“Nick!”
... Until his mother’s call snatched him right out of that fantasy.
“What?” he shouted back, annoyed at having been interrupted.
“Come here!”
Grunting, Nick forced himself to his feet and trudged into his office, where Jane Carter sat in front of his laptop, one hand resting lightly on the mouse, her eyes fixed eagerly on the screen. “Nicky, look at this,” she said without tearing her eyes from the computer. “Here’s a hospital in San Diego that specializes in alternative treatments. They focus not just on the body, but the mind and the spirit too. They don’t use chemo or surgery or anything like that; their treatments are all natural and non-invasive. What do you think?”
Nick stepped closer, squinting at the website that appeared on the screen. It showed a large picture of a gray-haired doctor who was smiling just a little too widely. He wrinkled his nose. “That’s a bunch of bullshit,” he announced dismissively, scanning over the contents of the site. “I don’t want no freaky-ass hippie treatments.”
“Well, there’s also this doctor in New York who has developed a program based on organic diets and vitam-“
“Eating fruit ain’t gonna get rid of the tumor in my leg any more than sitting on my ass and talking about my feelings is. That’s total crap,” he interrupted her in a flat voice.
Jane heaved an exasperated sigh. “Nick, please! Please consider some of these; this is your life we’re talking about!”
“Yeah, and if I get shipped halfway across the country in search of some bogus ‘all-natural’ cure, my life will be over.”
“You don’t know that! There’s all kinds of testimonies from people who have been survivors for twenty years or more because of these treatments!” Jane insisted shrilly.
“There’s lots of things on the internet, Mom. Not all of them are true,” he replied dully.
“How do you know these aren’t true? Things like this happen, Nick!”
“Yeah, they’re called miracles. But I can’t go chasing a miracle ‘cause there’s no guarantee I’m gonna get one. Now you find me a real doctor with a real treatment plan that involves some kind of real medicine, and I’ll consider.”
Jane sniffed and nodded. “Fine,” she said quickly, turning away from him. “Fine, I’ll keep looking.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Nick walked away, his heart sinking hopelessly. Who were they kidding? Deep down, he knew there were no other treatments, no other doctors who would have the miracle cure that could save him from amputation and spare his life at the same time.
He shuffled gloomily back to the living room and was just about to sink down in front of the TV again when the phone rang. He unconsciously reached for the cordless, but by the time he had grabbed the phone and put it to his ear, someone else had already answered.
“Hello, may I speak with Nick Carter?” came a professional-sounding woman’s voice.
“May I ask who’s calling?” returned Jane in a crisp tone.
“This is Dr. Barb Kingsbury, calling from Tampa GeneralHospital. Is Nick available?”
Nick sucked in a breath and considered answering, but held back, waiting for his mother to call him to the phone first. But she didn’t. “No, he is not available, not to talk to you anyway,” Jane snapped. “I’ll have you know that I don’t appreciate you threatening to amputate my son’s leg! How dare you lead him to believe that is his only option?!”
“Mrs. Carter, I presume?” Dr. Kingsbury confirmed patiently. “I’m not allowed to discuss your son’s case over the phone – patient confidentiality, I’m afraid – but if you and Nick would like to schedule a consultation in my office, that would be fine... with Nick’s consent, of course.”
“Nick will not be going to any consultation with you again. We’re getting a second opinion from a doctor who knows what they’re talking about,” replied Jane, her voice overflowing with disdain.
“Well, it’s certainly your right to do that, Mrs. Carter. And I’m glad to know Nick will have support through this difficult time. I suppose I’ll let you go then,” Dr. Kingsbury said calmly and then added, “I’ll be in touch.”
“Goodbye,” came Jane’s curt blow-off, followed by a click as she hung up the phone.
“Dr. K?” Nick asked cautiously, hoping the doctor was still on the phone.
There was a slight pause. Then, “Nick?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I was listening in,” he explained, unabashed. “Um, sorry about my mom. She just...” He let the sentence trail off, hoping Dr. Kingsbury would know what he meant without him having to put it into words.
“I understand,” the doctor replied, and Nick smiled slightly.
“Um, yeah. See, she, uh... well, she thinks that she can find some kind of miracle doctor who will have some new treatment that will, you know, get rid of the cancer without having to resort to... amputation.” He swallowed hard; it still pained him to have to say that dreadful word.
