Thursday, June 9
Don’t tell.
On Thursday morning, I am woken up by an intense pain in my stomach. I look at the clock on the nightstand and it says it’s only one in the morning. I quietly sit up on my bed, not wanting to wake up Kale.
The pain will pass.
It has to pass.
But it doesn’t. The longer I sit there, the worse it gets.
I decide to walk to see if the pain will get better, but I can’t even stand up the pain is so intense.
My heart starts accelerating.
This is it.
I’m about to die.
I grab onto the nightstand and force myself to stand up. I walk a little ways before my legs give out. I bump into the table, knocking it over.
“Juliet,” Kale says, in a sleepy voice. I hear him jump out of bed. “Juliet! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I...” I grab onto my stomach. “I’m hurting.”
He runs over to the nightstand to grab something. His phone I presume.
“Kale,” I say, my voice is barely a whisper. I’m in too much pain to talk any louder.
“What?” he asks, as he punches something into his phone.
“Please don’t tell my family,” I say.
3 p.m.
Nineteen years isn’t enough.
I spend the day in the hospital getting all kinds of tests. They get my medical records from LA. And I’m hooked up to all kinds of needles and machines. I suppose I should get used to it. This is my future.
They gave me some strong medicine, so they pain is gone. I’m glad for that, but I hate the medicine. It makes me sick to my stomach.
A middle aged doctor walks in. He’s probably in his late thirties. He’s got nice hair, like one of those doctors on a medical show.
“I’m Dr. Sanchez,” he tells me. “I’m the cancer specialist.”
“I already know. I’m stage four. Have six months to live. Well, a little less than that now,” I say.
Kale, who is standing beside me, grabs my hand. I can see him flinch when I say six months to live. I know that I shouldn’t have brought him along, but I’m so glad he’s here right now.
“The thing is, the cancer doesn’t look as bad as it did during your first scan,” he says.
Hope bubbles up inside me. “Does that mean I have a chance?”
The frown on Dr. Sanchez’s face is the only answer I need. “I’m sorry. It’s not good. The chances of surviving this are one in a hundred. You need a miracle. But, I also think you have a little longer than six months to live. You’re a fighter, Juliet Johnson. I can see that.”
“How long?” I ask.
“I would say nine months to a year, but you may live less or more,” he answers. “Things change day by day. I’m going to send the scans to your doctor in LA. He should help you get a better timeline. But in the end, how long you live is... up to you.”
I turn to Kale. “I get Christmas. And my brother’s wedding. And possibly my twentieth birthday.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I know he hates seeing me like this.
“I am going to give you a prescription for the pain. Just take it when you need it,” Dr. Sanchez says.
“Am I good to continue on my road trip?” I ask.
“Juliet, no,” Kale says.
“I think it should be fine,” the doctor says. “I’ll tell the nurse you’re ready to go.”
He walks out the door, leaving me alone with Kale.
“Juliet, we can’t go on. You’re sick,” Kale says.
“No. I’m going. I have to.”
“You can’t.”
“I have to, Kale,” I say. “You don’t understand. I’m only going to keep getting sicker. Just because I might have nine months to live now doesn’t mean I’ll be healthy for all nine of those. Today just proved that. I want to continue on the road trip.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Please. I want to get as much done on my bucket list as possible. I want to have a chance to really live before I die,” I tell him. “I promise if it gets to be too much I will tell you. And I feel fine now.”
“Okay,” Kale says, letting out a sigh. “We can go back to the hotel tonight and leave first thing in the morning. That’s what I had planned anyway.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah,” he says, walking towards the door. “I’m going to step outside for a minute.”
I nod, knowing how he feels.
We have been in this room all day, and I know he was scared for me.
While we’d waited on the ambulance to show up, he’d held me on the floor. He’d cried with me. It killed me to see that. I knew it was hurting him to watch me. I never should’ve asked him to come with me.
That is the reason I can’t tell my family.
I can’t hurt them, too.
But, I can’t bring myself to regret the decision to tell Kale. As selfish as it sounds, I need him right now. I don’t want to be alone. Because the truth is, I’m scared of dying.
Yes, me. The girl who jumped off a cliff yesterday. The girl who sang karaoke in front of a huge crowd in Dallas. The girl who married a guy in Vegas.
Death seems so uncertain. In my mind, I can’t imagine life after death. I was raised in a Christian home, and was taught about heaven. But it’s still scary to imagine. And what if dying hurts? Because what happened earlier today hurt bad.
I want more time.
Nineteen years just isn’t enough.