Her Cancer Story (completed)

Month Nine

My parents are devastated.
Mom cried.
Dad hung his head.
Jonah stood frozen.
Nurses nodded with sad voices.
I kept my face straight.
I didn't cry.
I didn't surrender.

The nurses unplugged the IV's. The doctors pulled out the central lines and ports from my chest. Jonah stared at me from across the room. I kept the stare. I wouldn't break down, not yet.

The nurses put me in a wheelchair, a snug blanket wrapped around my thin legs. Jonah pushed me to the car. His car. I didn't ask. He didn't explain. He strapped me in beside him, carefully folding the chair in the back. His keys turned in the ignition, starting the car with a muffled sound. He smoothly dipped out of the parking garage, heading down the busy street.

I watching outside. Through the window I could see kids playing in parks, parents with swelling bellies. Strollers and grandparents and vets walked along the sidewalks. I turned away, looking into Jonah's soft face.

He didn't frown. He didn't tense up. He looked... calm. Relaxed. His eyes fixed on the road ahead, not daring to turn a glance my way. The dark bags beneath his eyes told me he was not sleeping. He simply lied with me on the bed, while I writhed in pain.

Can't anyone understand?

Jonah pulled onto the side of the road in one swift movement. He got out, carefully shutting the door behind him. I tried to open the door handle, but I was still too weak, the small amounts of chemo still lingering through my bloodstream.

Jonah came around and opened the door, wheelchair at his feet. He picked me up as if I were a feather, and slowly sat me down in the chair. Without a word, he pushed me down a small path to the park. It was an empty park, despite all the crowded ones nearby.

He laid down a blanket on the soft plush of grass, and pulled me out of my chair and onto the blanket. He sat me in his lap, my back pressed up against his strong chest. We just sat there in the crisp breeze, not saying a word.