Writer's Note: About the weight thing...I have a thing for LARGE numbers...hehe. So when I say fifty, I really mean twenty...
I’d love to tell you more about the room, the tests they took all those things, but my memory on that is still vague. I get these dreams about it still, and that’s the only way I remember. The first thing I always see is a white room with white doors. There’s some black and sometimes in my dreams the room changes color; but the main idea is still there.
I know for sure that they did a CAT scan. They asked me if I wanted a sedative and I think I took the offer. That’s probably why this part of my story is such a blur.
I looked up the other tests that they did, because I remembered the names and some of the numbers. The numbers were the most vivid for me and I remembered them on purpose so that I could look up what they meant later on. Remember when I said that they should tell a patient what’s up with their health? Well, they only told me the name of the equipment, the results and what I had to do. I had to look up the purpose of each machine myself.
Anyhow, I got the C.A.T. scan (Computerized Axial Tomography scan is what it stands for) done to check if I had any abnormalities (like other tumors) in my head and chest area. Those tests are quite expensive I heard, but I don’t remember ever paying for it. The tests were positive, meaning that they found a lump. But as it turned out, it was the one that I was already familiar with. Hello lump, how are you again?
I had a bone marrow biopsy done as well, and it showed 30% blasts. At that point the doctors already knew I had leukemia. I’m not going to tell you what it all means, but they say that 5% is normal…
Then I had a CBC (or a complete blood count) test done. I recall that my platelet count (platelets help protect against infection and they contain antibodies. They have a bag-like shape to them.) was 16 and the normal count is around 200. That explained my foot, didn’t it?
One thing I remember clearly was the doctor telling me that they had to start the chemotherapy as soon as possible, starting on the day after tomorrow. I was so scared that I would have to deal with this all alone with no friends in the hospital to protect me from the man. Even more than that, I was scared that I would die alone.
After I was brought back to my bed, I thought about getting chemotherapy and being lonely in the hospital for the next 24 days. Then I got this idea about leaving the hospital and skipping treatment. I didn’t think I could do it at first, but then I realized that I had to if I ever wanted to get out of there.
Since I had no place to go besides my house, I planned to join up with the guys on the tour. Luckily they had stopped for four days in LA and I could find them without having to buy a ticket. I didn’t want to go to my house because I was afraid of being lonely in there and Mandy was on tour, so I couldn’t go to her house. My mom and dad were visiting Aaron; Angel went with Leslie and BJ because there was no one else to take care of her. Leslie and BJ are going to be actresses, and they get little slots and opportunities, just like when I was a kid.
I wanted to look like I was fine when I left this hospital, because otherwise I’d be tossed back in. Out of my bag I took my comb, but that’s all there was in there to make my hair. I wanted some gel so that I could sleep wherever I wanted to and my hair wouldn’t look like I’d stuck my finger in a socket. But there was no gel in the bag so I just made do.
When I headed, well limped, to the bathroom, the man suddenly leapt out from behind the curtain and blocked my way.
“There’s no way I’m letting you go in there alone, I’m coming with you!” he exclaimed. Exclaimed is an understatement, he screamed it so loud the baby didn’t stop crying for twenty minutes afterward. Feel badly for me, he was right next to my ear when he said it.
I tried to push him away from the door, but I was already so weak and he moved faster than I did. When he moved away I hit my hand on something sharp and it poured red blood onto the floor. That was my good hand too, the other one was still infected.
Using my infected hand to hold the bleeding one I asked, “Now will you let me go through?”
“Only if I can come.” The man was being persistent and it was getting on my nerves. I had to use the toilet because I’d eaten more yesterday than I had in six weeks and I wished the man would respect my decision. I’d had about enough and I couldn’t care less about my reputation anymore. I took a few steps backward and then charged at the man.
This turned out to be a mistake. The man ran at the same time as me and hit me in chest and stomach area. I fell to the ground and landed on my arm. Sharp pains churned in my stomach and arm. My heart felt as though it was going to explode. I could hardly hear the man ask if I was all right, but I heard him anyway. My knees felt as though they were getting growing pains or something or that they were being stretched.
A moment later I saw the man hovering over me. I couldn’t move away from him and when he put his hands around my mouth, I tried to scream. He stuffed something inside my mouth and shook my head until I swallowed it. The effects of the pill helped me determine what it was. Fortunately, it was only a painkiller and it helped tremendously.
After a few minutes I was able to get off of the floor on my own. The man was still around but he must have left for a while because he had something of his in his hand.
“I’m so sorry,” he said sadly, “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” I asked quietly. I wasn’t being quiet to comfort him, I was being quiet because I could hardly breathe, let alone talk. He had knocked the wind out of me.
“That you have cancer. If you would’ve told me I never would’ve pushed you.” I agreed to go into the bathroom with him this time because I was sure he didn’t want to do anything nasty. Besides, I didn’t want the woman to hear us, in case she knew who I was too.
“How did you know?” I asked the man once we were inside. “The doctors couldn’t even tell…”
“Look in the mirror, buddy.”
I looked, but I wished I hadn’t. My nose was the deepest shade of midnight blue that you’ve ever seen. Brian would have liked it, if he wasn’t so mad at me at the time. It didn’t only cover my nose; it spread around my right eye socket. My nose looked not only bruised, but also swollen beyond description. I can say that it was twice the size, but that doesn’t seem enough.
