What's Left of Me Page 21

  There is no movement. Not from him or me. Our eyes stay locked and I swear I’m not breathing. I can hear the blood flowing in my veins, building pressure in my ears.

  His eyes roam over my face and with a soft breath he whispers, “What happened?”

  I want to open up to him. I need to open up to him. But how do you tell someone you love that you have cancer? That you're slowly slipping away? That your body is floating away from you? There is no right time. No right moment. No right words. Words I need to speak. Words I need to form, but can't seem to get out.

  My hands begin to tremble as I bring them to his face, cupping his cheeks.

  Slowly, I lean into him, bringing my lips to his. It’s the lightest of touches.

  Neither of us move or deepen the kiss. We just stay there, connected, absorbed in one another, the only sounds our shallow breathing and the clock slowly ticking away each passing second.

  He brings his hands to each side of my neck, brushing his thumbs back and forth in soft short strokes. I don’t even know I’m crying until the tears make their way between our lips moistening them.

  “I have cancer.” It’s the faintest whisper. So quiet, I’m not even sure I said it. But when his thumbs stop moving, I know he heard me.

  Parker grabs my shoulders, lightly moving me away from him so he’s looking at me straight on. I watch his eyes as they scan over me. My lips, my nose, my eyes, my forehead, finally stopping on the pink and orange wrap that is in place of the hair he normally sees. I watch as the vein on the side of his neck throbs, showing how fast his heart is beating. His throat gradually moves as I watch him swallow.

  “S-Since … since when?” His voice breaks on the words.

  “Since I was seventeen.” I try to sound confident, but instead, my words come out fragile and weak.

  Parker runs his hand through his hair and stands. I don’t follow him, or try to comfort him. I just watch as he paces my room. When I get dizzy from watching him, I stand up, leaning against the wall for support, and just wait. Wait for him to process it. Wait for him to ask questions. Wait for him to look at me.

  He stops abruptly and, looking out my bedroom window, he asks, “Are you dying?”

  “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

  Usually when people learn I have cancer, the last thing they ask is if I’m dying. People want to know what kind of cancer, how I’m feeling, and sometimes what I’m doing for treatments, but no one has ever asked me if I’m dying.

  “Are you dying?” He says it louder this time, still not looking at me.

  “We’re all dying, Parker.”

  That causes him to move so fast that I don’t even see it coming. One second he’s across the room, and the other he’s right in front of me. Placing his hand under my chin, he lifts my face so that I’m forced to look into his sad, sympathetic eyes.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No,” I whisper. He lets out a sigh, but I continue. “At least, not anytime soon.”

  That causes him to tense.

  “Look, I don’t know how to answer that, but what I can tell you is I have a team of doctors doing whatever they can to keep my cancer from spreading. I have one chemo treatment left before my transplant.”

  “Transplant?”

  “I had my bone marrow taken from me at the end of August for my stem cells to be frozen, then replaced after my chemotherapy.”

  “Why?” His voice has turned strong. It’s loud and alert.

  “My chances of accepting the transplant are higher if it comes from me rather than a donor. And, in my case, the doctors don’t want to take any more chances. My blood counts were decent, so they took the transplant from me.”

  He walks away from me, going to sit on the edge of my bed. He rests his elbows on his knees, putting his head in his heads.

  Without looking up, he asks, “I mean, why do you need a bone marrow transplant?”

  “Because of the type of chemotherapy. The drugs I’m getting are too strong. They’ll kill all the bad cells I have so, in turn, I have to replace them with healthy cells from the bone marrow after the treatment is finished.”

  He sits there, breathing in short, shallow breaths. When he looks up at me, I see his sadness. His pity.

  “Please don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “With those sad puppy dog eyes you give to one of the animals you’re trying to save. I don’t want your sympathy or pity, Parker. It’s that look, right there, why I didn’t want you to know.”

