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Nick


Going through chemo is kind of like working out. It sucks right from the start, but once you get going, you think, This isn’t that bad. I can do this. It isn’t fun, and sometimes it’s downright painful, but you do it because you know it’ll make your body stronger in the long run. You push yourself to your limit, sometimes past it, and when it’s all over, you’re exhausted, but you feel good. You know you made a healthy choice, even if it was the harder choice, and you feel relieved that it’s over… for now.

But you feel it later, in your muscles and joints, sometimes all the way down to your bones. Even when you take all the right precautions, you still get sore. Sometimes it’s just too much for your body to handle. You feel the effects for days after, and at first, it seems like each day it hurts worse than it did the day before. It has to get worse before it gets better, before your body heals itself and adjusts to you pushing it so hard. But you don’t quit, because you know it’s a necessary evil.

I always hated working out, but chemo was worse. What I wouldn’t give to be in the gym, lifting weights or running on the treadmill, instead of lying around, hooked up to an IV and feeling like shit. On chemo, I was too tired to work out. Luckily, I didn’t need to; with all the dancing, each of our shows was a workout in itself.

We had three of them in a row after our free weekend, and each of them was harder than the one before it.

On Monday, we played Kansas City. I did another round of chemo in the morning, then took a nap to sleep it off, and was late getting into the venue for soundcheck. Everyone was pissed at me – especially AJ, who was still being a little bitch about me blowing him off twice that weekend. Even the fans were pissed because the soundcheck party started late and was really rushed, though they didn’t know it was my fault. Some of them probably blamed me anyway – I get blamed for everything. After the soundcheck, it was my turn to lead the backstage tour for the platinum VIPs, which meant I had even less time to rest before the show. I’m sure it wasn’t my best tour; those fans got gypped. The show itself wasn’t much better. I did my best, but on top of my fatigue, the venue was fucking hot as hell, so I felt literally like death warmed over. By the end, I was about ready to collapse. I skipped the showers, even though I was sweating buckets, and went straight back to my bunk on the bus to crash – and finish the rest of my chemo.

On Tuesday, we were in Broomfield, Colorado. I only had one round of chemo to get through that day, so we decided to save it for that night, so I could sleep through it. I spent the day trying to get geared up for the show… which pretty much amounted to drinking mass quantities of caffeine. I had coffee with my breakfast, guzzled Mountain Dew at lunch, and chugged a Red Bull before I took the stage. It helped. I got through the show. I even put in an appearance at the after party, mostly to keep Howie happy. AJ was still acting pissy, and Brian had been pretty distant lately; I didn’t need Howie hating me, too. I had a couple drinks with him at the club, which earned me a lecture from Cary when I got back to the bus, about mixing alcohol and chemo. She said it would make the effects of the chemo worse, and as usual, she was right.

On Wednesday, I woke up in Salt Lake City with the worst hangover of my life. That was what it felt like, anyway. My head was pounding. My eyes were burning. My stomach was queasy. My throat was dry, and my tongue felt like sandpaper. My whole body ached. I didn’t know how I was going to get through the show that night. But it was our last one before a break; we had the next day off to travel to California. If I could just get through this one show, I could sleep it off the whole next day if I had to, and then we’d be on the final stretch. One more week. Two more states. Seven more shows.

I could make it.

Before we took the stage that night, I sat around in my dressing room, finishing off a pack of Red Bull shots and listening to Queen’s "The Show Must Go On" on my iPod. It was a far cry from “Eye of the Tiger;” this song was dark, inspiring in a different way. It fit my mood that night… depressed, but determined. I wasn’t excited about the show, but I was going to go out on that stage and give it my all. The fans deserved that much from me, and I wasn’t sure how many more chances I’d have to give them what they wanted. With the tour winding down, every concert counted. I tried to perform each one like it was my last.

“Whatever happens… I’ll leave it all to chance,” sang Freddie Mercury in my ears. “Another heartache… another failed romance. On and on… does anybody know what we are living for? I guess I’m learning… I must be warmer now; I’ll soon be turning… ‘round the corner now…”

It was like I knew something was going to happen. It was a gut feeling… a sick sense of dread…

I pushed it from my mind when I heard the knock on my dressing room door. Pausing my iPod, I downed the last shot of Red Bull and dropped the bottle into the trash, along with the rest of the package. “It’s open!” I called to whoever was outside my door. I figured it was Cary. The guys never waited that long after knocking; they just barged right in.