I looked sad, skinny and bony along with bruised. My reflection completely frightened me; now I actually looked hideous. Denise would never believe that I was well. I could always say that I was in a fight, but if the bruise didn’t go away, she’d figure that something was wrong.
Before I looked any further, I stepped on the small scale by the toilet and took off my hospital gown so that I was just in my boxers. The scale weighed me quickly and it took me a while to muster up some courage to look at it. One hundred pounds on the dot; I had lost fifty pounds.
“Oh shit,” was the first thing I said, “first I was too fucking fat now I’m too fucking skinny!” I screamed loudly. I picked the scale and prepared to smash it against the wall when I remembered that the man was there.
“Go away or I’ll fucking kill you with the piece of shit scale!” I remember saying that, please forgive me, but I was mad beyond belief.
The man just sat there though, so I did attempt to kill him with it. He just subdued me by pulling the scale out of my clutches and sat me gently onto the floor.
“I don’t want to hurt you, because you have enough injuries as it is. I mean, just look at your back, it looks like you just went through a lawn mower.”
I gave him my sullen look that was probably masked by that huge bruise on my face. Getting on my knees, I turned my head around awkwardly so that I could see my back. It was awful; the man had given it the perfect description. It was mangled - completely covered with black bruises and yellow, infectious puss. The puss made me think about the man, he had pussy hands like that. It made me wonder if the man had come while I was sleeping and gave me the touch of death. Then again, he touched me more today than I ever would’ve let him if I were sane. As it turns out, I wasn’t sane that day.
The man saw that I was completely devastated, so he took what he was holding the whole time and handed it to me. It was a jar full of painkillers. There must have been hundreds, but I didn’t care as long as it would last me.
“I know that you’ll be leaving,” he said, “and I knew before that too. So I saved half of the painkillers I get for you.”
The guy was nuts. “You only took half of your medication?”
“Yeah, but I don’t really need it. They give it to me so that I leave the hospital.”
I shifted my gaze from the jar to my wrist. Now it was completely bruised as well. I could hardly hold the jar because of my bleeding hand and my infected one. The arm I’d fallen on was more purple than black. It sort of was a nice color, unfortunately it wasn’t body paint.
I pretended to leave the bathroom, with the man following behind. When both of his feet passed through the doorway, I made it look like I was going to close the door behind him, but I slipped inside instead. The whole time I was, uh, relieving myself, the man was throwing himself against the door.
I washed my hands, then my face and brushed my teeth. It felt so good to brush my teeth because they felt all gritty. I’d never gone a whole day without brushing my teeth, believe it or not. You never know who you’re going to run into when you’re out for a walk.
I took my precious time to myself re-admiring my bruises and combing my hair. My hair had gotten quite thick and long but when I combed it the right way, it looked pretty good.
After twenty minutes of uninterrupted peace, I walked out the door in just my boxer shorts. I didn’t care even though the pregnant woman across from me was checking me out. There wasn’t much to look at really, just a scrawny body.
I put on the silver track pants that Denise had brought me, along with a black tank top and a long coat. It wasn’t that what I was wearing was important, it was the care and the choice of clothing Denise had given me. Maybe she didn’t pick it out, but it matched and everything. I didn’t expect that.
Anyway, as I was packing up, the man starting yelling at me about how I betrayed him and how he helped me and this is what I’d done in return. I smiled at him because I knew that he was sad to see me go. Since he could leave the hospital at any time he wished I figured that I could use him a little more until I left the hospital.
“I can’t carry my bags,” I told the man matter-of-factly. My hands were completely mangled and he knew that but I showed them to him anyway.
“Would you like me to help you?” he asked. He wasn’t being smug, which was a good sign. If someone acts smug, then you know for sure that they want something.
“Oh, would you? It’s so much to ask because you’re still ever-so-mad at me.” I was sugar coating it on purpose so that he would be drawn in. The sheer thought of me acting nice to a person that I hated reflected on the music business in general. You can’t ever hate anyone; it’s totally illegal.
The man went back quickly to his place and grabbed his bags. He didn’t have much stuff with him, but he had this really nice hat that he eventually gave to me.
I let him take me outside of the hospital and then we waited for my cab to come. He wanted to come with me as far as I was going and I didn’t care because I could only stay in LA until the end of that day. The cab took us to the stadium, where I could already hear the screaming. I couldn’t perform tonight and I didn’t feel like it either, but I felt I had to finish the tour.
The man and I said our goodbyes and I remembered then that I had never asked for his name. If I had, he would have taken it the wrong way anyway. So we just parted and I felt a burden lift from my life.
I paid the cab driver to carry my bag inside the arena. My hands were throbbing all over again and because I didn’t bother to wrap the bleeding one, I had to hide it in my sleeve. It was bleeding so much that my black coat looked like I had wet it on the sleeve.
I felt sick, lonely, depressed, and tired all at the same time. It didn’t help that I thought I was dying either. I knew I would die without treatment and I hoped that I would get the courage to go through with the treatment. I needed people to help me through it because I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it alone. Meanwhile I had feel the death seeping through my pores and the effects of cancer taking their toll on my body.
Chapter 13
Back To Table of Contents