  “I don’t pity you, Aundrea. I …”

  I move to stand on the opposite side of my room. I need some space between us for this conversation. If I am going to open up to him, then I need to be able to think clearly.

  “Were you going to tell me?” He doesn’t turn to face me, but continues to look into the empty space I just left.

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. When I had the courage.”

  He turns then, looking in my direction. “Do you have the courage now?”

  “I’d like to think I do, but deep down I’m not sure.”

  We don’t speak. I move back to the bed and sit on the edge. He stands like a statue, staring out my window. Our eyes meet often, but he always looks away first, like it pains him to look at me.

  “You should have told me sooner.”

  “I know.”

  “I …” He looks at me with his mouth open, but no words come out. He closes it, then opens it again. “I need a minute.”

  My eyes follow him as he starts to walk in circles around my room, stopping to rub his face, or run his hand through his hair.

  When he stops in front of the door, my hand flies to my mouth to stop the choking sob. My eyes fill with tears and slowly, one by one, they start to fall. This is it.

  Just as his hand touches the door handle, I blurt out, “I know this is all too much for you. Hell, it’s too much for me at times.” I wipe the tears from my swollen eyes. “But I want you to know I understand if you walk away. I won’t hold it against you, or think differently of you.”

  Parker drops his hand and turns around so quickly that I have to blink to make sure I’m seeing him correctly. Walking closer to me, our eyes locked, he speaks loudly, “Aundrea, I’m mad and frustrated you didn’t tell me sooner. I had a right to know.”

  I nod. “I know. I am so sorry, Parker.” I choke on my sobs, trying to push them away.

  Bending down in front of me, he whispers, “You need to listen very carefully to what I am about to say, okay?”

  I nod because I can’t speak.

  “You own me, Aundrea. As much as it pains me that you couldn’t tell me, I couldn’t walk away from you if I tried. The second I laid eyes on you that night, in the mirror, I knew it.” He takes my hands in his, squeezing gently. “I would be a damn fool to let you slip away from me. I am so unbelievably in love with you.”

  The tears slide down my face as my shoulders shake uncontrollably at his words.

  “I’ll wait, Aundrea. I’m here when you’re ready to talk to me.”

  Eventually, he takes the spot next to me on the bed, never letting go of my hand. I feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to speak.

  I search for the words to explain everything, but I can’t even form a coherent sentence in my brain. I don’t know where or how to start. Instead of trying to think of what to say, I just start to speak.

  I open up.

  I let him in.

  “There are times I feel defenseless. Like there is nothing I can do, no matter how many walls I build. My cancer always finds a way back in. It’s changed me, and sometimes I’m not sure if it’s made me stronger or weaker. I know I’m not perfect. I can be moody, and Lord knows I can be emotional. I have flaws that I’m not proud of. Some that are because of my cancer, and others that are just me. I lack confidence when it comes to being seen in public, looking like someone I don’t even recognize, with or without
a wig. You’re the first person who has made me feel beautiful, like I can be and do anything I want. And, more than anything, I’m scared that you’ll never be able to go back and see me that way.”

  He turns so that he’s looking at me. “I don’t see you as anyone but you, Aundrea.”

  “You say that now, but I’ve seen what having cancer can do to the people around me. To the people I love. It destroys them. It causes them nothing but pain, and they have to plan their life around me and my treatments. All I’ve wanted to do is protect you in the only way I knew how. Leaving you out of it for as long as I could.”

  “Like I’ve told you before, I want to know everything about you, Aundrea. That means the good and the bad.”

  “I know … but you have to understand that, for the first time in my life I had someone who saw the person, not the cancer. I was, and still am, afraid that you’ll realize being with someone who has cancer is more than you can handle. I mean, why would you be with someone who doesn’t even know if they’ll be here five years from now when you could be with someone who is healthy and has a long life ahead of them?”

  “You’re the only woman I want, Aundrea. I don’t want anyone else. I could have been there with you.” His voice cracks as he forms his words, and I can see the moisture forming in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry …”

  “Me too.”