Sure enough, the door opened, and there she stood, looking like a perfect Bettie Page pinup in a little polka dot dress and heels, her cheeks all flushed from being onstage. As she walked in, her skirt swishing around her bare legs, it occurred to me again how hot she was all dolled up like that, with her hair curled and her cherry red lipstick. She was a pretty girl without all the makeup too, but she sure cleaned up nice. In any other circumstances, I probably would have “tapped that hot little piece of ass,” as AJ so tactfully put it.

“I just wanted to come see how you’re doing before I go change,” she said, dropping onto the couch beside me and reminding me why there would be no ass-tapping tonight or any other night on this tour.

“I’m alright,” I replied. It wasn’t a total lie, just a half-truth, as usual. I was far from a hundred percent, but with the energy shots kicking in, I was starting to feel better – less tired, anyway. I still had a nervous feeling, but I blamed that on the caffeine making me jittery. It would pass once I got onstage. “How was your set?”

She grinned. “It was good!”

“Yeah? Good crowd tonight?”

“Seemed like it.” Her smile faded to a look of concern. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay to perform?”

I rolled my eyes. Despite my attempts to distract her, she had been in nurse mode since she’d walked through the door. “Yes, Nurse Cary, I’ll be fine. It’s a little late to decide I’m not okay, at this point.”

She gave me a look. She opened her mouth, like she was going to say something, then apparently changed her mind and closed it again. I knew there was a lot she wanted to say to me, but I guess she felt like it wasn’t the time to bring it up again. I was grateful. The last thing I wanted to do before I took the stage was argue with her about the same old crap. I had enough on my mind already.

“Seriously, I’m good to go,” I added, to reassure her. “I’ve been rockin’ out, gettin’ myself pumped. I’m ready.”

Her eyes fell on my iPod. “What are you listening to?”

“Queen. ‘The Show Must Go On.’” I flashed her a crooked grin. “It was one of the last songs Freddie Mercury recorded before he died. The rest of the band didn’t think he’d be able to do the vocals, but he went for it and fuckin’ killed it.”

Cary didn’t look too impressed by my music trivia. She just looked sad. “And then he died,” she said flatly. “A day after finally admitting he had AIDS. Is that what you’re going to do? Hide this right up till the day it kills you?”

I felt my face heat up, and my stomach clenched. “No. I just think he had some balls, to keep making music as long as he could. He knew it was gonna kill him eventually, but he didn’t let it kill his career, too.”

She shook her head. “This doesn’t have to kill you, Nick.”

“If I thought this was gonna kill me, I wouldn’t even bother with the fucking chemo,” I replied. “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon. I’m gonna go out there and perform, and after the tour, when I’m done with chemo, then I’ll tell everyone. They’ll take it better then.”

“You’re crazy,” she sighed, as she stood up. “I’m done trying to change your mind. Go kill it onstage. Just don’t kill yourself.”

I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. She just sounded sort of defeated. She’d been like that for a few days, ever since Kansas City. I think both of us were glad the tour was almost over. “Don’t plan to!” I called, as she walked out, closing the door behind her.

I pushed play on my iPod again. “The show must go on… The show must go on…” the chorus chanted again, and my ears rang with the legendary voice of Freddie Mercury. “I’ll face it with a grin! I’m never giving in! On with the show…” The electric guitar squealed, and my heart raced. “Ooh, I’ll top the bill! I’ll overkill! I have to find the will to carry on with the show…” I stood up, as the song echoed to a finish. “The show must go on…”

I let it fade out before I turned off my iPod and put it back in my bag. I took a quick look at myself in the mirror – I didn’t look nearly as vibrant and polished as Cary had, but I could still make the ladies scream. I gave my reflection the smoldering smirk I had perfected, which could make up for any missed note or messed-up dance step. Once again, I would need that smirk to pull this off.

Looking more confident than I felt, I left my dressing room and went to find the other guys. It was almost time to take the stage.

