Jade POV
It didn't. It did not get okay.
Seconds, minutes, days, weeks, soon to be months I was now lying here in the hospital, in my private, personal, single room. Everyone who works here knows me by now. At least that's how it feels. And I hate it. I am polite and nice to everyone, always thank them, am also honestly grateful for everything they do for me, for all the help I get. But silently I hate every moment I have to spend here. I hate that I need the help at all. I hate not having been home for so long. And most of all, I hate that despite being here for so long, and despite all the attempts to heal me, there is no improvement in sight. On the contrary, I'm getting worse and worse. I myself am slowly losing all hope, my doctors are slowly becoming clueless and worst of all: Perrie is losing her optimism.
Perrie was nowhere else than here, not even for a second. She took her own statement seriously. Her job, the break of the band and our bank accounts allowed her to take a complete break from life and everything outside the hospital. So she could live every moment with me, every low blow, and got through it with me. She slept here as well, even though she was told several times that this is actually not the norm, but she didn't care at all. And I was very grateful to her. She was the only light, the only thing that kept me sane.
Time went by and the improvement didn't happen and even though no one said it out loud, the worry grew. What if all my negative thoughts during this battle will be right in the end? What if I can't beat this disease? Perrie doesn't want to believe it, she clings to every spark of hope and with all her might she represses the possibility that in a few weeks my strength could finally leave me. I, on the other hand, already feel like I'm at the end of my tether, and with every further dose of chemo, with every further setback, any possible hope fades. So while Perrie completely blocks out any possible reality, I don't think about good, positive outcomes. Needless to say, we could both really use some good news. But we don't get them, quite the opposite.
One morning my doctor, whom we now call by his first name, comes into the room.
Daniel's expression is darker, gloomier than usual and we both know immediately when we look at his face that he is not bringing good news. We both sit up straighter, looking directly for each other's contact, holding hands to give us comfort, strength and support. But nothing could have prepared us.
"Good morning," he greets, but we quickly see through him and know that he has a serious topic to talk about.
"Spit it out, what's going on," I prompt him, already weary of the conversation to come.
Still, he hesitates, albeit briefly, which makes me suspect the worst. He pauses, watches us in front of him, even takes a chair to sit with us. A behaviour that is uncharacteristic for him, we don't know him like that.
"We're not really making any progress with your treatment, Jade," he then confesses in a heavy voice and even though I feel it in my own body, when I experience it myself and am quite aware of it, it's hard to hear.
"And quite frankly, we're running out of options," and hearing him say it is like a slap in the face. I swallow the lump in my throat, trying not to let this shock show, while Perrie doesn't even bother to hide the inevitable tears.
"What...what do you mean?", I barely dare to ask.
"We have tried chemotherapy in all possible doses and variations, on top of that radiotherapy...we have managed to keep the course in check. The disease has not spread further, other organs are not affected. That is good. But the cancerous cells just won't go away despite all our attempts," he explains.
"How long can we go on like this?", I cautiously probe further, not even sure I want to hear the answer.
"I want to be completely honest," he says.
"Please be," I put all the courage I can muster into that sentence as Perrie grows smaller and quieter.
"Looking at your stats...then...well then I'm afraid your body can't take all this much longer," he explains tersely, obviously struck himself by his own words and I meanwhile am almost emotionless, not knowing how to react, what to think.
"So...I'm dying," I state, not really registering the statement.
It's only when Perrie lets out a loud sob, albeit only once, that I realise what I've just said out loud. I immediately turn to Perrie, squeezing her hand tighter, looking at her sadly and understandingly.
"I'm sorry," she sniffles.
"No, don't be," I say quickly. "You have every right in the world to react like that. It sucks."
"It does suck," Daniel says too. "But that doesn't mean it's over yet."
"Your optimism in all honour, but you just said yourself I won't last much longer," I keep my composure quite well, surprisingly for everyone involved.
"There's another treatment option we haven't talked about yet. A stem cell transplant," he then says and Perrie looks at him properly for the first time, her eyes already red and puffy and it kills me to see her like this.
