Annie begs me with just a touch. A kiss. A silent plea.
Keep going. Keep fighting.
So I do the only thing I know how to do.
I reach for the strings and start writing the next verse.
“This world is full of conflicts and things that cannot be reconciled. But there are moments when we can reconcile and embrace the whole mess, and that’s what I mean by ‘Hallelujah.’”
—Leonard Cohen
Chapter 63Chase
The ceiling is white.
Too white.
Too quiet.
Except for the steadybeep-beep-beepof the monitor beside me, measuring something I’m supposed to trust.
Hands move around me like shadow. Gloved, fast, impersonal. A nurse asks me to confirm my name, birthdate, what side the tumor’s on. For the fifth time.
I answer on autopilot. My mouth is dry, my arms strapped loosely at my sides. An IV is taped into my hand, the blood pressure cuff tightening with a hiss.
The smell of antiseptic and latex curls under my nose.
This is real.
This is happening.
They saidnobefore. Every doctor. Every chart. Too deep, too dangerous, too tangled.
But Annie found someone who saidmaybe.
And that was enough.
A heart monitor chirps louder as my breathing quickens.
The anesthesiologist leans in. Calm. Rehearsed. “You’ll feel a little sting. Then nothing.”
I nod, barely.
Because what the hell do you say when your brain is about to be poked and gouged?
One of the nurses adjusts a warm blanket over my legs.
A mask lowers over my face. “Oxygen,” someone says. “Just relax.”
I can’t see faces. Everything’s gone soft at the edges.
A hand brushes mine.
But it’s not Annie. She’s gone. Forced to stay behind.
Her voice was solemn, thick with emotion as she said her goodbyes in the pre-op holding area. “Come back to me, Chase. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Tears. So many tears.
