He tested the word, repeating it in his head, even daring to mumble it out loud with a wavering voice. Each time he heard it or thought it, a wave of nausea washed over him. Dr. Kingsbury wanted to amputate his leg. He thought back to the conversation in her office, probably one of the worst conversations he’d ever had in his life.
“You mean, cut off my leg?!” Nick cried shrilly, his eyes bugging in sheer horror at the very thought.
“Nick, I’m so sorry. This option is just a last resort. If there were any other way...”
“So... so there is no other way?” he whispered, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.
Sadly, the doctor shook her head. “I’m afraid if we don’t act soon and amputate, the tumor will not only continue to spread through your leg, but cancer cells will move to other parts of your body, and then we’ll be dealing with a much worse situation. Once Ewing’s metastasizes, the prognosis drops to only a twenty-two to thirty-three percent chance of survival.”
He stared at her, chilled by those harsh odds. He thought maybe he should say something, but his foggy brain didn’t seem to want to form words, and even if it did, he hardly trusted his voice to speak.
Dr. Kingsbury went on, “You do have a choice about this, Nick. We can’t do anything without your consent, and you have the right to refuse this. But, as a professional, I would advise you to go through with it. I know what a shock this is, and I know that right now, you can’t even imagine what it would be like to live without one of your legs. But, believe me, you’ll still be able to have a normal life. With the use of a prosthesis...”
She trailed off, and he could feel her gaze on him. His eyes had begun to well up, and he blinked furiously, his head down, refusing to look up at her. It was not the first time he had broken down in front of her, yet he still hated crying in front of anyone. He felt her hand grip his shoulder, which only prompted more tears to spill.
“Nick,” she said gently, and finally, he looked up, focusing his watery, red-rimmed eyes upon her kind face. “You don’t have to make this decision now. Go home, do some thinking, make some phone calls... just give it some time. Think it over and decide within the next few days, and we’ll go from there.”
“W-would you do it, if it were you?” Nick asked shakily, ignoring her words and looking pleadingly into her eyes.
“Yes,” Dr. Kingsbury replied with a firm nod. “I’ve been a doctor for almost twenty years, and I’ve seen many of my patients go through this. And almost all of them have gone on to live normal, productive, healthy lives. All it takes is a positive attitude and a little effort. And Nick, I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for you especially, being in the public eye, but living without your leg is better than not living at all. It isn’t the end of the world, and although things will never be the same, you will be able to go on with not only your life, but your career. Do you understand?”
Her voice was gentle, yet firm, her words confident and encouraging. He nodded slowly. “I... I just need to think about it,” he mumbled, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“Yes,” Dr. Kingsbury nodded. “Do like I said. Go home, Nick. Call me in a few days when you know for sure what you want to do.”
So that was it. She had given him a hug before he had left, and he had broken down again at the show of compassion, crying shamelessly like a child and moistening the shoulder of her crisp white lab jacket with his tears. Then he had driven home, his mind in a haze the whole time, not paying a bit of attention to the road or anything else around him, navigating the familiar route based on pure instinct.
Now he sat outside, sprawled lifelessly in the sand on the private strip of beach behind his house. He could hear the ocean, just feet away, its waves gently lapping against the sand. But the sound, usually so soothing, brought him no comfort. His thoughts were racing, yet felt slow and restrained by the thick fog that swirled around in his brain. The beach normally relaxed him, but now his body was tense, a jumbled bunch of nerves, still trembling slightly whenever he repeated that dreadful word... amputation.
Stretching his legs out in front of him, he let his eyes travel up and down the left one and tried to imagine it gone. What would it be like? What would it look like? What would it feel like?
Other questions banged against the walls of his mind, as he realized how much his life would change if he went through with this. He’d never walk on his own two feet again, but be forced to use a prosthetic leg. And even if he learned to walk on that, he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever be able to run again... play basketball... swim...
Swim.
He eyed the water, its waves rippling in the oceanic breeze, its surface sparkling beneath the late afternoon sun. A large wave rolled in and washed onto the sand, almost reaching his toes. It seemed to be beckoning to him.
It had been weeks since he’d been out on the ocean. Fatigued from the radiation, he had mostly lain around indoors or lounged on the balcony overlooking the ocean, never once setting foot in the water.
He realized he’d taken it for granted, assuming that the ocean would always be here, and he would always be here to enjoy it. If he let them take his leg, he was more likely to live, more likely to be here. But would he still be able to enjoy the water? Would he be able to take his boat out? Would he be able to surf? Would he even be able to swim, with only one leg?
But if he decided against the amputation, it was likely the cancer would kill him. And then what?
Nick had never been a deeply religious person, and though he believed there was a God somewhere up above, he had never really considered death and what occurred after it. Was there a Heaven? And if so, was he destined to go there? If not, what would happen to him?
He was so confused, but one thing was clear – he didn’t want to die.
But he didn’t want to live without his leg either.
Desperate tears rose in his eyes, and his head ached with the weight of the many thoughts that were on his mind. What was he going to do?
Somehow, he knew this was a decision he could not make alone. He had endured so much on his own... but this was just too much. He had to tell someone, had to talk to someone, had to get advice.
For a brief moment, he thought of Claire, remembering how she had called him in tears, distraught after getting the news of her need for a bone marrow transplant. He longed to call her, to hear her voice, to have her cry with him and be there for him and assure him that everything would be all right.
Claire was the one person who would almost understand what he was going through.
But he couldn’t call Claire.
He would call Brian instead. Brian, the big brother he’d never had, his best friend. Brian would be there for him; Brian would help him through.
He stood up slowly, his leg aching under his weight as his feet sank into the sand, and turned to go back to the house, his heart heavy at the thought of the phone call he was going to have to make. But a seagull’s cry made him turn back, his eyes drawn instantly to the glistening water. He set his gaze on the horizon; as far as he could see, there was nothing but ocean. And oh, how he longed to set sail and never look back, drift out on that vast expanse of water and let it simply carry him away. An escape.
Without a thought, as if possessed by the enchanting power the ocean held over him, he staggered toward the water, relishing the feel of the wet sand squishing between his toes, the coolness of the water tickling his ankles. The bottoms of his rolled-up pant legs grew wet as he walked further in, but he did not care. Before he knew it, he was waist-deep, and his pants were soaked. But he hardly noticed, nor did it matter. Nothing really mattered, after all.
And with this attitude, he hurled himself headfirst into the water, the shock of the cold water numbing his body and soul, deadening the physical and emotional pain, rendering him blind to the world above the surface and opening his eyes to the peaceful world below. How he wished he could simply sink to the very bottom of the ocean and stay there, leaving his problems bobbing like cork on the top.
But as soon as he rose to the surface, sputtering and gasping for breath, his brief escape was thwarted as he was captured by reality. And though his body remained free to drift in the ocean’s current, his soul was bound, bound with the decision he knew he had to make.
Face losing his leg?
Or face death?
He kicked hard, propelling his body through the water and wondering if it would be the last time he swam with both legs. The very thought made his eyes well up again. Hot tears dripped down his wet cheeks, mixing with the salty sea.
He shook his head desperately, his chest heaving, his head pounding, his heart racing. This was not something he could face now.
And so, he simply plunged beneath the surface once again.
***