“I know,” said Dr. Kingsbury. “It’s something many patients do, go on a wild goose chase in search of false hope. The truth is, while there are a lot of doctors out there claiming to have found new, less invasive cancer treatments, few of them really work. Some have been successful in small groups of people, but when it comes down to it, the most reliable and most successful cancer treatments are the conventional ones – chemo, radiation, and surgery. If they didn’t work on so many people, we wouldn’t be using them, and if alternative treatments really did work in a high percentage of cancer patients, they would become more mainstream.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Nick, only giving you a bit of professional advice. I’ve been an orthopedic oncologist for almost twenty years, long enough to be able to efficiently diagnose, stage, and treat bone cancer. Honestly, Nick, I doubt there is any other licensed orthopedic oncologist out there who would tell you anything different than what I told you. Your cancer is spreading, and chemotherapy or radiation alone will not stop it. Amputation is a last resort, but at this point, it’s your best shot. And the longer it is postponed, the more the cancer will spread before we can get to it. In my opinion, it would be unwise to go searching for a miracle cure now.”
Nick sighed softly. He didn’t want to give up hope of another option... but he knew, as subconsciously he had always known, that there was no other option, not one that would work for him anyway.
“I-I know,” he stammered softly. “Um... Dr. K? Can I... can I call you back? Later?”
“Of course,” she replied pleasantly. “I should be here at the hospital until at least five.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dr. K.”
They hung up, and Nick walked slowly back to the office. “Who was on the phone, Mom?” he asked casually, leaning his head through the doorway.
“Solicitor,” Jane Carter briskly replied.
“Lying bitch,” Nick mumbled under his breath as he continued on past the office, taking the stairs up to the master bedroom on the second story. There, he flopped down onto his bed, buried his face in his pillow, and closed his eyes. Although he had done nothing but sit around all day, he felt exhausted, probably more emotionally drained than anything else. Still, before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep...
The water was gray and murky, wind-tossed. Choppy waves rolled toward him, high and swift, some carrying him with their power, others washing over his head, drenching him in cold salt water that seemed to seep right through his skin, chilling him to the bone. He coughed and choked as he was hit with another face full of water. The force of it left his cheeks raw and stinging, his eyes burning, the taste of salt on his tongue.
He continued to tread water, keeping himself afloat, trying to dodge the waves, but he was growing steadily more tired. His arms ached, but still, he kept them moving, knowing they were his only lifeline. He looked around again, squinting into the horizon, frantic, searching for any sign of land or life. But all around him, he could see nothing but ocean. The very ocean that had been his friend for so long was now his mortal enemy, desperate to claim his life with its wild, tossing waters.
“Help me!” Nick gasped, his shout cut short as his mouth filled with salty water. He spat it out, gagging, coughing, still bobbing in the relentless waves.
His arms were betraying him now, his strength and endurance rapidly leaving him. Again, he searched the wide expanse of water for a boat, and when he did not see one, he raised his eyes to the stormy skies, praying for a helicopter. Lightning forked across the dark clouds, but there was no aircraft.
He was growing panicky now, his eyes filling with desperate tears, which spilled down his already wet cheeks, mixing with the salty sea as they dripped from his chin. He took one last desperate survey of the scenery around him, praying for a way out, for a rescue. And that’s when he saw it – something small gliding fluidly through the water toward him.
Not a boat.
A fin.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, taking in another mouthful of seawater. He froze, his whole body tensing up, his pounding heart the only muscle moving within it. It was a shark; it had to be a shark. His greatest fear. And it was coming right at him. He could see the fin rise and dip below the surface of the water, waves crashing over it, hiding it from his view. But he knew it was there, swimming nearer and nearer, hunting him.
His mind seemed to freeze up right along with his body, and he had no idea what to do. Swim? But where? If not... stay? Try to keep still, hope that he would not aggravate the carnivorous creature into attacking?
Too scared shitless to hold still and stay near that animal, he chose the former and, boosted by a sudden rush of adrenaline, took off swimming, his arms flailing like a windmill, his legs kicking frenziedly behind him. He was terrified the shark was right behind him, coming after him, but he refused to look back. He just kept swimming, blindly, thoughtlessly, acting on pure instinct, the instinct that all creatures possess – survival. The will to live.
He was slowing down, his lungs burning, his stomach cramping, his muscles weakening. Water rushed over his head as he sank in the water, struggling to keep his head above the surface, struggling to keep swimming. Hysterical, he chanced a look back just in time to see the fin sink swiftly beneath the dark water just a few feet away. And before his mind had time to truly realize what was happening, he felt it. A pinch on his left foot. And he knew...
Just as he realized the shark had nipped him, it came again, only this time, it was not a pinch, but a sharp stabbing sensation, like a thousand knives being plunged into his shin. And then came the tug. Before he could resist, his exhausted body was yanked below the surface, the pressure and pain in his leg increasing. He struggled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, waving his arms blindly, kicking his right leg. His foot connected hard with something, and then the pressure on his other leg vanished.