"Isn't this like the last chance?", I ask quietly and hear Perrie sobbing again. For the first time ever, I wish I was alone at this moment. Not because of me, but because of her. Hearing this is killing her, I can feel it, I can see it.
"In your case, it's the best chance...and yes, probably the only one," Daniel admits. "But a successful stem cell transplant can lead to a complete cure for AML. It just carries some risks, which is why we first fully exhausted the means of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. Stem cell therapy is usually used when patients have already beaten the cancer but suffer a relapse. Or, as in your case, when the leukaemia does not completely regress despite all attempts at chemo."
"How...how does that...so this stem cell transplant work then?" Perrie stutters, nerves completely shot and my heart breaks even more.
"There are two options. The blood stem cells can come from the patient, but that's not possible with you, Jade."
"Why?", I ask, a little intimidated by the fact that something directly won't work with me.
"You're just too weak, your body can't handle it," he explains, and hearing it like that again only makes things much worse. But Perrie and I continue to listen intently.
"So we're talking about an allogeneic donor. The prerequisite for this is that the tissue characteristics on the surface of the donor's and recipient's blood cells match or are at least very similar. In this way, the risk of rejection of the transplant or a defensive reaction of the donated bone marrow against the patient's organism can be minimised. Siblings have the best chance of being a match. You have siblings, don't you?"
"Yes, a brother," I say slowly.
"And other relatives," Perrie reminds me, probably hoping that the more possible donors, the better the chances.
"Unfortunately, only the best match is known for siblings. For all other family members, the chances of a match are just as high as for unrelated donors," and Perrie's hopes are crashed, I can see it in her face right away. So it all comes down to Karl.
"But basically there are so many people registered by now that you can find a suitable donor 80% of the time," he tries not to take away our hope completely.
"Let's say we actually find a donor. What happens next?" I ask hesitantly.
"The stem cells are obtained either by bone marrow extraction or by purification from the blood and then transferred to the patient. Then the stem cells migrate into your bone marrow and after some time they start to form new, healthy blood cells. Before this, conditioning takes place. To kill all the leukaemia cells, we do very strong radiotherapy and chemotherapy. This will be one of the bigger challenges because your body is already so weakened," he explains, making me gulp.
The idea of having to go through such an ordeal again is almost unbearable. How am I supposed to do that? And when he keeps stressing that my body is too weak, which I can certainly confirm, can I even manage another chemotherapy session? And a very strong one at that?
"But the good thing is that this phase only lasts two to ten days at the most," he tries to ease my fear of it, without success.
"In the process, healthy bone marrow cells are also destroyed in order to interrupt your own blood formation. So that your body can recover from this, the actual process of stem cell transplantation only takes place two days after conditioning. This is actually the easiest part. You receive the stem cell donation through a simple vein access, similar to a blood transfusion. The actual process then only takes two hours and you hardly feel it. If the new stem cells settle in the marrow cavities of the bones and form new functional blood cells there, the patient can be permanently cured of leukaemia in many cases," he says with a confident grin.
It sounds like a dreamlike idea, but for me it doesn't feel particularly realistic right now and I'm honestly tired of pretending otherwise. So this time I remain silent and just continue to listen intently.
"Then it takes about ten days for the new blood cells to form from the transplanted stem cells. At first, the number of blood cells drops sharply. During this time your immune system will be severely weakened, any infection could be life-threatening. This means that the doctors are only allowed to see you if they are wearing protective clothing, the environment must be as germ-free as possible, you will be given antibiotics as a preventive measure and visitors are not allowed under any circumstances," he explains seriously and Perrie's face falls. Not again. She can't have to go through that again.
"Does she have to go back into isolation to be with me afterwards?" it blurts out of me.
"No," he assures me and it makes me breathe a sigh of relief, at least for a moment.
I turn to Perrie to smile at her. "That's good, isn't it?", I whisper and she nods briefly, but I can tell she doesn't like any of it. How could she?
"If the blood formation then sets in as it should, you can probably be discharged from the hospital after a few weeks," Daniel says.
"That would be nice," I reply, without admitting how little I believe in it. But voicing my concerns would destroy Perrie. So I remain silent.
"You were talking about risks...", Perrie reminds him.