***

The best thing I can say about the show is that once it started, it went by quickly. One song led into another, and it was only during our quick changes, while they showed our movie spoofs on the big screen, that I even had time to think things like, One more half to go... One set left… One last song…

For me, it was a countdown to that moment when we took our final bows and left the stage, when I could go back to my bus and lie down. I just wanted to sleep, all night and all the next day, if it would make me feel better. As I stood backstage before the encore, my head was pounding from the loud music. I felt jittery from the bright, flashing stage lights, dizzy and nauseous from all the dancing.

The show had passed by in a blur, and I wasn’t even sure how it had gone. I’d performed on autopilot, going through the motions and singing my parts without any real conscious thought. A smirk here, a raised eyebrow there, a pelvic thrust now and then… I threw those things in naturally; they were part of my stage persona, the act I’d perfected over the years. The screaming from the crowd told me I hadn’t let them down.

Police sirens wailed, as blue and red lights flashed on one side of the stage, and I heard the collective shriek rise from the audience again as our voices echoed, “Straight through my heart… Straight through my heart…”

Last song, I thought again, steeling myself. I can do this. But my heart was pounding, and sweat was pouring down my face, and I had a sick, nervous feeling in my stomach. I just wanted it to be over.

As the backing track began, Brian walked out onto the platform to sing his part, and the fresh wave of screams told me he had leaped onto the stage below. “In the heart of the night, when it’s dark in the lights, I heard the loudest noise… a gunshot on the floor, o-ohh, o-ohh…”

“I looked down,” I sang as I joined him onstage, “and my shirt’s turning red, spinning ‘round… felt her lips on my neck and her voice in my ear… like, ‘I missed you, want you tonight’…”

“Straight through my heart,” we all sang, as AJ and Howie took the stage, too, “a single bullet got me; I can’t stop the bleeding… o-ohh… Straight through my heart; she aimed and she shot me; I just can’t believe it… o-ohh…”

I tried to stay in step with them as we did the choreography, but even though my heart was racing, my body struggled to keep up. I was so exhausted. My limbs felt heavy, and the rest of me felt weak; it took every last ounce of effort I had in me to jump and spin and kick and make my arms do what they were supposed to.

“No, I can’t resist, and I can’t be hit; I just can’t escape this love…Straight through my heart…”

“Soldier down…”

“My heart…”

“Soldier down…”

“My heart…”


I was so out of breath by the bridge, I could barely sing. “In the heart… of the night…” I wavered, my voice going flat, “when it’s dark… in the lights, I heard the loudest-” I gasped for air. “-noise… gunshot on the floor… oh-ohh, oh-ohh…”

The guys could hear me struggling; they came in beneath me, helping finish my solo. I envied Brian, who held his notes over the last chorus like he had all the air in the world, belting, “Soldier down… soldier down…” like he could go on all night. There had been a time, not so long ago, when I’d been like that, too. Now, I couldn’t wait to introduce the dancers and the DJ, thank the crowd, and get the hell off the stage.

“You okay, Nick?” Brian was the first to ask, once we were backstage again. He was eyeing me with concern. I must have looked and sounded terrible, but we were all sweaty and out of breath; that was nothing new.

“Yeah,” I panted, “sorry, I just… ran out of air. Thanks for coming in there…”

“Sure.” He was still frowning at me.

I tried to make a joke. “Man… I gotta get back in the gym…”

“I thought you were getting in nightly workouts with Cary,” AJ put in. He didn’t smile at his little joke.

God, get over it, I thought, rolling my eyes at him. He had been way flakier than me when he was drunk or high all the time, so he had no right to bitch. Besides, he didn’t know half the shit I was going through. None of them did.

So tell them, I could hear Cary saying. She’d become like the little voice in my head. I ignored her.

“I’m gonna go change,” I said and made my escape. In my dressing room, I peeled off my sweat-soaked stage clothes and put on the gray shorts and white t-shirt I’d worn to the venue. I skipped the shower; I could do that back at the hotel. I felt nauseous and light-headed, and all I wanted to do was lie down on my bus.

Cary was already on the bus, waiting for me. “Are you okay?” was the first thing she asked when I came onboard.

“Jeez, was I that bad tonight?” I muttered.

“You were fine. You just look really pale,” she said, looking up at me in concern. “Come here…” She reached for me, but I shrugged her off, not in the mood for being poked and prodded.

