Chapter Twenty-Six
Jason
I went to the doctor as scheduled, and they performed a series of tests. After the doctor massaged my arm so hard I thought I’d have to punch him to get him off, he ordered a series of blood tests and x-rays. I told him I couldn’t stay in this fucking office all day because I had a life and a daughter to get back to, but he told me something that stoked a worried fire in the back of my mind.
He told me my blood tests had pushed me to the front of all the rest of the tests he had ordered.
I asked him what the hell that meant, and he told me it was probably nothing. My white blood cell count was incredibly high, so even though I was having x-rays done, I was also having things like my kidney and liver function tested. I peed in a cup to be tested for a UTI, and the doctor massaged my lymph nodes to make sure they weren’t swollen. He even popped a pair of gloves on and fingered my prostate for a while to make sure it wasn’t enlarged. I could’ve done without that part of the exam, and I wasn’t entirely sure it had been vital.
But when he pulled me into his office, two words flew from his mouth that I never expected to hear.
“Bone cancer?” I asked.
“Yes. Between your white blood cell count, the swelling in your shoulder, the weight loss you’ve experienced since the last time we saw—”
“I haven’t lost weight,” I said.
“According to your chart, you have. I see you in the gym three to four times a week lifting weights, but you’re down six pounds. That’s not normal. Not for a guy your size.”
“But bone cancer? Come on, doc,” I said.
“The severity of your pain is actually because your right humerus bone, the one that connects your shoulder to your elbow, has several minor fractures.”
He pulled out my x-ray and put it up to a lighted board on his wall for me to see, and I was astounded by the ricocheting marks all across the black and white picture. A throbbing sensation began in my shoulder that caused me to mindlessly massage it, and the doctor looked at me with worry radiating from his eyes as it slowly began to sink in.
I fucking had bone cancer in my arm.
“We’ll need to biopsy the bone in your arm to be sure, and I’ll actually want to take bone marrow to make sure it hasn’t seeped into your marrow yet.”
“When will you do that?” I asked.
“If you’ve got the time? Today,” he said.
“Fine. Whatever.”
It took them a while to get everything together because I refused to go to the hospital. Someone who knew Lucy would see me there, and the last thing I wanted to happen was this to get back to her before I knew all the answers. This was complete and utter shit, and the only thing that kept running through my mind was the conversation I’d had with her the night she had told me she loved me.
“Don’t you dare die on me.”
Fuck.
I pounded into the wall while they stuck a needle the size of my fucking head into my bone. Tears rose to my eyes, and I bit down so hard on my lip, I could taste my own blood. I breathed a sigh of relief when the nurse pulled the needle from my arm, and I collapsed back into a chair while they put a stitch in my arm and wrapped the biopsy site in gauze.
“Why don’t you wait in my office? This test actually won’t take too long,” he said.
I ventured back to his office, and my mind was swirling with everything imaginable. I saw Jenna’s face and how beautiful it had looked this morning when I got up and took her to daycare. I heard Lucy’s happy voice in my head from when I talked with her last night. I regaled myself in how the Washington air was transitioning from apples to snow, and how Jenna wanted to keep her window open at night to smell it, even though I knew it’d make her sick.
I didn’t even realize the doctor had sat down in front of me until he called out my name.
“Jason. You there, buddy?” he asked.
“I’m definitely not your buddy,” I said, snickering.
“Well, there is some good news,” the doctor said.
“I don’t have cancer?”
“Well, it’s not that bad,” he said. “It hasn’t spread to your lymph nodes, nor has it seeped into your bone marrow. We stuck the needle straight through the tumor growing on your humerus, and while it’s wound pretty tight around the bone, it hasn’t spread to any of the other bones in your arm.”
“I have no idea what any of this means, doc,” I said.
“It means it’s not as advanced as most bone cancers are. Usually, the tumors grow pretty flat, which means it can spread and become unstable before patients even begin experiencing symptoms. The swelling that’s trickling from your shoulder down the upper part of your arm is your body’s reaction to the tumor growing upward, which is what’s causing those feelings of numbness you’re experiencing.”
“How did you know I was experiencing numbness?” I asked.
“I’ve been a doctor for a very long time. When I was massaging your arm, you were practically nipping at my heels to stop until I reached a certain point in your arm. Not only was it firm, but you stopped moving altogether, telling me it was numb,” the doctor said.
“Oh.” Now that he mentioned it, there had been times the past couple of days when my arm had gone a bit numb. I’d passed it off as a dead arm from lack of circulation.
“Now, you’ve got some treatment options. Because the tumor is growing upward, we can actually go in and remove the better part of it, which means less chemotherapy and lessens the possibility of radiation.”
“Wait. Doc, it’s the holidays. Can’t we just do this, you know, after Thanksgiving?”