At this he clears his throat, pauses again for a moment and then says, "Yeah, right. A stem cell transplant is basically a very effective therapy, but it is also stressful for the body and involves certain risks. That's why it can only be carried out in specialised clinics with special equipment. For that, we would refer you to a cancer centre here in London."
"So I have to leave my homely room here?", my sarcasm is certainly hard to miss.
"You'll have to move into another one for a short time and hopefully never come back here ever again," he says with a smile, which we try to retort but certainly don't succeed.
"I must warn you, however, that about one in three leukaemia patients suffers a relapse after a stem cell transplant, because effector cells developed from the new stem cells can fail. In plain language, this means that the cells cannot recognise all remaining tumour cells and consequently cannot kill them. This reduces the chance of survival, but even then a cure is not impossible," he says seriously.
"You're gonna be one of the other two," Perrie regains her optimism, albeit half-heartedly.
"It's your best chance," Daniel also says forcefully.
"It's my only chance," I remind them both, more forcefully than I wanted to, and the mood in the room becomes, if that's even possible, even more tense.
So I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and then say with as much conviction as I can muster right now, "Let's do it."
"I'll call Karl and tell him to get tested to see if he's a match," Perrie announces, grateful that she has a job, that she doesn't feel quite so helpless.
"And I'm checking any matches with already registered donors," Daniel says.
Like Perrie, he rushes out of the room to take on the next task and so I am left alone, alone in my silence, alone in my thoughts that couldn't be more depressing.
Karl agreed to register after ten seconds of his conversation with Perrie. To be honest, I didn't expect anything else. But it took a few days until he was registered and until it could be checked whether he was a match. Days of tension and waiting.
It's Perrie who brings me the news.
One morning she comes into my room and stares at me for a second before daring to open her mouth. But she doesn't have to. I can see it in her face. I know what she wants to say.
"Karl's not a match," I say for her, and her small, barely perceptible nod is confirmation enough. As I read, there was a 25% chance that he could be a match. And even though I didn't admit it to anyone, I clung to that number. I secretly hoped it would work out, that he could be my donor, that he could save my life. It would have been so simple. But what has ever been simple so far?
I take a deep breath, trying not to let the disappointment show, trying to be strong for both of us, because one look at Perrie's face tells me it's sorely needed. She is a wreck. It seems I'm not the only one who has pinned all her hopes on my brother. Only Perrie wears her emotions and feelings right on her face, while I keep it all hidden deep inside most of the time.
"Come here," I just say in a heavy voice, barely managing to get even a sound out. She follows my request, lies down and snuggles up to me, resting her head on my chest. I feel my hospital gown dampen against my chest, know that she is crying silently, while I try hard to somehow keep my composure and not burst into tears right with her.
"No one else either," I hear her sob out and have to think twice about the sentence to make sure I haven't misheard.
"Both our families have registered and there's no match there either," she explains, having probably interpreted my silence correctly.
What can I say, how can I explain the feeling that just flared up inside me? I didn't know she had even asked our families to do this, I couldn't have gotten my hopes up about it. And yet it feels like another option is gone that I had firmly counted on. It takes everything in me to stay strong, but Perrie's soft sobs hit me deeply, they hurt, they motivate me to keep my composure for her.
"The doctor said with all the registered donors there is an 80% chance," I remind her, not mentioning that I don't really believe it myself.
"I know," she sniffs, not lifting her head.
"It'll work out," I say, more or less to myself, more or less convincingly, more or less just to say anything at all. And in that moment it becomes clear to me, I really realise Daniel's words now. It has to work. It's the only chance for me. My body won't last much longer, the leukaemia is slowly killing me, the chemotherapy isn't working. If I don't get a stem cell donation, I won't be here much longer. If we don't find a suitable donor, I will die. I'm dying.
Actually, that's not news, not really. I've been in the hospital for weeks, more like months. I haven't seen daylight from outside for a long time, haven't breathed fresh air for a long time. I haven't been home in my own bed for ages, I haven't seen my family or friends since my birthday. I notice how I get weaker every day, how I can concentrate less every day, be awake less, sleep more and more, have less and less conversations with Perrie, can't be there for her at all. It's no life for her or me anyway. It's not fair to anyone. It sucks, it's the shittiest situation I can imagine.
