Death and other side eff.., p.25
Death and Other Side Effects, page 25
“Hello,” Mom says, picking up before the second ring.
“Yes, this is she. Hi, Dr. Scott.”
Silence.
“Yes, we can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Wow, that was fast,” I say.
“Yes, now hurry up and go get dressed, sweetie.”
“Mom, you’re the one who needs to hurry, it only takes me five minutes to get dressed,” I say, laughing at her already running around the house like a chicken with its head cut off.
“Yeah, yeah, just get dressed.”
“Ok, Mom.”
We make it to the hospital in record time. Mom is touching up her lipstick in the parking lot with one hand and holding Joy in the other, and I’m wearing the same outfit I went to bed in, per Jonah’s request. I did throw on a flannel that covers most of my butt, though. I may want Jonah’s admiration, but I don’t need to show the whole world the goods. Plus, I’m self-conscious by nature. I don’t know how some of these chicks can let everything hang out like every day is Mardi Gras or even worse, Halloween. I mean, I saw a girl, who had to be only a year older than me, walking down the street in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and her underwear on our way over here. I don’t think I’ll ever understand that trend. Sure, she looked kind of sexy, I guess…if you’re into toddler-vogue because that is the only age group that looks cute running around in a t-shirt and underwear. Even then, it’s iffy…
When Mom and I get to the lobby desk, the receptionist tells us that Dr. Scott is waiting in his office for us. Sure enough, he’s sitting in his leather chair, wait—was he just spinning around in that thing? He totally was! Wow, he’s even cooler than I thought.
“Hello, Alexis, Mrs. Gun. Glad you could make it down here so fast,” he says, knowing that he’s been caught.
“Hi, Dr. Scott,” I say, smirking.
“Shall we,” he says, motioning for Mom and me to sit down in the chairs in front of his desk.
“Yes, certainly,” Mom answers.
Dr. Scott pulls out my folder. I know it’s mine because it says Alexis Gun in large letters across the top right-hand corner. Dr. Scott seems different, almost jumpy if you could call it that. I can’t tell if he is nervous or giddy. Which, in turn, makes me nervous. He thumbs through the papers inside of my folder, finally pulling one out and placing it on his desk for us to see. It doesn’t mean anything to me. It may as well be abstract art because no matter how long I stare at it, I still don’t really understand it.
“Alexis, these are the results from your last MRI. After talking to Dr. Shwartz, the neurosurgeon at Seattle Children’s Hospital, he and I both agree that you are a good candidate for laser ablation surgery.”
“I am? Really? I thought you said—I mean, my tumor’s not too big for the surgery?” I ask, doubtfully.
“You are a definite candidate. Now, that’s not to say that there isn’t going to be some risk involved given the size of your tumor, and there is a possibility that Dr. Shwartz will not be able to treat the entire diseased area, but this procedure, if you decide to go through with it, should definitely give you more time. Two years, maybe even more.”
“This is the best news that we’ve heard in months, sweetheart,” Mom says, joyously.
“Yeah,” I say, still in a haze.
“I know this is a lot to take in, Alexis, but I would like to get you scheduled with the specialist as soon as possible,” Dr. Scott says, cutting through my brain fog.
“Ok, yeah, of course,” I respond, as I try to let everything sink in.
Mom wraps her free arm around me, squeezing me tightly as she cradles Joy in her other arm. I hug her back, placing my arms around both her and Joy, making sure to be gentle with my sister. This is good. Since my diagnosis, I haven’t really expected to hear any good news, and this is definitely good news. I have to tell Jonah.
