You Give Me Fever || Michael Jackson

Chapter 78: Somewhat Short

I believe the remainder of the story will be in Michael's point of view, now. Three chapters left, including this one, guys ... :(

Michael's POV

It's been a few hours since we arrived at the hospital, and Becky's pain is gone now. The nurses said that the cause of it was the side effects from her vigorous Chemotherapy treatment. That, and the fact that the Chemotherapy is apparently killing her good cells, as well as her cancerous ones. That's not a good thing at all.

At the moment, Becky is sleeping in her hospital bed. It's typical; each time something good happens, something bad has to ruin it. Becky and I were perfectly happy, filming ourselves and messing around, until her pain had to kick in. It makes my heart break for her; she's suffering so much because of all of this.

Another thing that hurts me is knowing that she still has another year and a half of this to come. As much as I don't want her life expectancy to decrease even more, I also don't want her to suffer like this for another eighteen months; it'll be too much for her.

As she sleeps, I sit in a chair by her bed. Even if she doesn't realise I'm here with her, I want to feel like I'm making an effort for my girl by at least being by her side. That'll make me feel better, too. But it's guaranteed that she won't be awake for at least an hour, perhaps two; she's been given a dose of Morphine, which eases the patient's pain so much, it relaxes them, making it easier for them to fall asleep.

The nurses have also had to come in every half hour or so, simply to check her progress. It's gotten to the stage where her condition is so bad, they've had to put her in her own room, which is slightly worse than intensive care – well, in this hospital, anyway. The hospital we're in isn't the same one as normal – it's more like a hospice, which is illogical because firstly, Becky is young, and secondly, Becky's life expectancy is too long for her to be in a hospice.

The staff here are lovely, though. They've not just been caring for Becky – they've been caring for me, too. They've been asking if I want a drink, or a snack, or if I want anything else like that. There's even a room next door to this room, which is allocated to only Becky and her visitors. No one else is allowed in there, apart from nurses or other members of staff. I think that's a wonderful idea.

There's also a Day Room, which is a room for anyone to go in – staff, patients, or visitors – where there is a TV, games for any children that are here, a couple sofas and chairs to relax on ... it's quite adorable, really. If Miracle, Ollie or Jason come here, they'll probably pass the time in there whilst I'm visiting Becky; something tells me she'll be here for a few days, at least.

It's almost completely silent in this room right now, apart from mine and Becky's breathing. She has a drip needle in her arm, which is for injecting drugs into if and when she needs it. I'm just glad she isn't in any pain right now ... seeing her in pain kills me inside.

Just then, a nurse enters the room, a warm, inviting smile upon her face, "Good afternoon, Mr Jackson. How are you?" she asks.

"Well ... I'm just worried for her," I answer honestly.

My hand reaches over to Becky's, and takes it within my own. Her skin is ice cold; the room must be colder than I first thought.

"That's completely normal, Mr Jackson. Is there anything you need at all? Drink? Snack?"

"No, thank you. I mean, um ... y'see, I'm a doctor myself, yet I don't understand why we've been brought here, to a hospice," I explain, wanting to clear that query up.

She furrows her eyebrows, walking over to Becky's bed, taking her medical records from the foot of it. "Well, Mr Jackson—"

"And please call me Michael. Mr Jackson is my father," I interrupt, my tone polite.