Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(80)
“What we are giving you is a liquid form of chemo that will be administered intravenously. You’ll lose your hair, your blood counts will likely bottom out, and you will experience extreme fatigue, nausea, and vomiting. These are just some of the side effects. But they are the most common.”
He clips a picture of Saylor’s brain to a board, and turns a light on, illuminating the image. “This is the tumor.” He points to a dark spot the size of a golf ball on the right side of Saylor’s brain. “Usually, the problem with treating a brain tumor with chemo is that most chemo drugs don’t have the ability to cross the blood-brain barrier, but this chemo is stronger. Radiation is capable of penetrating the body externally. But, in your case, it won’t work. This particular chemo is too strong to be used with radiation.
“So, what we have here is a type of chemo that can pass the blood-brain barrier, but will still affect the rest of your body, where radiation would only effect the area being treated. Most of the time, both chemo and radiation are used together, but we are hoping with the success of this drug that we will be able to eliminate the malignant cells with only one form of treatment. Again, this is something new. We don’t know if it will work, but right now, we don’t have anything to lose.”
I start to say something, when Saylor squeezes my hand. By the look on the doctor’s face, I’m sure he knows he just f*cked up. We have a lot to lose. We have months of good, quality life to lose. We have memories and dreams and Saylor’s ridiculous f*cking bucket list to lose. She is doing this as a favor. And in doing that favor, she is losing the only thing she has—her life.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to sound so insincere. What I mean is, there is no medicine available to treat Saylor’s condition. This is the only thing that could possibly work.” Now he has my attention.
“Work? You mean cure?” My heart is beating out of my chest and the hope in my voice is evident. Even the doctor’s hand in the air and shake of his head telling me to hang the f*ck on a minute aren’t enough to kill my mood of elation.
“No, sir, I mean work as in the treatment will reduce the size of the tumor and possibly give her a little more time. Saylor’s condition is too far advanced to cure. But, if it works, it could possibly cure cases like hers if caught in time.” I feel my heartbeat slowing, and look down into Saylor’s face. She isn’t defeated. She gives me a wink before turning back to the doctor.
“Okay, enough with the lesson. I’ve done my research, Doc. I’m familiar with what’s happening. Say what you gotta say and let’s get on with it.” I didn’t know it was possible, but I fall in love with her just a little bit more. She’s the strongest person I know. Stronger than me.
“Well, okay then.” The doctor smiles and I can’t figure out what in the hell he is so happy about. “We are going to do this in six different treatments. Due to the power of the drug, each dose will be a little stronger as your body becomes accustomed to the impact. I know there isn’t much happiness to be found right now, but hopefully this will brighten the mood a little.”
He pulls six clear bags filled with colored liquid from his pocket. “This isn’t the actual medicine, of course, but I wanted you to see what it looks like.”
The colors are yellow, green, blue, purple, orange, and red. It reminds me of something, and I feel myself smiling.
“There is a long name even I have trouble pronouncing that we use to refer to this medicine. When explaining it to patients, we like to use something with a simple name that resembles what the drug looks like or how strong its effects are. Like Red Devil that is red in color and gives your throat the sensation of being on fire due to the sores that form in the back of your mouth and down your esophagus. Or Purple Haze that is purple in color and clouds your memory. This particular one doesn’t have a name yet. I was hoping you would do the honors.”
Saylor sits for a second, staring at the bags, and then looks at me—her smile matching my own. When she answers the doctor, I mouth her answer as she speaks it out loud.
“Skittles.”
—
I was informed that I could visit Saylor during her chemotherapy but I couldn’t stay. I didn’t like being told that, but then Saylor said that if she was going to be absorbing Skittles through an IV, it was only fair that she eat some too. So, on my ride to the store, I take the time to go over everything the doctor said.
She would receive one treatment a week. Every Friday. There would be six cycles before they did another CT scan to see if the medicine had worked. A port was placed in her arm to prevent damage to her veins and to make her visits less painful. They weren’t sure when or how often the side effects would take place. They didn’t know to what extent they would be either. She would more than likely have nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, mouth sores, weakness, fatigue, hair loss, weight loss, and a lot of f*cking discomfort. But the talk of blood transfusions and low immune system was what concerned me most.
She would be more prone to infection, which could result in her being hospitalized. Dehydration was another potential side effect, which would also cause her to be hospitalized. My job was to try and make sure none of these things happened. I couldn’t prevent all of it, but I could keep her eating, drinking, and away from any sneezing, sniffling motherf*cker within a hundred-mile radius.
When I’m back at the clinic, I’m led to a room where the brightest thing inside of it is Saylor and her yellow, stage-one bag of Skittles. The room doesn’t offer any privacy. A dozen reclining chairs are arranged in a semicircle with a big nurse’s desk that sits centered in front of them. All the chairs are occupied, with Saylor sitting in the one third from the end.