For Perrie alone, I'm clinging to my last chance with everything I've got. That there is someone already registered who would be a suitable donor for me. And so I notice how, in the few waking hours of the day, I anxiously wait for Daniel to come in and bring good news.
And then he comes.
As usual, I had been dozing off, too limp and floppy to do anything else, too plagued by a headache to use my eyes or anything else. So I startle a little when he enters the room and take a moment to realise what I might be about to hear. Perrie, meanwhile, is immediately on half guard, watching his every step, his every move. But he avoids both pairs of our eyes, which are glued to him with anticipation. And my gut tells me it's not good. His posture, his facial expressions, his difficulty in looking at us, his hesitation to speak. All of this suggests that he doesn't have the news we want, that we need.
"I'm so sorry," he says at last, and that's as far as I need to listen, or can. My chest feels like a thousand stones are falling on it, my airways feel like they are constricted, my eyelids begin to flicker, my hands start to shake.
So...this is it.
This is the moment no one ever wanted to admit could actually come.
When my doctor suspected it before the American tour, I suppressed everything about it until it was no longer possible. Since I was diagnosed, I have tried everything but not to think about the fact that I am ill. Since I was given the first dose of chemotherapy, I have ignored any other outcome of this ordeal. I was wary of promises, I always had in the back of my mind the possibility that the disease could win. But it was just that. A slim possibility that probably won't even happen. A possibility that, as a person with cancer, you should have in your mind, but that you don't give too much weight to. But now this possibility is no longer a possibility. It is my reality. It is the outcome that this story will have. It is inevitable, there is nothing we can do. For the first time it really hits me, for the first time it truly becomes clear to me that this is it now.
"So...I'm gonna die," I say, for the second time in the last few days, only this time my brain registers it. This time the statement is crystal clear to me too. This time I know exactly what I have said out loud.
I could scream, cry, jump up and hit the wall, break something, destroy the stupid room I'm trapped in. Cry and sob with anger, with sadness, with exhaustion and disappointment. But none of this happens. None of it looks like me, none of it is me. All these thoughts, these feelings and emotions I hold inside, as always, as it is typical of me. It's enough that one freaks out.
"No...No, No, NO!" she screams first at Daniel, then at me, then at the world.
"Don't say that, why would you say that?!", the desperation in her voice is evident.
"You're quite famous, we could...", Daniel starts to speak but I interrupt him, "Can you leave us alone?"
He stops immediately, doesn't speak further, knows himself, everything he has to say is basically futile, the situation is hopeless. So he gets up, nods sadly at us and leaves us alone in the room.
Perrie doesn't come straight to me, as I would have expected. She doesn't lie down with me, she doesn't seek my contact. Instead, she paces around the room, her hands at her temples, her eyes red, full of fear and anger. She can't believe it, she doesn't want to believe it. She can't believe the situation, can't grasp it properly. And I know for sure that if we're not careful, she'll have a violent panic attack in just a few moments.
"Perrie," I try to get her attention, but she doesn't even seem to hear me, instead I hear her already quickening breathing.
"Pez, look at me," I urge her now and, albeit briefly, she does.
"Calm down, it's okay," I say.
"None of this is okay! How can you say that?!" she then shouts and I can only agree with her. Nothing is okay, nothing will ever be okay again.
"I'm sorry," I say, distraught. I just don't know what I can say or do to help her. "But you need to calm down, you can't have a panic attack, I can't help you right now."
"You don't have to help me," it bubbles out of her angrily and she doesn't mean it, of course she doesn't, she can't handle her emotions right now. But her harsh tone, brings uncontrollable tears to my eyes.
"I need you," I say in such a broken, defeated voice that I don't recognise as my own. But it is enough to draw her attention to me, to stop her pacing, to make her look at me.
She sits down on the bed and, without speaking a word, she embraces me and so we sit there for a long time. So long that I completely lose track of time. I don't know what time it is, but I know, as much as I love Perrie, that there have always been two people who have faithfully stood by my side for the last decade and helped me through everything I had to endure just as much. I need them. As selfish as it sounds and probably is, I don't give a shit how late it is, what they do, how much this news will crash them. I need them. And Perrie needs them too.
