Two days before the dive I went with him for his evaluation at the hospital. He was jittery and nervous - if they said he wasn't strong enough to go, he would not be allowed to do it - but he had been doing so well over the last two weeks it was almost as if he was back to normal.
When the doctor came back, he smiled. "You're doing well, son. You should be fine, I hope you enjoy yourself."
"Thank you, sir," he said conversationally, but his hand gripped my arm tightly.
We stood to leave, but the doctor stopped us. "Before you go...we didn't tell you this earlier in case it was a false alarm, but we've obviously been monitoring you as you have been undergoing chemotherapy and your body is reacting to it exceptionally."
He shook beside me, and I wrapped my arm around his shoulder.
"There is a good chance - a very good chance - that you could exceed your, uh, given time. Recover fully, even."
Before I could even react, he was holding my face in his hands, in front of the doctor, and he kissed me hard. He laughed when he pulled away. "I'm going to live, Alec," he whispered in awe.
He was going to live.
***
We went home - or to his home, anyway - afterwards, and he was so adorably excitable. He began preparing for the big day and began to tell me all the things he was planning to do when he had finished treatment.
I was so, so happy. We were both so happy that when he had to sit down and throw up into his bucket we both put it down to over-excitement.
I continued to think it was okay when he needed to lie down, when he said he just needed a little rest to regain his energy. I lay down with him, but I did not fall asleep.
It had only been about half an hour when I felt his nails dig into my arm.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Why is everything moving, Alec?" he mumbled.
I got up instantly, looking over him. His eyes were half lidded and he was impossibly pale. He was shaking as if with cold, and tears were running down his cheeks.
"We need to get you somewhere," I stuttered. "It'll stop moving in a minute, I promise."
"Why are you shouting? It hurts."
I swallowed hard. I didn't know how to deal with this.
"I'm not shouting, sweetheart," I murmured, sliding my arm under his back to lift him. "I need to lift you, okay?"
He groaned when he was sitting upright, before rolling out away from me, over to his bucket where he was sick again.
My heart was racing and my mouth was dry. I could not think, could not feel as I lifted him again and carried him downstairs. His parents weren't home, they were at work, and his little brother was at school, so I went to his neighbour. They took one grave look at him and hurried to their car, bundling us in the back.
"Can you open your eyes?" I asked him, touching the side of his face.
"The light hurts," he said shakily. "Please make everything stop."
I curled over him to cover his eyes from the daylight. "Soon. I promise."
***