I call Jonah from my cell phone, after helping Mom get Joy into her car seat. He doesn’t answer. Why is it that when you really need someone to answer their phone, they never do? Instead of worrying about not reaching Jonah, I mull everything over that Dr. Scott said. A lot can happen in a couple years, right? I mean, it only takes nine months to have a baby, after being impregnated, of course. Not that I want to be impregnated…I’m just saying, two years, when you think about it, isn’t that bad. Jonah and I could go backpacking around Europe in less than a year’s time. Well, maybe not backpacking, since he only has one leg and all, but we could go to Europe if we wanted to. We could see the Eiffel Tower, eat pot brownies in Amsterdam, and I’ve always wanted to go to Rebellion…Maybe, not Amsterdam, though. Weed makes me really paranoid, probably not the best idea, now that I think of it. The point is, I could have more time with Jonah and my parents, and Joy. I might even make it to see her first birthday…that would be cool.
When I get out of the car, Jonah is already at my front door, waiting for us to get there. He spins himself around in his chair when he hears us pull into the driveway. He must have seen my missed call because he looks anxious as hell. His hair is standing up on end, not quite uniform enough to be considered tousled, but still adorable. I help Mom with Joy again and try to prepare myself for what I am going to say to Jonah. Good news shouldn’t be this hard to deliver. Still, the words sit captive in the back of my throat, waiting for their release. Jonah runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, tugging on the roots slightly. He looks miserable. I have to tell him, and quick.
“Mom, I’ll be right in,” I say, walking up the driveway to where Jonah is sitting.
“Ok, sweetie.”
“Hey,” I say, my nerves bubbling to the surface.
This is good news, Alexis. Act like it…
“Hey, how are you? Sorry I missed your call. Did you guys go out for breakfast or something?” Jonah asks.
“No, my mom made breakfast. We just came back from the hospital,” I explain.
“Oh, are you ok?” He asks, fear tinging his words.
“Yes, I’m good. Actually, I’m more than good…”
“That’s good, right? Good is good—“ Jonah says, filling the silence.
“Dr. Scott says, that I’m a candidate for laser ablation surgery,” I tell him, finally getting it out.
“That is the best news! I knew you would be! This is great!” He says, wrapping his arms around my thighs, pulling me in close.
“Yeah, the surgery could give me two years or maybe even more time,” I tell him, needing to spit out the words.
“I know that’s not a lot of time—but it’s better than nothing,” I add, feeling nervous because I still don’t know how Jonah is going to respond.
“At this point, I’ll take anything I can get, Alex. I almost lost you once and I know that I can’t keep you here forever with me, but as long as you are on this Earth, I am going to be right here by your side. Assuming that’s where you want me—“
“I wouldn’t want any of it without you,” I assure him.
“Good, because I’ve already made the reservations—a table for two, with a view of the world, until the end and nothing less,” he says.
“Only you, Jonah…”
“And only you for me, Alex.”
33
“Someday We’ll Know”
—New Radicals
D-Day: Seattle Children’s Hospital
It’s been a week since my appointment with Dr. Scott. So much has changed in those seven days. I still can’t really believe it myself. I’m sitting here in this room, waiting for Dr. Shwartz to get here and prep me for surgery, and my chances are pretty good. I never asked for a miracle and that’s not what this is, but it is a chance. It’s another chance at living the best life I can. It’s more time and to most people, that might not be enough. Hell, a couple of months ago, it wouldn’t have been enough for me either, but if there is anything that I have learned from all of this, it’s perspective. My outlook on my illness has always been bleak at best. I never had any hope for anything better. I was resigned to the fact that I was losing at life. More accurately, I had already lost. Now, my perspective has changed. I am deciding to make the most out of the time that I have been given, and if by some chance they find a miracle cure for grade 4 glioblastoma in the meantime, let’s just say, I wouldn’t turn it down, but if two years is all that I get, then I am going to make it the best couple years of my whole life.
