AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My body quivers, and it’s not from the coolness against my skin; it’s from the absolute fear that pulses through me each time my heart beats. I read all the material Dr. Benson gave me last week. I did research of my own. I packed a blanket for if I get cold. I packed headphones and a portable charger so I don’t get bored. I even packed snacks and drinks in case I get hungry or thirsty. In any way that I could prepare, I did. But I’m not worried about the things I know about. I’m worried about the things I don’t. I have no idea how chemo is going to affect my body, and I won’t know fully until there’s no time left to anticipate what it could be like.
Will I be able to act normally? Will my symptoms be overwhelming that I can’t get out of bed? The answers haunt each step I take, my rib cage rattling louder and louder from the drum beating inside of it.
I wish Reed were here with me.
He would be so amazing today. He would kiss my head, take deep breaths with me, make sure I stayed hydrated and fed, hold my hand, and tell me everything was going to be okay. And I would believe him because he’s never lied to me. Not like I have to him.
He would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that I made it through this. But even the ends of the earth wouldn’t be far enough. As much as Reed would hope, he wouldn’t be able to love the cancer out of me.
Opening the hospital door, I’m hit with the scents of stale chemicals, medication, and sadness. The nurse at the intake desk greets me with an automated smile.
I return as much of a real one as I possibly can.
“How can I help you?” she asks and looks back down at her computer.
“I, um, have an appointment for port placement and chemotherapy today. My first one, pretty nervous…” I trail off, annoyed with myself that I overshared with the first person I came across today.
Although maybe it’s just my mind’s response to being so bottled up that I might explode, and oversharing to random people takes some of the pressure off.
She looks up at me, and her robotic smile shifts to something more genuine. “Don’t be nervous. We are here to help you every step of the way. What’s your name and date of birth, please?”
Taking a shallow breath, I say, “Charlotte Winters. April 20.”
“Okay, perfect. I’ve got you checked in. Feel free to grab a water. I’ll have you sit in the waiting room to your right, and a nurse will be out shortly to grab you.”
She points to my right, and I follow her directions, stepping toward the room without hesitation.
After a brief wait in the empty room, a nurse comes and takes me to a private room. We cover my medical information and verify any allergies. Then, it’s showtime. Everything moves really fast. I’m brought to a surgery room, given some meds to help me relax and a local anesthetic, and am prepped for the short surgery. Not an hour later, I’m done, and heading to the next waiting room to await my first chemo treatment. It was all rather quick and not as bad as I had anticipated, but that could be the meds talking.
I come to a halt for a brief second as I walk through the doorway. Tearing my gaze to the floor, I find an empty seat and sit down, tucking my tote bag between my legs.
The few people sitting in the chairs, waiting to be taken back, must have started chemo a little while ago. The side effects are showing on their faces, their hair—or lack thereof—and their bodies in general. I know the side effects happen. I know it’s going to happen to me too. It’s normal. But now, seeing the other patients makes it feel so much more real.
I am a patient. I have cancer. I am starting chemotherapy today. Even saying the words in my mind feels fake, like I’m reading out a script or text from a book. They don’t feel like my words or my truth.
“Where’s your teddy bear?”
A girl’s lighthearted voice rips me from my thoughts, and I’m thankful for it.
Turning to the source of the question, I find a girl, maybe seven or eight, if I had to guess. She has light-brown hair and soft brown eyes. She is wearing a cute beanie with purple and white stripes and a big purple pom-pom on top that bounces as she moves in her seat; it looks like it was handmade. In her lap is a mousy brown teddy bear that looks like it has been very loved.
“My teddy bear?” I ask her playfully.
She hops out of her seat and stands in front of me, jutting her arms out with the worn-down teddy in her hands, “This is Cocoa. She makes me feel less scared when the scaries come. You need a teddy bear of your own to help you feel safe.”
“Why do you think I’m scared?” I reach out and boop Cocoa’s nose.
“Because you’re shaking. I do the same thing when I get nervous. My legs just bounce and bounce and bounce and boun—”
“Ella, please stop bothering this sweet girl,” a woman, who I imagine is her mother, cuts her off and waves her over back to her seat one down from mine.
“It’s quite all right. I really don’t mind,” I assure her truthfully.
Ella is the only person keeping me from running out of here right now.
“Your name is Ella? I love that name.”
Ella lights up with excitement. “Yeah, thanks! What’s your name?”
