Lost in thought, he absently crossed the small waiting room and signed in with the receptionist, not even noticing that Claire was there, as planned, until she said his name.
“Oh, hey, Claire,” he responded, offering her a slight smile as he slumped into the chair beside her.
“Hey yourself,” she replied. “What’s up? You look kinda... out of it.”
“Just been thinking,” Nick shrugged.
“Oh. Anything you wanna talk about?”
Typical girl, Nick thought, always wanting to ‘talk about it.’ Well, he didn’t feel like talking about it; in fact, he didn’t feel much like talking at all. “Nope,” he replied, hoping she’d take the hint. Apparently she did, for she left it at that and went back to the magazine she had been reading before he walked in.
He managed to find a dated copy of Sports Illustrated hidden among all the women’s magazines and picked it up, pretending to be immersed in an article about Tiger Woods. As he stared at the pages without really seeing them, he couldn’t help but realize how awkward the silence between him and Claire suddenly seemed. Though the two were still new friends, they always seemed to have something to talk about, and he felt comfortable telling Claire things he wouldn’t tell most of his other friends. Then again, who could really expect to have a good conversation in the middle of a doctor’s office waiting room, with the dreadful scent of rubbing alcohol permeating the air and the apprehensive butterflies that fluttered annoyingly in Nick’s stomach (and probably Claire’s as well)?
He hadn’t been sitting there pretending to read his magazine for long when Claire was called back. She stood up and followed the nurse out of the waiting room without a word to Nick, who began to wonder if his silence had pissed her off. He sat stewing about this for awhile until his own name was called and then followed the nurse, Marianne, to an examining room.
After he had changed into the usual gown, Marianne weighed him and took his temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure, then told him to wait for Dr. Kingsbury to come and see him. He knew the drill. He waited for a good ten minutes, and then Dr. Kingsbury came into the room.
“Hi, Nick,” she said with a smile. “How have you been feeling?”
“Fine,” he replied, then added honestly, “Well, a little tired, you know. But other than that, I’ve been good.”
The doctor nodded. “The fatigue is just another side effect of the chemo, I’m afraid. Nothing to worry about though.”
“Oh yeah, speaking of side effects,” he brought up, “that new chemo stuff has been giving me horrible canker sores. Like so bad I can barely eat anything but ice cream.”
With a look of sympathy, she said, “Yes, that’s another side effect of some chemotherapy drugs. I know they’re a real pain – no pun intended – but all I can tell you to do is maybe try some of the over-the-counter products for mouth sores.”
Nick nodded, sighing. The canker sores were long gone by now, but he had a nasty feeling that they’d crop up again in full force after this next round of chemo.
“So, no other complaints?” Dr. Kingsbury asked. “How has your leg been feeling?”
“All right,” Nick said with a shrug. “I mean, it hurts a little every once in awhile, but not like it used to.”
“Good,” Dr. Kingsbury smiled. “Well, I’m going to look you over real quick, and then we’ll get to your x-rays and scans.”
“No bone marrow this time?” Nick asked pleadingly.
“No bone marrow this time,” confirmed the doctor, adding with a wink, “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Oh yeah,” Nick scoffed, relieved.
“I probably will schedule you for one next time you come though,” Dr. Kingsbury told him, and he sighed resignedly.
The physical examination, as well as the tests done on his leg, went the same as always, and when everything was done, Dr. Kingsbury left Nick to wait in the examining room until the x-rays were back. He didn’t mind doing this, figuring if there was going to be bad news, he’d rather just hear it today rather than get another phone call later in the week.
The longer Dr. Kingsbury took to come back to talk to him, the more anxious he grew, becoming certain that there was a problem, that the chemo was still not working, that he was going to be given his death sentence. But when the doctor finally entered the room, her arms laden with charts and envelopes and the notorious new chemo pump to attach to his central line, there was a smile on her face.
“Hey, Dr. K,” he said casually, relaxing a little when he saw her smiling.
“Good news, Nick,” she replied brightly, dropping her burdens on one of the counters and sliding a few black, filmy x-rays out of a tall manila envelope. Sliding them onto the light board mounted on one of the walls, she flicked a switch, and the board flashed on, illuminating the dark slides. Nick squinted at the films of his knee and lower leg, trying to tell what they revealed. “The chemo is doing its job – the tumor in your leg’s shrinking.”
Nick smiled, exhaling in relief. “It is? Does that mean I’m in... remission?”
“Well... I wouldn’t say that quite yet,” Dr. Kingsbury replied hesitantly. “But I’d say you’re definitely heading toward a remission.”
Nick felt a slight wave of disappointment, but forced himself to concentrate on the good news and nodded. “That’s good,” he said.
“Yes, very good. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but if your progress keeps up, this week could be your last round of chemo. Intravenously, that is. Even after you go into remission, you’ll have to take chemotherapy drugs in pill form, but those don’t have near the side effects. So,” she said, smiling, “keep your spirits up. You’re reaching the final stretch here.”
Nick nodded, smiling back. “Thanks, Dr. K,” he said, and as she hooked him up with his new chemo pump, he didn’t even mind. This week would suck for sure... but after that, he would be just about home free. Or so he hoped.
Stopping only to set up his next appointment for the ninth of August, he took off for home in a race against the nausea that would soon accompany the toxic fluids that were now flowing straight into his bloodstream.
When he reached home, he was still feeling pretty well, but decided to go up to bed anyway, hoping to head the nausea off, for sleep was the only relief from it. Removing all of his clothes, with the exception of his boxers, he sank beneath his sheets and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and lull himself to sleep. And he had almost succeeded, too, when the sudden ringing of the phone beside his bed jarred him awake.
“Damnit,” he mumbled, rolling over to grab the cordless, cursing himself for not just ripping the stupid cord off the wall. He glanced into the caller ID window and was surprised to see Claire’s name and number there. He knew she had probably been started on her next round of chemo that day too; why would she feel like talking now?
She’s probably just calling to give me crap for this morning, he thought irritably, remembering the strained silence in the waiting room, and considered just not answering. But, after the phone rang a second and third time, he finally sighed and clicked the Talk button, putting the phone to his ear and answering with a hassled, “Hey, Claire.”
“Nick?” came the voice on the other end, and in just that one word, he was able to pick out two things.
It was indeed Claire. And she was crying.
***
