The only medications he’d ever been on were simple, everyday things... antibiotics for strep throat and ear infections, pills for allergies and migraines... basic stuff like that. And now, suddenly, he had a strict schedule of various drugs to take, and from the looks of things, he had to stick to the schedule.
In the morning, before breakfast, he was to take Melphalan, a chemotherapy drug that came in the form of small, white capsules. Then after that came Zofran, an anti-nausea drug that would easily combat the mild side effects of the chemotherapy drugs. At lunch time, he would swallow a tablet of Cytoxan, another anticancer drug, and at night, a second dose of Zofran and big blue horse pill called Lomustine. And every Thursday, he was to take six tiny yellow pills of a drug called Methotrexate.
It was just plain daunting.
How was he ever going to stick to this tight regimen once he got back to his usual busy life – traveling and working and such? Because he definitely would get back to doing all those things, as soon as possible. He had been stuck at home being sick for far too long; he was itching to get back into studio, dying to get back on stage. Cancer had knocked him down, that was for sure, but he would not let it keep him down. He was fine now, and he wanted to get his life back to normal.
And yet, as he stared at the four small medicine bottles, his name unmistakably typed across their labels, he knew things would never be completely normal again. Even if he was well again, he had had cancer, and he knew that was something he was never going to forget, no matter how much he wanted to. The medications, for one, would be a constant reminder that he was no longer the picture of health he had once been.
He glanced at the clock, deciding he’d forget about his noon pills and start out with the evening ones instead, since it was already almost one in the afternoon. After his appointment that morning, he’d stopped by the nurses station to ask for Samantha, who, beaming when she heard his good news, had no problem in taking him to the isolation ward. She would not, however, let him into Claire’s room, so he settled on visiting through her window.
“I’m in remission!” he had mouthed exaggeratedly, flashing her a wide grin and a double thumbs up and hoping she had understood. She apparently had, for her pasty, pinched face had broken into a toothy smile, and she had given him the thumbs up back. He had left shortly after that, finding that it was really quite hard to mouth things so she could tell what he was trying to say and to read her lips in return.
That, and the fact that... well... she just hadn’t looked well. She had looked bad the last time he had seen her, two days earlier, but since the transplant... was it possible that she was worse? Her skin was just so pale... and she had seemed very weak, lying on her back in bed, her head just barely propped up so that she could see him at the window.
It made him uneasy, for despite her illness, Claire had always radiated so much energy... and now, seeing her so listless... well, it just hurt. Especially now that he was in remission himself and getting better. He desperately wanted the same thing for her, and he knew that if the bone marrow transplant worked, she would be cured. But so far, it didn’t look like it was working too well.
Then again, he had never had much in the patience department, so maybe these things just took time. That was what he kept telling himself, that all Claire needed was a while longer to recuperate, and then she’d be better.
I’ll call her later, he thought to himself, figuring that maybe actually talking to her, hearing her voice, would put his mind at ease.
But first, he had to call someone else.
Picking up the phone, he punched in the familiar digits and listened to the phone ring on the other end of the line. Finally, a male voice answered in his light Kentucky drawl, “Hello?”
“Hey, Kev, it’s me,” Nick said casually, smirking as he tried his hardest not to blurt out the news.
“Nick? That you, buddy?” Kevin asked quickly.
“Yup. Wassup, old man?”
“Nothin’ too much, kid... how about you? I mean, um... how’ve you been doing?”
Nick smiled; he had predicted that line. It was pretty much what all the guys opened their conversations with – “How have you been doing?” Or sometimes, for a change, “How have you been feeling?” It usually annoyed him to no end, but today, he didn’t mind one bit.
“Peachy,” he replied. “I just got back from my doctor’s appointment a little while ago.”
“Oh yeah?” Kevin tried sound casual. “And?”
“And...” Nick stretched the word out and left a hearty pause for good measure, leaving Kevin hanging. It was fun to mess with his mind. Then again, in this circumstance, it was also pretty mean, so he finished in one breath, “I’m in remission.”
“Remission?” Kevin repeated. “Oh thank God... thank God...”
Nick wasn’t sure if Kevin was talking to him or actually thanking the Lord, so he just answered, “Yup.”
“Oh, Nick... this is just great... so what did your doctor say?”
“Uh, that I’m in remission.”
“Well, I figured that, dumbass,” Kevin said with fond exasperation. “But... I dunno, she didn’t say anything else?”
“Not really,” Nick replied with a shrug. “She gave me some prescriptions for all these drugs that I gotta take and said I don’t gotta come back for a check-up for like three months. Kick ass, right?”
“For sure, bro!”
“So, yeah, anyway,” Nick continued, “now that I’m good to go... when you wanna get back in the studio?”
There was a pause, and then, just as Nick figured he would, Kevin said sternly, “The studio? Nick, you need time to recuperate... we can’t just get back in the studio right away. You just need to rest for awhile, man, get your strength back and everything.”
“I have been resting!” Nick protested. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the past two and a half months? All I’ve done is hang out at home and ‘rest’. We have an album to finish!”
“I know, and I’m glad you’re so enthusiastic about it, but, Nick... it’s too soon. Really. Take some more time off, and we’ll get back to work on the album when you’re healthy again.”
“I am healthy again!” He was starting to sound like a child throwing a temper tantrum, but he didn’t care. He knew Kevin would be against the idea of working on the album so soon, but he was not backing down. He knew he wasn’t even close to being back to 100% yet, but he was sure he would be soon, and he couldn’t bear to put off the album any longer. Cancer had torn him down; now he needed music to build him back up. ‘Let the music heal your soul,’ right?
Kevin sighed loudly. “Okay, Nick. Listen, maybe the five of us can get together next week, just to talk about the album and figure out something. That sound okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” replied Nick.
“Have you called any of them yet?”
“Not yet,” Nick answered. Brian was next on his list, but he had decided to call Kevin first. Somehow, he knew that his bout with cancer had affected Kevin more deeply than any of the others. After watching his own father die of the dreaded disease, Kevin was probably terrified the same thing would happen to Nick. Not to mention that he had always had this paternal instinct when it came to the Boys, especially with Nick. Nick absolutely hated it sometimes and loved it at others. Daddy Kevin... there was no one else like him. He had deserved to hear the good news first, and Nick was glad he had called him before the others.
“Okay... well, call me back later once you talk to them, and we’ll make some plans. I can talk to management for you if you want. They’ll probably want us to do a press conference or another TRL appearance or something.”
“Yeah...” Nick hadn’t really considered that, but of course, Kevin was right. Somehow, the thought of going on TV or sitting in a room surrounded by reporters shoving microphones and cameras in his face wasn’t too appealing, especially with the way he looked now. Like a freak. The fans would probably be shocked when they saw him. But there was no getting around it; he knew they’d want to know he was okay, and to assure them of that, he’d have to be there in person, not just let the other guys give the news without him.
“Nick? That sound okay?” Kevin’s voice barged into his thoughts.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool,” said Nick. “Well, listen, I better call Bri now and tell him, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks for calling me, buddy. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later, Kev.”
A slight smile turning up his lips, Nick turned off the phone, only to turn it on once again and dial Brian’s house.
***