“Jason, you’re lucky we caught it now. Catching bone cancer this early happens to less than ten percent of the entire population diagnosed with this type of cancer. You don’t want to wait for treatment. We could get you in for surgery tomorrow morning and—”
“Nope. Can’t do that. Gotta make arrangements for my daughter. That doesn’t give me enough time,” I said.
“Then make arrangements, Jason. This is serious. This type of cancer is aggressive, to say the least,” the doctor said.
“Look, I just don’t wanna be rash about anything, okay?”
“If you won’t do this willingly, I have ways to force you to do this,” the doctor said.
“That a threat?” I asked.
“If you want it to be. Look, this is a very serious pill to swallow, I get it. But if we get ahead of this, you’re looking at being done completely with treatment before the month of January is over.”
“This can’t be that bad, doc. I mean, bone cancer? Seriously? It’s just a bit of pain in my arm,” I said.
“Jason, look at me.”
I whipped my gaze up to the doctor, and that’s when it really set in. As long as I kept diverting my gaze, I could wiggle my way out of this. I could convince myself it wasn’t happening, and I could keep trucking like nothing was wrong. A bit of pain medicine from the pharmacy would keep this at bay until my arm got better, and then I could go back to living the life I had been living before all this bullshit happened.
But when I looked at the doctor, it cemented my worst fears. I had cancer in my fucking arm, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
“Just give me the holiday, doc,” I said.
“Fine. But you need to be in here bright and early Monday morning to discuss options. And make plans to be in surgery by Monday afternoon. We need to take advantage of the fact that we can actually get to this with surgical procedures,” he said.
“All right. I can do that,” I said.
I was thankful I could get the doctor to sway because I didn’t wanna think about this until after the holiday. Thanksgiving was Jenna’s favorite holiday because it was the only day I made all the foods she loved. Our Thanksgiving was never a traditional one, but it was one that suited us, and that made it all the more special.
Driving home, the doctor’s words bounced off the corners of my mind. The end of January? Could it really be that easy with something like cancer? I mean, sure, people beat cancer all the time. But many people weren’t so lucky. Maybe people went in, were told they were fine, and then croaked a few months later.
Shit, who the fuck was gonna watch Jenna if I died? My wife was dead, and I wasn’t close with her parents. They never approved of the fucking marriage anyway, so when Jenna came along, they had brushed her off, too. I told them it was their fucking loss because it was an honor to be a part of my child’s life, and I hadn’t heard from them since.
And my parents? Shit, I wasn’t leaving my beautiful daughter with them. My parents were pieces of work. Alcoholics who held down jobs for no more than two months before they drank their money away and had to interview for other jobs. I supported the damn household for years before I had met my wife and got away from them. She was the one who had convinced me that I wasn’t responsible for their happiness or well-being, and I ended up blocking their numbers the first time they called asking for money when they were broke.
I had to find someone, though, to watch Jenna. I had to draw up a will and make sure I left things to her, so my estate didn’t get caught up in the courts. I had to make sure someone I trusted would be able to take care of Jenna and raise her the way I wanted her to be raised.
But the only person who came to mine was Lucy, and I had to pull over onto the side of the road because my anger overtook my vision. Red started to seep into the corners of my eyes as I banged my fists against the wheel of my truck. What the fuck was I going to tell Lucy? I had just promised her that I wouldn’t get sick. That beautiful, vibrant woman I’d come to care about so much had already been through this debacle once.
She had already lost one man she had fallen in love with to this disgusting disease.
I couldn't do that to her again. Maybe I could call and patch things up with my wife’s parents and put them down as guardians for Jenna, but I couldn’t do that to Lucy. I couldn’t put all of this on her and expect her to take care of my daughter while she watched me die. I couldn’t force her to hold my hand through all this while she watched me wither away into absolute nothing.
I couldn’t become another David to her. Not after all we had been through.
The only option I had was to break up with her. I had invited her over to Thanksgiving dinner, but I could plan a date for us to go on beforehand. It didn’t seem right to bring her over for Thanksgiving and act like one big happy family before I broke up with her. She deserved a proper breakup, one that occurred over dinner instead of over a phone call, and one that occurred close enough to where she could make alternative plans for the holidays. I could tell her it was because I didn’t feel the same way she did, and I could blame it on her telling me she loved me.
After all, I hadn’t said it back, and I could use that to my advantage in this situation. I could push her away and get her to leave without ever having to tell her what was going on.
I could save her from all this, even if it meant pissing her off. Because, in the end, I’d rather have her hate me than watch me die.
Then, after making up my mind, I pulled my truck back on the road and whipped a U-turn in the middle of the highway.
I was going to pick up my daughter early from daycare, and we were going to go pick apples while we still could.