Present Perfect(91)

Today, the answer is yes.





Chemo was going to start right after the New Year. I had to go through ten cycles, alternating chemo weeks and off weeks. This would be a part of my life for at least four months, longer if needed. With everything associated with my cancer, I was most afraid of having chemo. I didn’t know if I would lose my hair, be throwing up all the time, or have ulcers all in my mouth. Chemo doesn’t only attack the cancer cells, it also hinders your body from making good cells so infection was a high probability. I had to be extremely careful around other people. A common cold could put me in the hospital for weeks or kill me.

Mom and I pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. I was confused because I was supposed to have the chemo at the clinic. Mom parked the car. Before getting out to get my wheelchair she turned to me, guilt written across her face.

“Amanda, you’re not having chemo today. You’re having a portacath put in today.”

“I don’t understand. What is that?”

“It’s a catheter that they’re going to put right here in your chest.” She pointed to the area just below her shoulder. “You’ll be asleep while they put it in. It’s so when you do get chemo or they need to draw blood, they won’t have to stick you. They’ll just put the medicine through the catheter,” she explained.

“So I’m going to have this thing sticking out of my chest all the time?” I felt the tears prick my eyes. God, I was so done with crying.

“For a little while.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Sweetheart, I didn’t want you to worry about it over the holidays and have it ruin your Christmas.”

“Cause the cancer and amputation made Christmas just a little more special and fun.”

Mom looked away from me and out the windshield. Her chin started to quiver and a tear trickled down her face. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I just thought it would be one less thing you needed to deal with over the holidays.”

“I know. I’m sorry I was being a smartass.”

“I would do anything to take this away from you.”

Mom grabbed my hand and brought it to her cheek. I felt her warm tears fall on to it. We sat there crying for as long as possible before heading inside for the procedure.





The first chemo was a few days after they placed the catheter in me. I hated having something sticking out of me. I couldn’t look at it.

Mom and I entered a room with recliners lining the walls. Each had its own IV pole. There were only a couple of chairs open. This cancer was trying to mow down everybody. I picked one of the two recliners available and sat. Once the nurse came in she wiped the end of my catheter with an alcohol swab before she drew my blood from it. She wiped it again with another alcohol swab, hung a couple of bags filled with saline and steroids, and told me they were waiting for the chemo drugs to come from the pharmacy.

Mom read a magazine while I snuck glances at the faces surrounding me. There were two grandmother age ladies, a granddaddy age man, a guy that looked to be my age, who was pretty cute, and a young girl, who couldn’t have been more than 10 years old.

My nurse returned carrying bright green baggies that I soon found out contained the chemo drugs. I put in my ear buds, closed my eyes and turned Lifehouse up as high as I could without disturbing the other people, while the toxic concoction was pumped into my bloodstream.

Forty-five minutes into chemo, I still felt okay. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I thought. I opened my eyes and removed my ear buds when Mom tapped me on the shoulder. “Sweetheart, will you be okay if I go get a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want anything?” she asked.

“No thanks.”

As she walked out the room, I noticed that most of the chairs were empty. The patients who had been there when Mom and I arrived had all gone, except for the cute guy. I placed the ear buds back in and closed my eyes.

Soon after, I felt a tap on my arm. I turned my head and opened my eyes thinking Mom had forgotten something. I was met by the deepest dark blue eyes I had ever seen. It was the cute guy from across the room, only up close he was more than just cute. His hair was light brown, cut short and looked like he had just gotten out of bed. His chiseled jawline was speckled with a light beard and I would kill for his cheekbones and nose. Both were perfect. He was leaning over the arm of the chair slightly, staring and smiling at me. He was a hottie.

“Can I help you?” I asked removing my ear buds.

“Nah, I’m good.” He stayed like that for a few more seconds. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother me to have a cute sexy stranger this close.

Then he grabbed my iPod, sat back in his chair, and started flipping through it. “Let’s see what we have here. Lifehouse,” he said, nodding his approval. “Snow Patrol, nice. Green Day, awesome. Tracey Chapman, cool. Coldplay and Linkin Park, excellent taste. Oh, oh, oh…wait a sec…what’s this?” Shaking his head he said, “I thought for a minute, you were the love of my life.”

“Really? What changed your mind?”

“N’Sync. Breaks my heart.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them. They gave us JT.”

Arching one eyebrow, he said, “True. They also gave us Joey Fatone.” I returned the smile he flashed at me. “Dalton Connor.” We shook hands.