So a new update is here ! I'm low key excited for this as we're going to learn a lot about Christina and her new life from this!
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Sunday 11th
The hospital room was as devoid of beauty as she was of hope. Its walls were simply cream, not peeling or dirty, just cream. There was no decoration at all save the limp curtains hung above the tiny office windows. It was perhaps once the kind of green that reminds people of spring-time and hope, but it's faded so much that the hue was insipid. The room had an undertone of bleach and the floor was simply grey.
It was safe to say Christina dreaded the hospital setting much more than anything she could bring to mind. She was frigid, shuddering beneath the thin fabric of her cotton sweater. With eyes that were neither pleased nor upset, she observed the woman who had the posture of a soldier. Every action she took was precise and purposeful. She smiled in the cold and distant way professionals do. Christina could hardly relax at the other end of that expression.
"Autologous stem cell transplantation involves harvesting, or retrieving, noncancerous stem cells from the patient's own body and freezing them." Doctor Georgia Tucker explained. She wasn't a stranger to the concept of new patients wanting to do everything in their power to estrange themselves from their disease. She'd met patients willing to pay limitless costs to have unspeakable medical experiments carried out on them, all in the name of getting rid of their cancer cells. She wasn't going to be a party to those requests. "The cells are then returned to the patient's body after receiving intensive chemotherapy. But the procedure is only appropriate for certain patients." She concluded glumly.
"And what does that mean? Certain patients like who?" Christina fiddled with her fingers underneath the table, but her eyes never left the doctor who despite her professional standpoint, was beginning to get on Christina Gresham's nerves. What did that mean? That she couldn't qualify for the Autologous stem cell transplantation? Then who did? Was it money they needed? Did she need to be of a certain age?
"We're looking at multiple factors as a hospital Miss. Gresham, for one, the patient's overall health is a determining factor, as well as the chances that chemotherapy alone will cure the AML, we're looking into the type of abnormal changes to the chromosomes and cells, and many more factors."
Christina ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "I know how much you want this disease gone, Miss. Gresham, but you can live with it. I can offer multiple opportunities that seem like nothing now, but you'll grow to cherish them." Georgia Tucker enumerated, offering a series of pamphlets. What was Christina to do with these? The thought of attending a support group meeting startled her, suffocated her. All at once she was claustrophobic, trapped in a small room she couldn't escape, cancer inked over the walls, dripping in red. She didn't want this. She wanted to escape, to be out of her own body for at least a day and not feel like she had numerous pills to take, not feel like her hair was falling out each day in the shower. "I know it's a lot, but just give them a try, there's a meeting tomorrow afternoon." Despite her daze, Christina found herself nodding. "In any case, our care team will perform regular blood tests and other diagnostic tests to check for recurring leukemia cells and make modifications to your treatment as needed."
"Modify?" Christina Gresham croaked.
"If in the scenario chemotherapy has little an effect on you, we might have to introduce you to radiation therapy, but we're hoping it doesn't get to that." Her eyebrows furrowed, eyes distant. She'd heard about cancer treatments, read about them for cases involving clients with the plaguing disease, but never had she been sitting at the other end of a doctor's desk being told all the ways her cancer can be cured.
Her cancer. Why did the thought give her chills? Why did it all sound so morbid?
"And what does that entail?" She heard a voice say. That couldn't have been hers, so distant, scratched, foreign.
"Radiation therapy just uses high-energy radiation to kill cancer cells. It is nothing to be worried about, but it is only used where chemotherapy has failed." If it was that simple, why then did Christina Gresham feel there was more to radiation therapy than her doctor was willing to let on?
Plastering on a rubber smile, Georgia Tucker picked up her earlier drafted prescription along with a collection of rainbow pamphlets , her hand outstretched. "You're going to be fine, Christina, just come back at the end of every week for a blood test, leukemia only kills if you let it." Her words lingered. Christina was long taken aback, to her childhood, laughing with a boy that should have grown with her. Rising to her feet. It was then clear that there was nothing she could do, there wasn't a surgery that would get rid of the cancerous cells in her body, at least not without her getting used to her new lifestyle.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to her, nothing ever happened to her, why now?
Steeling herself, Christina offered the doctor a court nod, and a smile that felt more like a grimace, picked up the pamphlets and prescriptions, and strode out the door. She was unsteady on her feet, the tears that rolled down her cheeks were as relieving as they were stifling. She could feel the muscles of her chin tremble like a small child and as she looked toward the window, almost as if believing the light could soothe her, she knew she'd gone past crying, but rather slipped into the kind of desolate sobbing that came from a person drained of all hope. She'd known this the moment she'd snuck her hand into her Prada bag and pulled out the three pamphlets of smiling people, energetic people, and ripped it apart. She wasn't relieved, in fact, watching the papers fall limp to the ground was almost anti-climactic.
There was static in her head after that, the side effect of the constant fear, constant stress she'd become acquainted with.
Allowing her legs lead her to the confines of the bathroom, Christina made no attempt to conceal her raw screams, easily letting her loose shoulders shake, hands hanging low, and making no attempt to wipe away her own tears. This was her life, her reality. She'd tried to escape it for much too long, but it had found her, her past, it had caught up to her and whether she liked it or not, she had to accommodate it.
Glaring at her own reflection in the mirror, Christina made an attempt to compose herself, irrespective of the fact that all she wanted to do was wither away, allow her disease get the best of her like Michel had. Despite the fact that at the time, she hadn't understood what was wrong with her brother, she had to agree with Barron Harrington. Michel could have been saved. If anything both her parents were negligent with his disease. They were to blame, her parents and not Michel, an innocent thirteen year old who'd suffered because of his parents shortcomings.
Dragging her reddened, swollen eyes from the reflective glass, Christina slipped out of the restroom, one thing in mind;
This was her new life and she had to accept it.
She would have taken the elevator to her left, but once more, she allowed her legs carry her blank mind. She found herself by the window, crutched by the pieces of rippled paper, her fingers cascading over the scattered pieces. With her jaws clenched, Christina picked up what she could and stuffed them back into her Prada bag.
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YOU ARE READING
To New York's Attorney | Completed
Mystery / Thriller"Was his DNA on the weapon?" Silence. "It's his gun right? He'd pulled the trigger right? Was Terrence Gresham's DNA on the weapon?" He ran a hand through his chestnut hair. "Maybe you're right, maybe we shouldn't think about Monday, but remember o...
