Fevers.Night sweats.
Swollen liver.
Pale skin.
Always cold.
That was two weeks ago.
We thought it would clear up, but when the symptoms started piling up and getting worse, it became obvious it was time to get it looked at.
We both know what it is.
I drive like a bat out of hell, light flashing—a blatant misuse, but I can't bring myself to care.Her appointment started ten minutes ago, and if I hurry, I may make it in time to be there for the scans…and the results.
I skid to a stop outside the private office of Dr.Albert Norris, MD., oncologist.The receptionist, Marion, sees me coming and buzzes me back to the exam rooms without a word; I've known Marion her whole life—she graduated with Noel, my son.
"Room four, Captain Austin," she says.
"Thanks, Mare," I toss over my shoulder, jogging down the fluorescent-lit hallway, turning left, and reaching room four.I tap and then enter.
Dr.Norris is palpating Taylor's lymph nodes."Noah, hey.C'mon in.We're just doing the preliminary exam."
Taylor is pale, thin, and looks tired.Her brunette hair is greasy and limp—she's always had thick, glossy, gorgeous, well-groomed hair.She takes pride in it and in her appearance in general.
My throat is tight as I enter the exam room and sit on the chair kitty-corner to the table Taylor is perched on.
"Hey, baby," Taylor says, giving me the sweet, loving smile that's lit up my life for the past three decades."You made it."
"Of course, my love," I murmur, swallowing hard."Of course I'm here."
"Alright, lie back for me," Dr.Norris says.
Taylor lies back, and he gently pushes the hem of her big, baggy, gray TFPD sweatshirt up to her diaphragm and gingerly palpitates her abdomen; she winces, hisses at the delicate pressure of his fingertips as they pass a certain spot on the upper right side, just under her ribcage.
She's had a bone marrow biopsy already.Lumbar punctures.CBC tests.Today is the imaging scans and results from the other tests.
I have to wait and watch from the control room as she goes through the battery of imaging scans.I watch the images pop up on the tech's screens and wish I knew what the fuck I was looking at.
Later, we're in Al's office, in the side-by-side chairs, holding hands as the doctor assesses the various test results.
His expression is grave as he sits back in his chair, obviously struggling with how to break the news.
Taylor sniffles.Squeezes my hand."Just say it, Al.We've been skinny dipping together.No point in beating around the bush at this point.I'm pretty well aware that I'm not exactly doing very well."
We've known Al forever.He and his family moved to Tomlin Falls in sixth grade, and he was part of our inner social circle all through middle school and high school.He left town for college, got his medical degrees from some fancy Ivy League place on the East Coast, and set up his practice here in his hometown almost twenty years ago.So, this is personal for Al.
He rubs his face with both hands, sighing heavily."It's Stage Four Leukemia, Taylor."
"Stagefour?”I all but shout the last word."How—how can she…?"I have to shove my hands under my thighs to stop myself from hurling a stapler through the wall."How can she have stage four cancer?She only started feeling sick two weeks ago!"
Taylor's touch on my arm is soft."There were indicators weeks ago, sweetheart.I just…didn't think anything of them.I'm forty-five—aches and pains and weird physical things are normal at this stage.I'm in perimenopause."She shrugs as if this is all there is to say.
Al is visibly at a loss."It's…god.I know I'm a professional, and this is my job, but…" he closes his eyes, shakes his head, sighs, and starts over."It's everywhere, guys.Liver.Lymph nodes.Bones."
"Jesus," I whisper.
Taylor sighs shakily."How long, Al?"