"Can you get Leigh-Anne and Jesy over here?", I ask quietly.
"Are you sure?" she follows up and I just nod.
"I'll just check with Daniel to make sure it's okay," she says and sprints out of the room, so I refrain from mentioning that it doesn't matter at all anymore if I catch any infections. It would only speed up the inevitable.
They come. Confused and stressed, but they are here within an hour. Part of me feels bad, even guilty for calling them here to deliver such terrible news. But the other part tells me it's just the right thing to do. Honesty, right from the start. It's the right thing to do, to involve them, to share this moment, this end of an era. I want them to be here. For themselves, for Perrie and for me too.
I've already prepared myself mentally for having to deliver the message to them, rehearsed how best to say it, what words are most appropriate, thought about how to maintain poise in order to get the words out at all. But none of that seems necessary. One look at their faces says enough. They already know. Perrie has told them.
So when they come in, Perrie gets up from her chair next to my bed and falls into Leigh's arms, while Jesy comes over to me.
"Hey, Poopey," she says in a heavy voice and I can tell it's taking everything she has not to burst into tears.
"Hi," I just say in a weak voice and her presence is enough to break my dams. It doesn't take long for me to let the tears flow and quickly the others join in. We end up in a group hug that has never been sadder and that will never be sadder ever again.
It takes a long time for us all to calm down enough to talk and for Leigh and Jes to drape two chairs around my bed.
"How are you holding up?", Leigh asks me after a while.
"Like someone who is about to die," I reply, knowing full well that the statement cuts to the core of everyone here, including me. But it just bubbles out of me, much to Perrie's displeasure.
"God, would you stop saying that," she pleads with me, not looking in my direction.
"Pez, come on," I say wearily. "It's going to happen. Why should I stop saying it? We have to face it and prepare for it, don't we?", I remain serious.
"We don't have to," she says, almost like a defiant child.
"Don't be ridiculous, please Pez," I say, starting to get annoyed.
"We haven't gone over every option," she remains stubborn and I just roll my eyes.
"Yes we have, literally, countless times," I remind her, a little louder than I had actually planned. "The treatment is not working, no more chemo will help, the only chance is a stem cell transplant and there is no matching donor," I lay the facts out on the table one more time, in no uncertain terms. "It's a matter of time before my body gives up, accept that, please!"
"I'll accept that when we've really tried everything we can!" she counters.
"Oh my god, Perrie! Stop it, okay?! There's nothing left to try!", I'm almost shouting now, really annoyed by her stubbornness.
"You didn't let Daniel finish!" she's shouting as well. "But you are indeed quite famous. Just count your followers on Instagram alone, that together with those of Little Mix. How many millions are there? Imagine if they all get registered? There's no way there's not a match there!"
"Absolutely not," I say immediately.
"Why the hell not?" she prods, playing dumb.
"There's no way I'm going to force a fan of mine or ours to register!", I argue.
"No one is forcing anyone, we're just asking!" she contradicts.
"Oh, stop it, it's exactly the same! We have huge influence on the people who follow us. Most wouldn't even think about it!", I say, honestly convinced by my words.
"Then why don't we take advantage of it?!" she shouts.
"Because I've been treated like a privileged patient all along anyway. I'm not taking advantage of being a celebrity, Pez!"
"Why are you being so stupid!?!" she slowly loses her composure.
"Why won't you accept the fact that there is nothing more to be done?!", I stubbornly say.
"Because I can't!", she lets the tears flow and this time I have to look away. "How can you expect me to?!"
"Because it's time to wake up!", I say loud and clear. "It's not your call, you're not the one lying here!"
"If I only could, I'd swap places in an instant. You know that!" she shouts, the desperation in her voice unmistakable.
"But you can't, can you?", I say angrily, as if she could help it.
I watch her open her mouth and then close it again, unable to answer, quite astonished and maybe even frightened by my outburst.
"You're not the one who's going to die, Perrie!", I put all the frustration into that sentence.
