Trauma-ridden and adopted by matpat

Chemotherapy round 2

-after school-

Mat picked me up from rehearsal to drive me to chemo. We got sent to a room and were told that the doctor would be in soon. After ten minutes the doctor entered. "Hey, y/n, how's it going?" "Good." "Now before I start administering the treatment, I noticed a new medication on your record. Are you taking a new medicine?" He asked, while preparing the injections. "She just started Zoloft, is that going to interfere with the treatment?" Mat said. "Im afraid so." The doctor solemnly responded. "So, we are going to have to decide between her cancer treatment and her antidepressants?" I felt my face turn hot when he said that. The word tasted funny when I said it, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. I hated having to rely on these antidepressants to keep myself sane. "I assume that she has only started this medication?" The doctor confirmed. "A few weeks ago." Mat said. "Okay, it is up to you, would you rather go off the Zoloft or the chemo? I will just add the fact that the chemo itself can contribute to suicidal ideation before you make a decision."

Mat turned to me. "Y/N, what would you rather do?" "I'd rather go off the Zoloft, I could DIE from cancer but I can live without the Zoloft." I didn't hesitate. "That's not totally true. You can very well die without the Zoloft. In fact, you HAVE died from a suicide attempt for a few minutes." "I'm better though! I don't even want to die anymore because now I know what it is like! And I am going to therapy, Ms. Kurnick can confirm that I'm doing well!" I backed up my argument. "This can all change though, the chemo might actually make it WORSE and you won't be able to rely on your meds." He explained. "Please. I really don't want to have cancer. Please let me go off for a bit." I begged. Mat thought about it for a second. "Okay. You can go off of it, as long as you don't fall back into your old habits. I will be checking frequently and if you cut, even if it is only once, you will go back on it without question." "Okay, sounds fair." I told him. "I also want you to promise me that if you have any sort of thoughts. Whether it be suicidal or harming yourself, you will tell me IMMEDIATELY." "Okay, I promise." I told him. "It looks like we have come to a decision." Mat informed the doctor. "Wonderful! I will administer the chemo then."

He pricked my arm with the needle and injected the chemicals. He took it out and I almost immediately started to feel drowsy. "I think that I'm already feeling the side effects." I told the doctor while rubbing my eyes. "That's normal, it actually means that it is effective!" He assured me. "What side effects?" Mat asked. "I'm just kinda-" Before I could finish my sentence, the drowsiness got the better of me. I slumped over, my head laying on Mat's shoulder, and fell asleep.

I began to wake up a little while later with no recollection of where I was and why I was moving. Then I realized that Mat was carrying me out of the hospital but before I could do anything, the fatigue fell over me again and I slipped back into my state of unconsciousness. Then, later I woke up in my room, on my own bed. I stood up and then the pain started to seep in. I aches all over, especially on my joints and back. However, I ignored it and stumbled into the living room to grab my backpack. Mat was sitting there on his computer. "Oh, you're up!" "Yeah, everything hurts though." I groggily replied. "It is probably just more side effects. You should rest for a little while." "I have homework to do." "Don't worry about that, your teachers will understand. You really should rest." "Okay..." I went back to my room and collapsed on my bed again.

After an hour or two on my phone, Steph called me for dinner. I tried to get up but I just couldn't. Every time I tried, my bones would scream at me with pain and I would fall back onto the mattress. Steph eventually came into my room. "Y/N, dinner is ready." "I know. Everything hurts so bad, I can't get up." "The side effects are getting to you?" "Yeah. I feel like I was just hit by an eighteen-wheeler." "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll bring your food in here." "Thank you so much."

-after dinner-

I wanted nothing more than to go hang out with Mat in the office or FaceTime my friends. I was just too weak, the aching was all over my body. It hurt so much that it rattled my bones. I was in too much pain to even cry. I just felt...so alone. Mat and Steph had been nothing but supportive and understanding towards me through all of this. Birdseed, Nora, Marco, and all of my other friends had always been there. Even with all of these people to lean on, I still felt alone. Nobody got me. Nora was the closest person to getting it but she had never attempted to kill herself to the extent of being locked up in a ward. She had never had cancer. Neither had Birdseed or any of those other people that were there for me. I didn't want to die. That was the only thing that was staying the same. I really wanted to cut myself though. Every part of myself from my forehead all the way down to my currently slit-free ankles. I recognized this feeling so I had a conundrum, should I tell him?

I had promised that I would. For any thought, serious or not. I really didn't want to go back on the Zoloft. I had only been free from the shackles of that pill for a day. I also wanted to rid myself of those evil little cells that I had given myself. Then I decided, the thoughts will pass. The cancer won't if I don't continue the treatment. I didn't have the energy to get up and grab a sharp object so I did a brief search of my room to see if there was anything sharp enough in here. On my dresser I saw a pair of black scissors that I had used to cut a tag off a few days ago. This would work. I couldn't do it in an obvious place though. I had a feeling that Mat would start checking more than just my wrists. I looked at myself and then saw my fingers. It would be visible but I could make up a million excuses for it. I could say that I was playing with Skip and he scratched me. Or that I was cutting something for a project and the scissors slipped. Or that I simply got a paper cut. This would work!

I took the scissors off the dresser for a second. Trying to snip my finger was pointless, it obviously wouldn't work. Instead, I took one of the blades and stabbed the tip of my finger with it. A little bead of blood formed on that little dot of broken skin. I put the scissors back, satisfied with my sneaky bit of harm and crawled back into bed.