Introductions
It was the thirteenth of October; that day will forever be burned into my mind. I still don’t know whether to consider the series of events that began to conspire that day a blessing or a curse. I can’t honestly say I would do anything differently, given a second chance. Do not misunderstand. There are many things I wish I could change, but based on what I knew at the time, I did what I thought was best. It cost me greatly. But before I tell you all about it, you must first understand me, so you don't judge the final outcome too harshly.
Let us get the background out of the way and begin somewhere relevant. I finished high school with relative ease but failed to put in the necessary effort to propel myself forward into the real world.
Therefore, my first two years of college were to be accomplished at a local community school. It was relatively cheap, would get my generals out of the way, and catch me up with my more ambitious peers. It was neither prestigious nor highly academic, but it was necessary. Most importantly, it was fun—lots and lots of fun. Mostly due to Thomas Dominique.
He stood taller than average at six-foot three inches, with wide shoulders and the body of a Greek God. He was also a starter on almost every team our school could field but was easily division-one-athlete material. Easy going, aloof, and never let anything to get to him. He was everyone's friend.
But for whatever reason, he chose me as his best friend. Maybe he took pity on me, or maybe he used to be like me, or maybe it was just circumstance. We ended up roommates thanks to the lottery system the Community College used to organize its students. That freshman year he basically took me under his wing.
In high school I was the epitome of average. I got average grades while putting in little effort. I played several sports but was never a varsity starter. I was just a hair over average height and build. I even had average friends. We played video games on weekends and occasionally stole a drink from our parents’ liquor cabinets, but never did anything too adventurous.
Tom was from a whole different world. Honestly, I never got to know too much about his past. But that didn’t matter, because he lived entirely in the present, for the moment. I just figured he was the son of some rich family, and coming here was his punishment for some past grievance to his parents. A sort of purgatory before being shipped off to some coastal Ivy League school where everything would be paid for. His demeanor and confidence suggested he was a bit more mature, older than the rest of us. You’d be hard pressed to tell by his looks though.
He introduced me to this world of his. One I had never been privy too. A world I’d only seen in movies before freshman year. I still don't know how he did it. He was like a magnet for out-of-control parties and situations. People flocked to him. Everyone wanted to be with him, since they could never possibly be him.
Freshman year itself was a blur. Tom took me on as basically his sidekick. At first people resented it. I was where they wanted to be. But after a while, people just got used to it; and I got to know almost everyone around campus. I never lost sight of where I was, though, under his shadow. Thing is, it was a hell of a shadow. I had plenty of room to stand and move about there. On my own, I was only ever average. But by his side? I was in the presence of a legend. That was the aura he put off, the effect he had on people—myself included.
That year I more than made up for everything I missed in high school. Drugs, alcohol, parties… You name it, I tried it. I even kissed a girl! OK, maybe I was pretty lame in high school after all. Being best friends with Tom was akin to being best friends with a celebrity. My freshman year was like an episode of Entourage.
Unfortunately, all the fun came to a screeching halt midway through April.
I sat on the edge of the hospital bed. The odd parchment covering crinkled beneath me as I shifted anxiously. This was already my fourth visit in as many weeks. The initial diagnoses had been from curious test results during a routine physical. The following visits had been further testing and confirming everyone’s fear: cancer.
My mother stood by my side, a hand on my shoulder. My father sat in the other chair in the room and stared at his phone. He was probably looking up everything he could on the different types of leukemia, so he could feel like an expert when the doctor arrived. This was actually the first time they had made the drive out to this little podunk town to visit me.
The wooden door opened with a light creak, and in strode Dr. Jones. We had become something of compatriots in the last few weeks. He greeted me with a nod, but no smile. Both my parents quickly crossed the room and shook his hand with short introductions.
“I’m afraid I do not bring good news,” Dr. Jones began.
He paused a moment to look from my mother to my father, before addressing me directly.
“I’ve delivered this type of news on very few occasions and found there is no good way to do it other than directly. It appears you have a very rare case of two different types of leukemia infection. Acute myelogenous leukemia, or AML, which is, by itself, a fairly treatable disease. However, we have also discovered T-cell-prolymphocytic leukemia, which is much more serious.”
He looked around the room at my parents and me, waiting for the news to hit us.
“What does this mean, exactly?” My father asked. “What’s the next step?”
I guess my dad hadn’t done enough research yet to truly understand the gravity of the prognosis.
“Well, if it were just one or the other I would suggest chemotherapy, alemtuzumab, maybe some other experimental treatments. T-PLL is already a hard type of leukemia to treat by itself…” He trailed off and looked down at his clipboard for a moment before looking back up and holding my gaze. “Unfortunately, due to the severity of the two diseases and as far along as they are, I don’t think there is anything we can do. My best estimate is that you have eight to ten months left.”
I sat still, stunned. What do you say when you receive the news that you’re dying, end of freshman year of college? The greatest year of your life? I felt my hands go numb as they gripped the edge of the examination table. I could feel the grip of my mother’s hand on my shoulder tighten. Dr. Jones continued on about different treatment options that could extend my life, but adding six months was the most optimistic he could be. Each treatment came with an ever-increasing list of side effects and deteriorating quality of life. His voice seemed to fade away. Did anyone else hear that ringing noise?