You see, I’m not in the habit of expecting good things to happen to me, especially since the tumor. It’s like I am finally able to breathe now, instead of always treading water. I’m the girl that got her period the day of the eighth-grade graduation pool party. I’m the girl who everyone thought was a boy, my first day of freshmen year because Mom took me to a new hairdresser, who gave me a mullet when I asked for something cute and choppy. No, Alexis Gun has never been lucky. I broke my ankle the first day of volleyball tryouts, I caught my ponytail on fire at the first and only party that I have ever been to. Let’s just say, I’ll never drink vodka around a bonfire ever again. It probably didn’t help that I was trying to convince everyone there of my super sick dance moves, landing me flat on my ass and my silky, almost black ponytail in the raging flames, earning me the nickname of fire girl. Yeah, high school kids aren’t very creative… So, whatever this is, a stroke of luck, fate, destiny, kismet, or quite possibly even a miracle…I am all in because I’m tired of not having anything to believe in. I’m tired of the doubt and second-guessing every move I make in this life. I just want to be free.
That’s why I’m here, in the surgical room of the Seattle Children’s Hospital, where by the way, the surgeon still has yet to make an appearance. So I’m here waiting, and thinking about God, and how life never really turns out how you think it will, and this room is really clean, like too clean. It makes me want to cover the walls in band fliers and tip over the bottle of antiseptic sitting next to me on the surgeon’s tray, just so that I can watch it leak onto the shiny tile floor. I know, there’s something very wrong with me. Normal people want things clean and perfect, but I live in chaos. Disorder brings me comfort. That’s why I’m about to freak out if Dr. Shwartz doesn’t get in here, like now. My brain won’t stop and my hands are all sweaty, and I’m starting to wonder if this is all a mistake. Maybe, they misread my MRI chart. What if this procedure doesn’t work? Get it together, Alexis. Do not go down the rabbit hole. You’ve already climbed out of it enough times to know better. You can do this—
“Alexis, I’m Dr. Shwartz,” a small man, with reddish hair says, in an accent that I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Good, you’re here. I was getting ready to give the laser thingy a whirl on my own.”
“I wouldn’t advise that, Miss Gun,” he says, with no humor in his voice whatsoever.
“Well, lucky for you, I couldn’t find the drill to start the process,” I say because when I’m nervous, I apparently talk out of my ass.
“Yes, very lucky indeed,” he deadpans.
“So, do you have to shave my head first?” I ask, unable to settle down or keep my mouth shut.
“Yes, a small section,” Dr. Shwartz, answers.
“Well, I’ve always wanted a Chelsea,” I reply, quietly.
“Excuse me, a who?” He asks, not skipping a beat while pulling on his rubber gloves and picking up the clippers.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just a haircut, sorry,” I reply, embarrassed.
“Oh, right. Well, try and stay still. I wouldn’t want to slip up,” he says, all business.
“Right. Thanks.”
“All done, Alexis. Go ahead and lie back on the table,” Dr. Shwartz instructs me after he’s finished shaving a small square shape section of my head.
“So, this is it. No, turning back now,” I say, looking to Dr. Shwartz.
“You won’t feel a thing, Alexis. Just try to relax. Now, count down from ten for me, please.”
It may sound like nothing more than the drugged-up musings of a delusional teenager, under local anesthetic, but in that room, seconds before the surgeon heated the cancerous tissue of my brain with a laser probe, is where I found myself. Not to say that I was lost before, though I was. More importantly, it was the act of total and complete surrender that unearthed my true self. You could go as far as to say, that I died to myself, because I abandoned everything that I knew to be true in my former life, and I chose to believe in something more than myself—and that, is how I found myself.
34
Seven Hours and Fifteen Days Later…
—Sinead O’ Connor
It’s 6 o’clock and I’m wearing a stupid dress, just like Jonah instructed me to. This better be good, because this is the first time that I’ve worn a dress since my mom made me the day of my grandmother’s funeral. I was five…I still have no idea where Jonah is taking me. Maybe, to a fancy restaurant or something like that—to celebrate you know, being alive and all… I hope it’s nothing too fancy, though. I always get so uncomfortable in places like that. I feel like I should walk back to the kitchen and offer to do my own dishes or something. Personally, I’m more of a diner type of girl or one of those hole-in-the-wall places that surprisingly always have the best food.
