in his arms
Chapter 59
“Why?” Morgan questioned immediately.
“Well,” the doctor murmured, flipping through some papers, “we’ve noticed that the chemotherapy wasn’t helping your body, only hurting it.”
Morgan and I glanced to each other, sort of breathless. Her eyes darted back to the doctor.
“So why’d you keep her on the chemo for so long?”
“Because sometimes the blood tests reveal false success.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It basically means that we’ve been hurting her more than we’ve been helping.”
Their conversation seemed to echo around me. I couldn’t understand anything they were saying. I was completely lost in my own thoughts. Was I really dying? At sixteen, with so much life ahead of me? Was all that chemo treatment worthless?
Was I actually dying?
Morgan’s sharp words snapped me back to reality. “So not only is her time limited, but you’ve helped to decrease it?”
“No,” the doctor answered immediately. “No, there are other treatment options. We can do—“
“No,” I interrupted before he could start. “No, I don’t want any more treatment.”
Morgan’s eyes widened at me before looking coolly back to the doctor. “No, look, she’ll take the treatment—“
“No, I won’t, Morgan,” I hissed at her. “I’ve suffered enough. I don’t want my death to be dragged out any longer.”
Morgan trembled slightly in the seat beside me. “Kaitlyn,” the doctor hummed, “there are other options–”
“Stop trying to persuade me. It’s my body. I’ll do what I want. I don’t want any more treatment.”
“You’re young, Kaitlyn! Just think!” Morgan shrilled at me.
“I’m dying, alright?” I spat at her. As I said the words aloud for the first time, they finally hit me, just how real they were. “I’d rather spend the last few months of my life in peace than agonizing pain.”
"You don't have to die!" she shrilled.
"I want to be remembered as peaceful in my death, not haggard and barely breathing. I don't want any more treatment."
The room was silent for a while after that. The only thing heard was breathing.
“Okay,” the doctor said indefinitely. “No more treatments.”
“How long does she have?” Morgan asked. Her breathing trembled.
He shrugged. “It depends. It could be two months, it could be twelve years. I guess it’s all based on how her body reacts to the stoppage of the chemo. I mean, even by chance of a miracle, the cancer could go away.”
He didn't seem so confident in himself.
We were dismissed from the hospital that day, but I wasn’t leaving. I had a husband who was still in there fighting for his life, though mine was already limited.
* * *
A nurse appeared in the doorway of the small waiting room. “Miss Thompson?” she murmured gently, and I immediately stood. I’d been waiting for hours in the same chair, staring blankly at walls, my mind racing with a billion thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Come here. I’d like a word with you.”
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