Hot tears threaten to spill, but I will them away, refusing to break down when I know I could have it so much worse.Stage two. Favourable.Those words are the only thing holding me together through all of this. Statistics and the knowledge that I’m otherwise healthy. I’ll make it out of this.It’s only stage two.
I repeat these words over and over every night while trying to fall asleep, but they aren’t a comfort. Life can change in the blink of an eye, and cancer treatment is a rollercoaster. Just because I’ve been diagnosed with one thing doesn’t mean something else won’t pop up in my next PET scan or that I’ll respond to this treatment plan.
Anythingcan change, and that fact terrifies me to the deepest depths of my soul. I often find myself dwelling on my impending mortality, and when I realise what I’m doing, it’s like flipping a switch. I lean into the science of it all and try to drown myself in what might turn out to be denial.
It’s one thing to grieve the loss of a loved one, but it’s a whole other to grieve the loss of a life you once saw for yourself.
“Deary, Nurse Alder asked how you’re feeling,” Archie says, concern lacing his hesitant words as he taps on my armrest, dragging me from my thoughts.Doom spiral is more like it.
“Oh,” I say, jerking my head to find her staring at me, blonde brows knitted together. “Sorry, I must’ve been daydreaming. I’m fine, though, thank you.”
She purses her lips, but her brows smooth. “Okay, let me know if that changes. I’m going to open the IV wider, so you’ll be getting your medicine a little quicker now.”
I nod, knowing the drill mostly because I’ve done so much research, but nothing can truly prepare you for that first infusion. Even if you don’t get sick, you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Do you like crosswords?” Archie asks, a wide smile spreading across his tanned, weathered cheeks.
“I do. I like brain games, anything to keep me out of my thoughts and my mind sharp.”
“Me too,” he says, lifting the monstrous crossword from his lap to show me. “These gloves are a real nuisance, so I had to get the crossword for geriatrics,” he grumbles, and if I’d been drinking anything, I’d have done a spit-take. This man is no less than seventy. Is thatold?No. Geriatric, from a medical perspective? Absolutely.
“Right then, Miss Shah. Five letters, four across. What do ye call a bear with nae teeth?” he asks, tapping the end of his black ballpoint pen against his mouth.
“Firstly, Archie, I’m convinced you’re a sociopath. Who does crossword puzzles inpen?Secondly, the answer is gummy.”
“Firstly,Miss Shah, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to talk to senior citizens with such sass?” he chides, and a surprised laugh bursts from my lips with so much force that I’m left coughing for several seconds before I get a hold of myself. His lips are sucked between his teeth, suppressing a smirk. “Don’t die on me now, deary. That’d be a bad look for this place.”
My eyes widen, and I slap a hand over my mouth. “Archibald!” I scold. “Uncouth.” I flick my brows up my forehead and shake my head, but my lips have a mind of their own, stretching into a grin I can’t contain.
“I’m Scottish, deary. Nobody’s ever made the mistake of calling me couth,” he says with a wink.
“Scottish, you say? I hadn’t noticed,” I tease with a playful roll of my eyes. “I couldn’t tell without your kilt and bagpipes.”
“Eh, they wouldn’t let me in here with either. Apparently, the hens in here weren’t fond of seein’ me bawbag.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I fight to contain my laughter, my shoulders quaking with the force of it. “I can understand why. Bet they hang to your knees in your old age.”
He cracks a wide smile, the wrinkles surrounding his eyes deepening. “Next one, since you’re such a smart ass.” He coughs as my eyes grow wide in mock outrage. “Lass, I meant a smartlass.”
I chuckle. “You most certainly did not. Now, hit me with another one,” I tell him, flicking my chin to the puzzle in his lap.
He gives me a knowing smirk, returning his gaze to the crossword. “Five down, three words, nine letters. Why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants?”
“No idea,” I concede.
“He’s got a ‘hole in one’!” he says, a little too proud of himself, if you ask me.
We continue like this, swapping between his crosswords and sharing stories about ourselves and our loved ones.Nothing like cancer to bring two people together, huh?
It’s strange how laughter can coexist with dread.
“Same place in two weeks?” he asks, clearly joking since we have very little say in the matter, but I’m hit with the realisation thatanythingcould change in two weeks, and this might be the last time I see him.
I nod, holding back the roar of anxiety and the flood of tears threatening to carry me off to sea. “Yep, it’s a date,” I say, taking a few steps towards the doors, but my feet glue themselves to the ground.
I turn on my heel, tilting my head as he watches me with the gleeful smile I’ve already grown attached to after two infusions shared with him. I channel my inner Elijah and approach him with my arms open wide, fighting all of my usual instincts, and repeat the same words my blushing flatmate had said upon first meeting me. “Sorry, I’m a hugger.”I am not.I mentally cunt-punch the voice in my head for calling out the lie and wrap his frail frame in my arms as he does the same, chuckling against me as if he'd already known that wasn’t the case.
The journey back to my flat is calming, allowing me time to untangle the mess in my mind. Through some of it, I see a particular bright spot that I hadn’t considered before.