“Alexis, Jonah is here,” my mother calls from downstairs.
That’s funny, I never heard him knock on the door…When I get downstairs, I realize that I never heard him knock, because he hasn’t. My mother is just standing there, watching him through the window. Thanks, Mom, way to be creepy. Jonah is going to think that I’ve never gone on a single date in my life if he catches my mother ogling him like that from between the blinds. He’d be right—this is actually the first real date that I have ever gone on, in my entire life.
Jonah knocks twice on the door before I can get to it. My mom reaches her hand out for the doorknob, but I give her a stern glance and to my surprise, she actually backs off and lets me open the door myself. What I see behind the door is enough to make my heart stop, because Jonah is standing—on his own two feet, definitely not in his wheelchair, and he has a black tux on with a black dress shirt underneath, looking every bit like Johnny Cash, the man in black. I can’t believe my eyes. I feel like a girl in an 80’s movie when the guy that she’s been crushing on the whole time makes some grand gesture to win her over in the end. Jonah isn’t holding a stereo above his head, proclaiming his love for me, and he’s not sporting my diamond stud in his ear as he walks across a football field, throwing his gloved fist into the air, because this isn’t Hollywood, and I’ve never been the leading lady type, but this is better than all of that because this is real—and this moment is all mine.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s actually done it, he’s stunned me silent. Congratulations Jonah, you win. Thankfully, he doesn’t let me stand there all night looking like a complete idiot.
“So, you like the tux?” he asks, knowing full well that the tux is not what has me speechless. Granted, he looks amazing in it, but it’s more what’s underneath the tux that I’m curious about.
“You wanna see it?” He asks me, and I feel like a freak because I do, I want to see it so badly.
Jonah reaches down, gripping his pant leg and raising it up just enough so that I can see the prosthetic. He doesn’t have one of those covers over it like I’ve seen on TV. The titanium glows in the moonlight. It’s amazing, and I want to reach down and touch it, but I don’t want Jonah to think that I’m some kind of weird, fetishist perv.
“You can touch it,” he says, reading my mind.
The metal is ice cold against my fingertips and it sends a chill all the way up my arm. It’s electrifying. I reach up a little higher, and Jonah doesn’t squirm or move even a centimeter. He lets me touch him, and I feel some sort of weird power over him, because he closes his eyes, and takes a deep inhalation through his parted lips when I reach the skin of his thigh. I gently trail my fingers back down his leg, gripping the metal once more before I release my hand.
“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathes.
“I think you—standing here in a tux, is going to be at the very top on my list.”
“Oh, yeah?” He asks, gazing at me with mischief alight in his eyes.
“So, where are you taking me?” I ask, changing the subject to try and dissipate some of the heat between us.
“Prom,” he says, simply.
“Like high school prom?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Is there any other kind?”
“I can’t believe that you are taking me to your high school prom. You do know that prom is totally lame, right?”
“Yes, Alexis. I am completely aware that—how did you put it…prom is totally lame, but the dance is the furthest thing from my mind right now,” Jonah says, raking his eyes down the full length of my body.
My skin breaks out in goosebumps everywhere that his hungry gaze touches me. How am I supposed to make it through this night? I will not be a cliche… I will not have sex for the first time on prom night, even if Jonah does look like a young Johnny Cash in that stupid black tux. Damn him!
Jonah reaches out for me, taking my hand and leading me across the street to where a tan Volkswagen Thing is parked. The seats are covered in red plaid and the cloth top is down. Good thing I didn’t let Mom do my hair in one of those fancy updos like she wanted to. I wouldn’t want to show up to Jonah’s prom looking like Cameron Diaz, in Something About Mary. Now, that would give everyone something to talk about…Thankfully, all thoughts of bad hair days and other teenagers gossiping about me are banished, when Jonah opens the car door for me, looking up at me like I have the power to make everything right in his world tonight.