His heart thudding crazily inside his chest, his lungs screaming, desperate for oxygen, he used his arms to pull himself back to the surface. Breaking through the water, he gasped and choked, sucking in mouthfuls of air. As the pain in his lungs vanished, his leg began to sear with pain. Forcing his eyes open, he chanced a look down and saw that the water around him was turning a deep shade of red, dyed with blood. His blood.
Gritting his teeth, exhaustedly paddling his arms to keep himself afloat, he tried to lift his leg, only to find that he could not feel it. The pain was agonizing, but... something was not right... With a shaking hand, he reached below the surface and gingerly felt his thigh. His fingertips traveled down it, reaching his knee, but when he tried to feel lower... nothing.
Crying out, he jerked his hand out of the water. His fingertips were tinged light pink with diluted blood. Panting, he threw back his head and floated on his back. And then, he tried again to lift his left leg. Pulling up his head as his body began to sink, he caught a glimpse of his leg raised above the water, and he saw it... the stump. The bleeding stump of a leg, severed below the knee.
His stomach rolled, and he became violently ill, throwing up right there in the water. He bobbed up and down, tossed by the waves, growing dizzy from shock and blood loss, knowing in some far region of his mind that he was about to die. Weakly closing his eyes, he gave up, quit his struggle, letting himself sink beneath the stormy waters. But just as his head went under, he heard it.
A voice.
“Hold on, Nick!” the voice called. The voice was female and, though hauntingly distorted, familiar.
“Where... where are you?” he choked out as he burst back up, fighting hard to stay conscious despite the dark fog that penetrated his brain.
“Over here,” said the voice, but it seemed to echo all around him. He looked around frantically, all the while struggling to keep himself alert and above water. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shining fin rise up above the surface and quickly vanish below again. A jolt of fear rocked his stomach – had the shark returned for more? He wanted to just give up, to surrender to unconsciousness and let himself die. He hoped it would be a quick death, one which would end the excruciating pain he was in.
Closing his eyes, he stopped struggling, letting his arms go limp. Immediately, he sank below the surface, water filling his mouth and nose. He could feel the blackness overtaking him as lack of oxygen set in.
“Hold on, Nick!” the voice repeated, sounding as if it were coming from right inside his head. “I’ll save you!”
Through the numbing darkness, he vaguely felt a pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him close, lifting him up with incredible strength...
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. When he finally managed to raise them, he found himself lying on a surface that was moist and warm. Taking in his surroundings, he realized he was on the shore, sprawled on a bed of sand, the ocean’s gentle waves licking his toes as they rolled smoothly onto the beach.
He tried to move, to get up, but his body was sapped, the strength sucked out of him. He managed to raise his head and caught sight of the ocean, shimmering innocently beneath the morning sun. Squinting, he could make out a person in the water, their bobbing head just visible above the waterline as they swam out to sea. It was a woman, her flowing, reddish-colored hair streaming in the water behind her. He watched as her head turned, and he squinted harder, trying to make out her face, but it was blurred by distance.
“Hey!” he shouted, knowing by instinct that this was his savior, this woman was the one who had dragged him ashore. But his voice was weak, and the woman did not seem to hear him. She turned away and continued swimming, and though he called out to her again, her head eventually dipped below the surface. He frowned in confusion, wondering what she was doing, and then he saw it. A shining fin, like a large fishtail, broke through the surface where the woman had gone under. It stayed there for just a split second and then slid back down again, disappearing from view.
Nick stared speechlessly, awed by the strange sight. He waited, breathless, for another glimpse, but none came. All he could see was the ocean, looking as natural and normal as always.
Giving in to his exhaustion, he slumped back onto the ground, content to let unconsciousness cradle him once again...
Nick awoke slowly, feeling rejuvenated and oddly peaceful. He thought back to his dream, reflecting on it methodically. It was a recurring dream, he realized, remembering a similar dream many months earlier, when he had been battling pneumonia in the hospital. The beginning had been the same, he recalled, with the savage sea and the shark. But the end... the end was different in this one.
Yes, he had suffered. He battled paralyzing fear and debilitating pain. He had almost given up.
But he had been saved, dragged ashore by a mysterious, yet almost familiar being.
And though the dream had ended without much of a resolution, he had awoken calm and reassured, as if everything was going to be all right.
Hold on, Nick... I’ll save you...
He knew what he had to do if he was to be saved outside his dream world.
Reaching over to his bedside table, he retrieved his cordless phone and quickly flipped through the list of recent calls banked in the caller ID. Finding the entry he was looking for, he turned on the phone and punched in a series of digits.
When his call was answered, he sucked in a deep breath and said with resolve, “Dr. Kingsbury? This is Nick Carter. I’ve made my decision...”
***