  When he doesn’t say anything further, I continue, “I couldn’t think about starting a relationship with anyone while going through treatment. I mean, how fair would it be for you to also take care of your sick girlfriend? You say you don’t want anyone else, but what about when I’m so weak I can barely get out of bed for days and I can’t keep anything down because I’m so sick? Or when the pain is so unbearable I can’t walk? I’m falling in love with you, Parker, and I want you to be able to love me and accept me with or without cancer. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be able to see who I am behind the wigs and the pale skin. Most importantly, I want you to see past the illness that consumes me, and see the woman sitting before you. I want to be able to continue on with you like before. I want you to treat and love me as if I’m not some sick girl who people think is fragile.”

  “You’re falling in love with me?”

  “Yes.” My voice cracks. “I’m in love with you, Parker.”

  Parker pulls me into him, engulfing me. He kisses my head, my cheek, my eyes, and lastly my lips.

  More tears fall. I never thought of myself as one of those women. The type who get all sappy when a man says they love them, or vice versa, but now I understand why they do, because it’s in this moment that I know I’ve found the person I was meant to be with.

  “I want all of you, Aundrea. Everything and anything that you will give me. I want it all. I want to be your legs when you can’t walk. I want to be your arms when you’re too weak to eat. I want to be there for you day and night. But never again are you to withhold information from me. Ever.”

  I just nod multiple times at him because I can’t form any words around the swelling in my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever cried this much in my life. Not even when I was diagnosed with cancer, or the two times it came back. I cry freely as Parker pulls me onto the floor and into his lap. I kiss him like I’ve never been kissed. I kiss him like I will never love or need anyone else. I put everything I have into him and don’t pull away.

  When his tongue brushes lightly against mine, I pull him tighter against me. I can’t get close enough to him, no matter how hard I try.

  He deepens the kiss further as his hands move to my lower back and mine wrap firmly around his neck. He moves to a more comfortable position on the floor, taking me with him so that I’m straddling his lap. Stopping the kiss, he just holds me while I cry.

  Parker eventually pulls me onto the bed so that we’re lying on our sides, facing each other. He brings his hand up to my head where the bandanna wrap is and starts to pull on it gently, trying to take it off. I instantly move to stop him.

  “Please,” is all he says.

  The only people who have ever seen me without hair are my parents, Genna, Jason, and Jean. No one else. It’s a huge step to allow someone else into this insecurity of mine.

  I take my hands off of his and allow him to push the wrap backward onto the bed. He leans forward, trailing kisses over my eyes, forehead and lastly all over my bald head. Again, I feel like a completely different person as the tears start to flow down my cheeks for the millionth time tonight. With a loud sigh, I smile as Parker continues to trail the kisses down the side of my face, kissing away the tear tracks.

  “Can you please tell me about it? Whatever you’re okay with sharing right now.”

  Pulling back from him a little, I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. This is new to me because usually when I meet someone who knows I have cancer they’ve already heard the story from a family member or a friend. I’ve rarely had to share it. I think back to the beginning and try to explain it all to him.

  “I found a lump on the side of my neck when I was seventeen. Well, Adam, my boyfriend at the time, did. He had just gotten over strep, so I didn’t think anything of it. When it didn’t go away, my mom brought me to the doctor. After two failed strep tests, the doctor passed it off as allergies and said it would go away. Slowly it got bigger, so I was given antibiotics that did nothing. More lumps formed under my right arm, so my parents brought me back in—this time to a different doctor. ‘Just your hormones,’ that’s all she said. I felt fine. I had no other symptoms, so there was no reason to run tests. My parents didn’t think to question the doctor because, after all, she’s a doctor.

  “Just after the New Year, the fevers started. I got night sweats, and the lumps got so big they became painful. I couldn’t raise my hand in school, or turn my neck from side to side. One morning, I couldn’t get out of bed because I hurt so badly, and my chest was so tight. My dad brought me to the emergency room, demanding tests be done.”

