What's Left of Me
Page 59
She won’t tell me everything will be okay.
She listens. She never judges and I love her for that.
I try to get the words out, but tears fall instead. I gulp down air as the pain in my chest releases. The sobs form, becoming stronger, and I don’t hold them back. I let the tears soak my pillow as I cry hard into the phone.
“I just want it to stop. All of it. The pain. The suffering. The f**king cancer. I want it gone. I need it gone, Jean. It’s tearing me apart inside. God, I hate this. Even all the lying I’m doing to Parker. It’s breaking my heart.”
I can hear the muffled cries on the other end of the line, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t. If this next round doesn’t take … if the transplant doesn’t work … I’m done, Jean. I’m so f**king done with it. I can’t do it. My damn body can’t do it! I can’t even take a shower alone, the pain is so bad.” I pause, bringing my voice to a very low whisper. “When is it enough?”
I cry hard into the phone along with her. I let the tears fall and I’m not ashamed. I need them out.
Tomorrow is a different day.
Tomorrow will be better.
It can only get better.
My alarm is set to go off at eight, but my body disagrees. The sun is barely up, and my mind is already running a marathon. I stayed up with Jean until three crying into the phone. When I was done, I said goodbye and tried to get some sleep. I know that when I talk to her next, last night won’t get brought up, and I love her for that.
Parker sends me a message telling me he misses me and wants to come over and see me and spend time with my parents before they leave. I’m horrified at the thought of him spending time with my family. I love them, but sometimes I become the topic of discussion, or at least my cancer does. I need to tell Parker first. I just don’t know how.
Me: Hey, sorry I didn’t reply last night. Late night. I think this weekend should work. I’ll let you know. Miss you too. Xo
He replies almost immediately.
Mr. Handsome: It’s ok. Hope you slept well. Coming in today? I want to see you.
Me: Not today. :( Sorry. Maybe next week …
Mr. Handsome: Everything okay?
Me: Yeah. :) I’ll call you later. Ok?
Mr. Handsome: Sure.
I give my shoulders a quick rub, trying to get rid of the knots that have formed. I feel better than I did last night, or yesterday—well enough, finally, to take a shower without my mom or Genna near.
After I get out of bed, I head straight for the bathroom. Shower first, then coffee.
As I make my way into the bathroom, I hear Genna talking with my parents and Jason about breakfast. I’m surprised they’re all up. I don’t bother brushing my teeth first or grabbing fresh clothes. I just want to feel the steam and warmth around me.
In the shower, I let the hot water run over me, letting my shoulders relax under the stream. The water hits hard on just the right trigger points, lessening all the stress that has been building up for the last three days. I keep eyes closed, feeling the warmth consume me, while I scrub every part of me clean.
I’m surprised how good a shower can make me feel after the days I’ve had.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I scrub away any makeup that may still be lingering. I somehow allowed Genna to talk me into doing my makeup yesterday afternoon because she wouldn’t shut up about how it would make me feel better. I think it was to make her feel better, like we were spending quality time together or something.
I give my eyes more attention, hoping to get all the mascara off. There is nothing worse than the feeling of a washcloth scraping over my sensitive skin, but since I ran out of makeup remover wipes, this is my only hope of getting it off.
With a final scrub, I turn into the water to wash away any last bits of soap. I take a step back from the running water and wipe my face with the dry towel I have hanging on the wall just outside the shower curtain. Letting the towel fall back against the wall, I glance down at my hands where there are a few tiny black hairs on the outer tips of my fingers. I turn my hands over to get a better look, separating my fingers slightly as I do.
“What the heck?” I whisper to myself, holding my now shaking hands up in the air. The little hairs look like lashes, but they’re mixed with slightly longer hairs of golden copper and brown.
“Oh my God.” These cannot be what I think they are. Can they?
“Oh my God. Oh my God!” I start to say louder into the running water.
Quickly pulling the curtain back, I step out of the shower, not bothering to grab the towel. Heading straight to the vanity mirror, I grab a hand towel to wipe away the steam that has formed on the mirror and try to see my reflection through the foggy glass.
“Oh my God!” I yell at my reflection. My eyes are still hazel, but they’re no longer surrounded by full, dark lashes. They’re empty. Every single eyelash is gone.
Every. Single. One.
I don’t have time to panic about my eyelashes because my eyes make a fast glance over the rest of my face where I notice the thinned out space that once held my freshly-tweezed golden eyebrows. I gasp at the sight. My hands fly up to my mouth. My eyebrows are almost gone. There are chunks missing. There is almost nothing left. I won’t be able to fix it. I’ll have to pluck them all.
No hair.
Desperate to get away from the mirror, I back up until I hit the wall. My palms touch the wall to keep me from sliding to the floor.
It will be okay. Everything will be okay. Someway, somehow, everything will be okay. Won’t it?
