Page 70 of Part of Forever
“You what?” Dad startles.
I look at him. “I called them to say that I have a highly progressed form of cancer and that I won’t be attending in the fall.”
“You. Did. Not.” My mom says each word slowly.
“I did.” I’m still looking at my dad. “And it really sucked,because even though Mom did push me so hard to get to Paris, it was my dream, too. I wanted to go, and now I can’t.”
My voice doesn’t crack like I think it will as I say this. Instead, I feel strong for finally getting the words out.
“I’m ready to go home now,” I tell Dad and he gives me a nod. Mom is still frozen to her spot. “Let me get my stuff from the locker room.”
When I come back, Dad’s holding Mom, and her shoulders are shaking. I don’t know the reason for her tears—it could be because of something I said or because of my diagnosis. Either way, I don’t regret what I said. I don’t regret standing up to her and telling her no.
That last runthrough was perfect. I may never dance that routine again, but now I don’t have to, because I did it one last time, on my terms.
28
The bright sunpeeking through the blinds in my room makes me blink as I open my eyes. I’ve spent the past three weeks in this room, getting poison pumped into my body. Yesterday was my last round of chemo before Doctor Barker will see if it’s working and if the tumor has gotten any smaller.
My room is quiet—Dad’s asleep on the couch and I can see Nathan and Grace in the hallway.Where’s Tucker?I want to ask,have you heard from him?But no one even knows I’m awake yet.
My head is throbbing, but other than that, I feel almost completely normal. “Dad,” I whisper, and his eyes fly open.
“Hey, Rosebud.” He leans over me, touching my cheek, and I lean into his hand.
After he helps me drink some water, Nathan and Grace come into my room. Grace won’t meet my eye, and Nathan looks sad.
“What’s going on?” I ask. I want to know why everyone seems so solemn. Mom enters the room, followed by Doctor Barker.
“You’re up,” Doctor Barker says, in a way that reminds me far too much of Lucy, and my stomach clenches.
“Yeah?” I ask. Why wouldn’t I be up?
“You’ve been asleep for almost three days,” Doctor Barker explains, and I look at her, confused.
“But, chemo…” I start, and then I remember. I remember getting chemo started, and everything feeling heavy and dark.
“What do you remember?” Mom asks quietly.
“It was dark…” I offer and Doctor Barker nods.
“You had a seizure in the middle of your last round of chemo. We had to sedate you to make it stop,” Doctor Barker says. “But, once your brain activity was normal, we took you off those meds, and now you’re awake.”
I nod. It’s a lot to take in. This feels too soon, too sudden. I knew Lucy had seizures, but I never asked her when they started. Maybe she had them the whole time they’d known about the tumor, and not just at the end. Or maybe they were only at the end and I have less time than we originally thought.
Mom gives me a small smile. “They’re going to keep you here for a few more days, but things are looking good.” Things are still tense between us, but I can tell she’s trying. We might never be okay, her and I, but maybe things can get better. But, after that day in the studio when I saw her crying, things have been a little different.
“Well, not good, exactly,” Doctor Barker corrects and we all look at her. “Your tumor hasn’t gotten any bigger, but it also hasn’t gotten smaller.”
“We didn’t know if that would happen though, right?”
Doctor Barker shakes her head.
I think part of me knew from the moment I heard the cancer was back that this would be a losing battle; one that I was willing to fight, but one that my body wouldn’t win.
I swallow. I ask the question I know everyone is thinking, “How long?”
“Still hard to say. If we continue to do chemo, we can keep the tumor from growing, but we can’t do that forever. There will be a time when the chemo and the side effects aren’t worth it,and there won’t be much time after that, I’m afraid,” Doctor Barker says. The words zip through me, as if I was just struck by lightning, but no one else moves. They already knew.