  Parker doesn’t speak, but gives me a small smile of encouragement to continue.

  “The rest happened so fast. I had a CT, MRI, PET Scan; you name it. Blood draws and a biopsy all in a week. One minute I’m hearing the words college and graduation, and the next all I hear is cancer. You have cancer.”

  Clearing his throat, he asks, “What kind?”

  “At that time, I was diagnosed with stage four Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. It had moved to lymph nodes in different parts of my body, and to my lungs.”

  Shaking my head, I stop. Even now, thinking back to my first diagnosis, it makes me so angry. All those months of nothing being done. Not even one test. Nothing.

  “Surgery wasn’t an option, except for on one of the lumps on the side of my neck. It was so big that the general surgeon I met with at the time decided to remove it.” I point to the long scar on the right side of my neck.

  Parker gives my hand a little squeeze, so I keep going. “I met with an oncologist and started chemotherapy right away. It was awful. I got extremely sick until they found the drugs that I could handle. I was forced to drop out of school because I couldn’t keep up. My teachers and principal were great because they worked with me and allowed me to do course work at my own pace, but unfortunately, it wasn’t fast enough to graduate with my friends that June.”

  “That explains the graduation pictures of you and Jean,” Parker states, remembering the photo he saw in my scrapbook.

  I nod. “I got so sick that I had to be admitted for my treatment. While I spent my eighteenth birthday getting chemo, my friends took a senior trip to Cancun. While I was shopping for wigs, my friends were shopping for prom dresses.” I close my eyes at the memory. It was one of the worst times of my life.

  “They kept texting me pictures of all the different colors and styles of dresses along with ‘ Wish you were here.’ Eventually, I threw my phone across the room so that I wouldn’t have to hear it beep one more time, or see one more dress.”

  “I’m so sorry, Aundr
ea.”

  I shrug. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. No one should have to go through that.”

  I gaze into his pained, glistening blue eyes that hold so much emotion, like he’s actually feeling everything I’m telling him.

  I take another deep breath. “After nine months of chemo, and thirty-six rounds of radiation, my markers came back clear. I went a year with everything going well. I was feeling great. I wasn’t fatigued or sick. I was actually happy. But that all went away when one of my blood tests came back elevated and additional tests had to be done immediately. I was told my cancer was back—stage three. It was at that moment that I realized you don’t have to feel sick to be sick. People can feel invincible one day, and be given tragic news the next.”

  I pause, glancing at Parker. He’s watching me intently with soft eyes. He doesn’t have to speak for me to know what he’s thinking. I see it all. I see the emptiness. The sadness. The longing. All the things I’ve felt.

  “I needed more chemo and radiation. I didn’t understand … all that treatment for what? For it to come back? For the last two years, I’ve had off and on chemo between oral and IV drugs. I did trial studies, different drugs, newer drugs, everything. In and out of hospitals, scans and more biopsies. After everything failed, Dr. Olson suggested the bone marrow transplant. We got my counts to a good enough place where I was a candidate to be my own donor.”

  “Can’t they just go in and remove it?”

  “Not with Hodgkin’s. It travels in your lymphatic system. Just slithers its way through your body. One second it can be here and gone, and the next it shows up somewhere else. It spreads like the plague. It’s chemo and radiation, or just chemo for treatment. And, hopefully, in my case, a bone marrow transplant.”

  “And you already had that done?”

  “Just before I met you I had a needle stuck through my pelvic bone. They harvested my cells, and then froze them until I’m done with the chemo. I only have one treatment left. Then I think it’s a couple weeks until they give me the cells back. I need this to work, Parker.”

  My mouth is dry from all my talking, but I don’t stop. I tell him all about my port, my current treatments, losing my hair, and more on what’s to come. He doesn’t speak. He just holds my hand while drawing light circles in my palm with his thumb.