She listens. She never judges and I love her for that.
I try to get the words out, but tears fall instead. I gulp down air as the pain in my chest releases. The sobs form, becoming stronger, and I don’t hold them back. I let the tears soak my pillow as I cry hard into the phone.
“I just want it to stop. All of it. The pain. The suffering. The f**king cancer. I want it gone. I need it gone, Jean. It’s tearing me apart inside. God, I hate this. Even all the lying I’m doing to Parker. It’s breaking my heart.”
I can hear the muffled cries on the other end of the line, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t. If this next round doesn’t take … if the transplant doesn’t work … I’m done, Jean. I’m so f**king done with it. I can’t do it. My damn body can’t do it! I can’t even take a shower alone, the pain is so bad.” I pause, bringing my voice to a very low whisper. “When is it enough?”
I cry hard into the phone along with her. I let the tears fall and I’m not ashamed. I need them out.
Tomorrow is a different day.
Tomorrow will be better.
It can only get better.
My alarm is set to go off at eight, but my body disagrees. The sun is barely up, and my mind is already running a marathon. I stayed up with Jean until three crying into the phone. When I was done, I said goodbye and tried to get some sleep. I know that when I talk to her next, last night won’t get brought up, and I love her for that.
Parker sends me a message telling me he misses me and wants to come over and see me and spend time with my parents before they leave. I’m horrified at the thought of him spending time with my family. I love them, but sometimes I become the topic of discussion, or at least my cancer does. I need to tell Parker first. I just don’t know how.
Me: Hey, sorry I didn’t reply last night. Late night. I think this weekend should work. I’ll let you know. Miss you too. Xo
He replies almost immediately.
Mr. Handsome: It’s ok. Hope you slept well. Coming in today? I want to see you.
Me: Not today. :( Sorry. Maybe next week …
Mr. Handsome: Everything okay?
Me: Yeah. :) I’ll call you later. Ok?
Mr. Handsome: Sure.
I give my shoulders a quick rub, trying to get rid of the knots that have formed. I feel better than I did last night, or yesterday—well enough, finally, to take a shower without my mom or Genna near.
After I get out of bed, I head straight for the bathroom. Shower first, then coffee.
As I make my way into the bathroom, I hear Genna talking with my parents and Jason about breakfast. I’m surprised they’re all up. I don’t bother brushing my teeth first or grabbing fresh clothes. I just want to feel the steam and warmth around me.
In the shower, I let the hot water run over me, letting my shoulders relax under the stream. The water hits hard on just the right trigger points, lessening all the stress that has been building up for the last three days. I keep eyes closed, feeling the warmth consume me, while I scrub every part of me clean.
I’m surprised how good a shower can make me feel after the days I’ve had.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I scrub away any makeup that may still be lingering. I somehow allowed Genna to talk me into doing my makeup yesterday afternoon because she wouldn’t shut up about how it would make me feel better. I think it was to make her feel better, like we were spending quality time together or something.
I give my eyes more attention, hoping to get all the mascara off. There is nothing worse than the feeling of a washcloth scraping over my sensitive skin, but since I ran out of makeup remover wipes, this is my only hope of getting it off.
With a final scrub, I turn into the water to wash away any last bits of soap. I take a step back from the running water and wipe my face with the dry towel I have hanging on the wall just outside the shower curtain. Letting the towel fall back against the wall, I glance down at my hands where there are a few tiny black hairs on the outer tips of my fingers. I turn my hands over to get a better look, separating my fingers slightly as I do.
“What the heck?” I whisper to myself, holding my now shaking hands up in the air. The little hairs look like lashes, but they’re mixed with slightly longer hairs of golden copper and brown.
“Oh my God.” These cannot be what I think they are. Can they?
“Oh my God. Oh my God!” I start to say louder into the running water.
Quickly pulling the curtain back, I step out of the shower, not bothering to grab the towel. Heading straight to the vanity mirror, I grab a hand towel to wipe away the steam that has formed on the mirror and try to see my reflection through the foggy glass.
“Oh my God!” I yell at my reflection. My eyes are still hazel, but they’re no longer surrounded by full, dark lashes. They’re empty. Every single eyelash is gone.
Every. Single. One.
I don’t have time to panic about my eyelashes because my eyes make a fast glance over the rest of my face where I notice the thinned out space that once held my freshly-tweezed golden eyebrows. I gasp at the sight. My hands fly up to my mouth. My eyebrows are almost gone. There are chunks missing. There is almost nothing left. I won’t be able to fix it. I’ll have to pluck them all.
No hair.
Desperate to get away from the mirror, I back up until I hit the wall. My palms touch the wall to keep me from sliding to the floor.
It will be okay. Everything will be okay. Someway, somehow, everything will be okay. Won’t it?