"You're not dying," I say again, this time more clearly as thick tears roll down my cheeks.
"I am. I'm gonna die," saying those words with such clarity is all it takes for me to lose it.
"I'm scared shitless, okay? I'm not ready for this, how could I? How can anyone ever be ready for this?! I had plans! I don't want this! I fought, fucking fought, for a damn year! But it's too much, I'm done! You hear me? I'M DONE!", my outburst of anger not only pushes me to the limit.
"I just can't take it anymore, don't you get that?! I've accepted that! As much as it sucks, I've come to terms with it", I continue to shout. "The last thing I need is to get any false hope!"
"I...I..." she stammers, suddenly unable to form a sentence.
"What? What is it?!", I shout, completely beside myself and I know it's far from fair, but I can't help it right now.
"I can't listen to this," she says, sobbing, and I can't control what I say.
"Then leave! Fucking go home!"
"I...I don't want to," she continues to stammer.
"Go home, Perrie! Leave me the hell alone", I scream, as if in a frenzy, completely losing myself.
"Hey, no, stop it now," Jesy interferes, but I'm seeing red, barely registering anything.
"Go home," I just keep repeating, sobbing myself, not realising how close Perrie is to losing it herself.
"I...I can't," I can still hear her say and suddenly she runs out, takes flight, leaves us alone and I can't blame her, I literally threw her out. Completely beside myself, I continue to sob before Leigh-Anne pulls me tightly into her arms, hugging my head to her chest, holding me tightly.
"It's okay, I've got you, you're okay," she says over and over as I press myself against her with everything I've got, crying into her shirt and letting her soothe me. I don't even realise that Jesy has sprinted after Perrie in the meantime.
It takes me a long time to come down, to recover from my fit, to breathe normally, to stop crying. I feel terrible for what I threw at her, at them for that matter, and yet I just couldn't control myself.
"I'm sorry," I say to Leigh, who just smiles sadly at me.
"It's okay," she says, even though I completely disagree.
Jesy eventually comes back into the room, alone. Without Perrie.
"I'll take Perrie home and stay with her tonight," she tells me in a heavy voice and I nod wearily. It hurts, but I've told her several times to just go home and maybe it's better for her to have some space.
"Tell her I'm sorry, okay?", I plead with her.
"She knows that," Jesy assures me. "She's sorry too. It's...you know...it's not easy...for anyone."
"I know," I say, really meaning it. It sucks. For all of us.
"We'll be back in the morning, both of us," she says, then gives me a little kiss on the forehead. "Hang tight, okay?"
I just nod sadly and watch her walk out of the room.
"I'll stay here with you," Leigh then says and I look at her gratefully but shake my head. "You don't have to," I say.
"I want to though," she clarifies and her tone is enough to tell me that there's nothing for her to argue about it. So I allow it. I allow her closeness, her support, I allow her to be there for me. I allow myself to be weak, to be in the need for all that.
She lies down on the bed next to me, puts an arm around me and I place my head on her shoulder.
"Her idea isn't so stupid, you know," she says after a while.
"Leigh, please," is all I say, tired of the subject.
"I mean, how many people actually have leukaemia? You're just one of the more famous patients, I suppose. You could take advantage of that," she continues, unperturbed.
"I don't want any extra treatment," I clarify.
"But you do realise that the registered people are registered for everyone, right? The more who register, the more could be cured, I guess" she explains and suddenly a light goes on in my head.
"You would create more awareness just by your celebrity status. By some promo from you and us, many lives could be saved, hopefully including yours."
And I honestly can't believe I never thought of it that way before. I'm annoyed like crazy that these stupid drugs and the whole treatment itself seem to have clouded my brain so much that I can't think as clearly and logically as I usually do. Of course she is right, of course Perrie was right too. How could I be so stupid?
I'm so ashamed of myself for not thinking of it on my own that I just say quietly, "I'll think about it," and then I close my eyes wearily.
"You want to sleep?" she asks. And even though my eyes burn and are getting heavier within the minute, I shake my head. There's something I need to do.
"Actually...", I say and notice her looking at me all curious. "...I could use your help with something."