“Nah, I’ll be alright. I’m just gonna lie down till we get back to the hotel.” I went straight back to my bunk, dropped my bag next to it, and flopped down on my stomach. It was a relief to finally lay my pounding head down on my pillow. The pillowcase felt cool against my clammy face. I closed my eyes, but I still felt sort of dizzy, like the bus was rocking, even though it hadn’t started moving yet. I could hear my own heartbeat, hammering in my ears. It was going really fast.

Relax, I told myself, or maybe I was just talking to my heart. You can chill out now. Show’s over. Day off tomorrow. Everything’s fine.

My heart wasn’t buying it. It was still pounding when the bus pulled up behind the hotel, like I’d just gotten off the stage. I could feel it even when I sat up, like a weird fluttering in my chest. It made me woozy, and for a few seconds, the bus seemed to spin again. I wasn’t sure I could get up from my bunk. I did anyway, though, swaying a little. I put my hand on the top bunk and held on until I got my balance.

“Hey, you are up.” Cary appeared, her bag slung over her shoulder. “I was just coming to get you; I thought you might’ve fallen asleep.”

“I wish,” I said. “I’m so fucking tired…” I leaned down carefully to get my own bag, warding off another wave of dizziness. The backpack felt a lot heavier than it had before. I put it on over both shoulders, but its weight seemed to drag me down. I felt like I was fighting gravity, and gravity was winning. I was tempted to give in and lie down in my bunk again, but I forced myself to follow Cary up the aisle to the front of the bus. All I had to do was make it upstairs to my hotel room, and then I could rest again. That was all I needed… a little rest.

Cary kept her mouth shut the whole way up to the room, while our bodyguards and the other guys were around, but as soon as we made it inside and shut the door, she rounded on me and said, “I wanna draw your blood tonight and send it off first thing in the morning. I’ll bet anything your counts are low again.”

I groaned. “Can we just do it tomorrow? I’m too tired to mess with that shit tonight. I just wanna shower and go to bed.”

She pressed her lips together, but finally nodded. “Alright. First thing in the morning, though. Are you feeling okay otherwise? You don’t have a fever, do you?” Before I could answer, she swooped in and put her hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel warm,” she said, satisfied. “You’re probably anemic, though…”

“And sweaty and smelly, too, I bet,” I said, managing a grin. “I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

But I didn’t feel up to “jumping” anywhere. I dropped my backpack and staggered into the bathroom. It had a nice, big, marble tub, so I decided on a bath instead of a shower. I could lie down that way, relax a little before I went to bed. I stripped out of my clothes, put on one of the hotel’s big, white, cushy bathrobes, and turned on the water. I made it nice and hot, so that by the time the tub was full, I could see steam rising off the surface of the water.

I let the robe fall and slid into the bath, groaning with pleasure as the hot water washed over my tired body. I lay my head back against the edge of the tub and closed my eyes. When the water had cooled off a little, I stretched out and lowered myself further into the water, until my head went under. Lying like that across the bottom of the tub, I could hear my heartbeat again, thumping erratically against my eardrums. I sat up quickly, splashing water everywhere, and let out my breath in a gasp. My heart was galloping in my chest, going way too fast. The sensation was familiar, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. It scared me. It was the same symptom that had sent me to the cardiologist over two years ago, leading to my diagnosis of cardiomyopathy. Just as I had then, I thought, Something’s not right. Something’s wrong with me.

Okay, so there was a lot wrong with me, and I didn’t know if it was related to the cancer or the chemo or my heart condition. All I knew was that I didn’t feel right, and I couldn’t deny it any longer. I needed to get help.

I pulled myself up out of the tub, reaching for a towel. My heart reacted and started racing even faster, and all of a sudden, I got really dizzy again. I felt hot all over, then freezing cold. As I fumbled with the towel, trying to wrap it around myself and stay on my feet at the same time, my vision started going. It was like a black tunnel around the edges of my eyes, closing in until the room started to gray out. In the darkness, I was even more aware of my heartbeat, thudding against my ribs. Then the bathroom floor seemed to tilt, right out from under me. My knees buckled, and I felt myself falling…

I came to on the cold, tile floor, still dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel, with Cary leaning over me, saying my name. I blinked a few times until my vision cleared, bringing her face into focus.

“You need to take me to the hospital,” I whispered. “Something’s wrong.”

***