What's Left of Me
Page 32

Parker calls once on Wednesday after I get home from the hospital, but I don’t answer.
He texts a few times Thursday and I reply briefly, not extending the conversation. I’m too tired to lift my hand and bring a glass to my mouth, let alone send a text message. The medication I got for nausea helps, but it doesn’t take it away completely. There are times, no matter the position I’m in, where it feels as if I’m on a spinning carnival ride that won’t let me off.
I don’t hear from him on Friday.
I can’t do anything aside from lie on the couch or in my bed. I’m beyond lethargic. Jason and Genna watch me like a hawk, not leaving my side except to get food or use the bathroom. Genna sleeps in either the chair next to me while I sleep on the couch, or on the leather couch in my room while I sleep in the bed. I’ve tried to get her to go to bed in her own room, but she refuses.
Genna continues to force broth down my throat, but it seriously smells like old, musty juice mixed with chicken fat. It is horrible. One sniff of that and I’m instantly throwing up. She assures me it is brand new and just fine, but after yelling at her to get it out of my face, she takes the hint and returns with cherry Jell-O. Just the sight of it makes me ill. She doesn’t even try to give me any, turning on her heel and bringing back water and soda crackers.
By late Saturday afternoon, I still haven’t heard from Parker. I decide to send him a text to check in.
Me: Hey.
He responds immediately.
Parker: Hey yourself.
Me: How are you?
Parker: Good. You?
Me: Ok. I just wanted to say hi.
Parker: Hi.
I wait a while to see if he sends me anything else, but he doesn’t. Flustered, I throw my phone on the opposite side of the couch. He must be really busy and can’t text back. Or maybe he’s mad that I was short with him the other day? I don’t know why I care so much.
“What’s the matter? Fighting with your phone?” Genna asks, coming into the living room and handing me a cup of black tea. I set it on the floor next to me. I’m too hot to drink tea.
“No. I’m exhausted. I hate just lying here. I’m bored, but I have no energy to want to get up and do something.”
“Want me to read a book to you? Or we can watch some Sex and the City or Dexter?”
“No.”
I’m sweating, so I rip my wig off. “I hate this stupid thing!” I say as I toss it to the floor.
“You know you don’t have to wear it when you’re home.”
“Yeah, I know.” I’m irritated. Like she doesn’t tell me this all the time? Well, sorry, sister dear, that you have long, beautiful, shiny hair. Sorry I don’t. Sorry I want to feel like I do!
“Dre, come on. Don’t be mad.”
“I’m fine. Can you please turn the air on or something? It’s freaking hot in here. I’m sweating.”
“The air? It’s almost October.”
“Please, Genna. You say you want to help me? Make me comfortable? Just this one time I’m asking something. Please, turn the air on for me.” I can handle feeling cold. Cold is easy. I can always add on layers until I’m nice and toasty. But feeling hot? It’s a horrible feeling. No matter what I do or strip off, I can’t cool down fast enough.
“Sure.” She gets up from the chair, but she doesn’t come back until hours later. By then, I’m sucked into my latest book. It’s young adult, but so damn good. I actually feel a little dirty crushing on the seventeen year old hottie.
“Hey, you okay?” Genna asks as she picks up my feet and sits in their place.
“Yes, you?” I ask, taking in her attire. She’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt, a scarf, and mittens.
“I’m fine. It’s pretty cold in here, though. You sure you’re okay?”
“I said yes.”
“Just checking.”
“Where have you and Jason been?”
“The garage.” They have a heated garage, so it doesn’t surprise me that’s where they would be. Jason put a full-sized fridge, small TV, and microwave in there last summer, so I don’t feel too bad for driving them out. They have everything they need to keep them occupied for a few hours.
I nod my head, then turn back to my Kindle.
“Jason invited the guys over to play poker in there tonight. Do you mind if I turn the air off now so I can stay in here?” I give her a blank look, and she quickly adds, “Or can I turn it down some? I know you’re hot, but it’s literally freezing in here.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m good. I’m actually just really tired and was going to head to bed anyway. You can turn it off.”
“Bed? It’s only six.”
“Yeah, I’m tired.”
“You sure? I could make us something to eat?”
I give her a weak smile. “Thanks, but really, I’m just tired.” I really am tired, but I mainly want to get behind a closed door where it’s private so that I can strip naked and lie down on my bed with the fan blowing on me. I experienced hot flashes with past treatments and even though I was expecting them this round it doesn’t make them any easier to handle.
“Okay. Do you need help?”
“No, I’m good.”
It takes me awhile, but eventually I find the strength to lift myself up off the couch. The first few days of chemo are the worst. The fatigue that overtakes me is unstoppable. It’s as if my body is taken over by something else. I can’t move a muscle without feeling like it’s attached to a forty-pound weight. Then, when I’m able to take a step, it’s like I’m made of Jell-O and my limbs will detach at any given moment.