know she was being hurtful. Her eyes were kind, and her face was relaxed.
I didn't know what to say. I couldn't think quickly enough. I was frustrated, snatching my hand away.
"Please go. I need to be alone." I turned away from her again, facing the wall. She left as quietly as she came in.
I thought about her words. I tried to shove them to the back of my mind, but I couldn't.

Who was this all for?

I shook and shook until I fell asleep.
I woke up drenched in sweat. I blinked until my eyes could focus. My mom was beside me in the chair. Typical. This happened so many times it was normal for her and I.
I tried to sit up a bit, and the pain intensified by at least a million. I half-moaned, half-screamed. It felt like hot irons pressing on my lungs, resting in my gut and stabbing my head.
That startled her. "Oh, Leo, baby sit still. You have a drain connected to you."
I was confused by her words and so very out of it. I closed my eyes tight and tried to swallow back the nausea that was rising up from moving.
My mom was so tired. Her face was pale, marked with creases from months of worry. Her hair was pulled up in a knot and she looked weary.
Who was I doing this for?
I laid back in my spot, trying hard to sit still. The pain was all-encompassing. It was swallowing me whole, my insides screaming to get out and my skin was stinging. The nurse came, I guess my mom called her. She took a good look at me, my body scrunched into a ball of discomfort, wrapping protectively around my center which must have contained fire. My chest felt as though it was being sat on, full pressure by a person who could stand to lose a bit of weight. I couldn't take in a deep breath, when I did it felt like my lungs were burning up, getting smaller with every attempt. Instead, I rattled in quick, short breaths.
My mom and the nurse whispered about me, or maybe they were talking out loud. I couldn't hear. I wasn't trying to.
Who am I doing this for?
The nurse nodded her head, walking around my bed from my mom, she pulled out a syringe full of something, and I didn't care to know what.
"Hi Leo, I'm your day nurse, Becky. I am going to administer..."
And then nothing, just her mouth moving. My eyes got blurry again, right in time to watch her stick the needle into my IV port which wrapped my arm.

And then nothing.

Who am I doing this for?