“I don’t want it,” I said meekly.
“What was that?” Dr. Jones asked.
He and my father both turned towards me. I coughed and tried to clear my suddenly dry throat.
“I don’t want any of those, treatments.” I practically spat the last word out. “They won’t fix me, right? And they don’t sound like they will make the end any more pleasant. Besides, I haven’t noticed anything too bad yet.”
“That’s most likely true,” the doctor started.
“What?” My mother barely breathed the question.
“WHAT?!?” My father was much more expressive.
What do you mean you don’t want treatment? These could potentially save your life. At least they would double it!” He turned away from me toward the doctor. “He’s just a boy and doesn’t know what’s best for him.”
“Could potentially extend my life, at great personal cost,” I countered quietly.
“Do you think we spent eighteen years raising you to let you give up like this? Put you in all those sports, spent so much time and effort for you to quit? ON YOUR OWN PARENTS?” He spun back toward me.
Dr. Jones shifted, one hand partially raised, trying to get a word in. But my temper erupted before he could.
“Yeah, go ahead, throw in my face the fact that you actually had to be responsible for the kid that you had!” I shouted back at my father.
“Mary, get your things, we’re leaving. We can revisit this when the boy is thinking more clearly and has had time to truly contemplate the consequences for his actions,” he stated coldly.
“Bill!”
“Mary.”
They stared at each other for a moment before my father turned and left the room.
“He’s just upset,” my mother whispered to me. “You know how he gets. He just needs some time to process this. I’ll talk to him. But you know that he’s just mad because you’re his only son, right?” Her voice was more imploring than reassuring.
I nodded stiffly. She held me tight before going after him.
“Sorry—“I began but Dr. Jones quickly cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“You have nothing to apologize for. You are the victim in all this. Everyone takes this type of news differently and in their own way. I’m sure your family will come around, but grief can make people react in ways that surprise even them.”
“So, I am really dying? The treatments, they wouldn’t save me?”
“Never say never, especially in this business.” He smiled weakly.
“But realistically?” I asked.
“No,” he shook his head, “they would not. At least, the chances are so slim that we cannot medically say that they could cure you. Only prolong your life. And you’re not wrong, they would not be pleasant. However, even if you are feeling few or even no symptoms now, that doesn’t mean they won’t come. And the end could come very swiftly.”
I let out a sigh.
“Would you like to talk to someone? I can schedule you for counseling,” he said.
“No thanks.” The last thing I wanted to do was to talk about this even more.
I wanted to put it into the back of my mind and forget it ever happened, like I would if I failed a test in class. That was something for future me to worry about when trying to pass the final… or survive.
The next few weeks were some of the longest of my life. Every phone call home ended in the same shouting match. A revisit to that terrible day at the doctor’s office. Eventually I stopped calling altogether. I didn’t want to be reminded of it. Some people grew closer to their parents, especially after they moved out. That had never happened for me. I had never seen them as friends or confidents. They had always been the adults and me the child. It seemed this dynamic was doomed to never change.
Then I made things even worse. My family wanted me to drop out and spend my last few months at home. I decided to stay in school. College was where I had the best days of my life. If I only had a few months left, I wanted to spend them there, with Tom and all the new people I had met. Bring on sophomore year and the parties and drugs! Just not the prescribed kind… Just kidding, I wasn't suicidal. I started living cleaner but stuck with my choice to decline treatment.
Even my younger sister felt betrayed by this decision. I think that was the part that hurt the most. We had been very close until I left for college. I’d been so busy the last year, so focused on myself that I felt like I’d let her down the most.
Tom was the only one who stuck by me and thought I was making the best decision for me. He was also the only one who I trusted with my other reasoning for denying treatment. I was afraid it would bankrupt my family. I knew they wouldn’t be able to afford all the various medical bills that came with fighting cancer. What was the point in spending all that money if I was destined to die anyway?
Fortunately I did not have to worry about living for years with family drama hanging over my head. I'd be dead and they could live with the regret of not being there for me in my last days. I knew that line of thinking was simply petty justification on my part.
Since my family insisted on spending the last of my spring semester making my life miserable, I decided to spend summer at school. Tom and I moved out of the dorms and got a college townhouse together. He covered the rent, but I helped out where I could. I spent the summer living a little over an hour but a lifetime away from the home I grew up in. I took a job at the local fitness center in town. It was easy work and helped fund my weekend extravaganzas, since the cash flow from home had suddenly ceased.
Summer passed more quickly than winter, as it tends to do. Tom was the best friend I could have ever asked for, and we grew even closer as very few other people stuck around for the summer.
As August came and went, the start of school drew ever nearer. The weather turned from stifling hot and humid to cool and livable. The leaves exploded into color, as if the trees were simulating slow motion fireworks. Students flooded back, accompanied by ever-fretting parents. They served as a stark reminder of my own situation.
Then the blur of signing up for classes, getting books, supplies, and all the other little activities that occupy your time and mind before school.
I have to admit, my preparation was lax at best. I knew I most likely would not finish the semester, depending on my condition. It looked like I was right back to what got me here in the first place. My current estimate, with no treatment, was putting my date of death in a tight race with fall finals. I was unsure which outcome I should be pulling for.
But I digress. This is where my story really begins.