It was three days after Sam returned home that he and I sat in Dr. Marin’s office and listened to the news.
“I…I don’t understand.” Sam’s grip on my hand would hurt anyone but me.
“It’s rare, Sam. Honestly, in all my years, I’ve never seen such an aggressive cancer.”
“So, what you’re saying is your original plan of chemo and radiation won’t work?”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Doctor.” I sat forward. “He feels fine. Why is that, if you’re saying the cancer in his body is metastasizing so quickly. Wouldn’t he be in pain?”
I didn’t blame Dr. Marin. I could see the sadness in his eyes as he took his time explaining everything to us.
“We have a theory as to why Sam may not be feeling much pain aside from any usual aches and pains.” He clicked something on his laptop and then turned it to show us. “This is Sam’s tumor, the one on his spine, close to his brain. Though this is not a typical situation, it has been known to happen in several cases. We believe based on the location of the tumor, it’s causing a loss or reduction in pain sensation.”
“How, what?” Sam’s eyes were red rimmed, and I wanted to scoop him up and hold him close.
“We believe it’s interfering with the pain pathways that carry sensory information from the body to the brain.”
“What you’re saying is that Sam should be in pain, but he’s not feeling it?”
Dr. Marin nodded. “What we’re seeing here, with all the scans, the biopsies, everything, Sam should be in pain, yes.”
Sam swallowed. “And if this tumor wasn’t there, are you saying I’d maybe have felt something sooner and could have done something?”
“Sam.” Dr. Marin sighed. “Don’t play the what-if game.”
“But I’m dying. I’m going to die. There’s no fight left.” He released my hand and stood. “The one thing I knew how to do, I can’t. Am I understanding this correctly? I did everything I was supposed to, blood tests, yearly scans, I didn’t eat processedshit, I made sure to use the strongest sunscreen, even in winter.” Tears poured from Sam’s eyes, and while I wanted to shush him, I wouldn’t dare. He needed this.
“I was given five years. I was never living a long life—it was a stopwatch kind of existence, and someone hit the button and the countdown resumed. Do I understand everything?”
“Sam, I wish I had good news for you, truly.”
“How long?” Sam’s jaw was clenched, his hands were in fists at his sides.
“I don’t know. It could be one month; it could be one year. The tumor at any time could dictate your pain, or you’ll never feel any.”
“I could be walking down the street and what, just collapse?”
“No, Sam. I almost wish you wouldn’t see it coming, but you will, you’ll know. We will monitor you, do our best to keep you comfortable.”
“I am comfortable.” He sobbed, and I shot out of my chair and wrapped my arms around him. “I’m comfortable,” he cried against my chest.
“I’m going to take Sam home, Dr. Marin. We can talk in a few days.”
He didn’t stop us, and I guided Sam out of the clinic and into the waiting car. The whole ride Sam gripped my shirt, kept his face pressed to my chest. I could feel the wetness of his tears through the fabric.
I could give him forever, never worrying about stupid results or pain, but he had to agree to it. Now wasn’t the time; he was grieving. One way or another his human life was ending, and Sam was coming to terms with that.
We endedup going to my home. I ran into his apartment, grabbed Bubbles and all her things, and we took the boat to the island. That was where we’d been for the last five days.
Sam didn’t really smile much. He stared out the window toward the shore, eyes unseeing, thoughts a million miles away.
Ben and Natalie had left him several texts and voice mails, none he was returning. They were his family and regardless of the choice Sam had made, he needed them. So, I sent them messages to come for dinner tonight. They agreed, likely relieved to see Sam.
“Sam.” I kneeled in front of him by the chair. “Natalie and Ben will be here in about thirty minutes.”
“What, why?”
