"What did I tell you?" May-Li said after they came out of the clinic.
"He didn't say 'no'," Ryan said. "He just said that there would be loads of legalities involved in something like this."
"We can't afford a lawyer, Ryan," May-Li sighed. "Not unless you want no allowance whatsoever for the rest of your time in care."
Ryan huffed. Understandably, he was extremely miffed at the turnout of the meeting. Dr Gareth had consulted the neurosurgery department as promised, but as expected, they refused to comply. They had claimed, not without reason, that carrying out the paralytic surgery would be violating the Hippocratic Oath - which, as Dr Gareth had explained, was an oath that everyone working in the medical profession had to take that has them swear to never do harm to a patient. (When Ryan had pointed out that modern medicine made this virtually impossible, citing chemotherapy as an example, Dr Gareth had agreed, saying that there was an ongoing debate as to whether the Hippocratic Oath was outdated.) To go against the Oath to this degree would be medical malpractice and therefore punishable by law. Penalties included jail time and a permanent revoking of one's medical license.
"One junior doctor said that going through with this would be the equivalent of grabbing a piece of paper with the Oath written on it, slicing it to ribbons in a paper shredder, setting the strips on fire and then putting out the flames by urinating on them," Gareth had said, which made them all chuckle a bit in spite of themselves. "It would probably take some very clever maneuvering of legal loopholes to allow it. Even then, you would probably only get through by the skin of your teeth."
The appointment ended with Dr Gareth prescribing Ryan a course of radiotherapy, with potential partial surgery in the future. The doctor had assured Ryan that chemotherapy would only be a last resort.
"Maybe this is for the best," May-Li said as they stepped into the (thankfully empty) lift to get to the ground floor. "Radiotherapy can be quite effective."
"My dad had that as well as chemo, but look at what happened to him," Ryan scoffed.
"That doesn't mean you'll go the same way," May-Li said. "Besides, they have to do something other than that operation. If we don't do anything, you probably won't last a year."
"The average survival rate for astrocytoma is only 3 to 4 years, even with treatment," Ryan said. "At this rate, I'll probably die before I can drink."
May-Li let out a sigh, but didn't respond further.
The lift stopped a couple of floors above the ground floor and pinged open to let two people in. One of them appeared to be a grown woman, but she was surprisingly short, barely taller than Ryan's cane. What surprised them even more, however, was who those two people were.
"Ryan?"
"Hi, Harry," Ryan greeted, smiling properly for the first time in weeks.
"Wow, it's really you!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. He noticed with confusion that his old friend had a cane, but decided to ask him later. "And May-Li too!"
"Hi, great to see you," she replied, going over to give him a hug. "How have you been?"
"It's been great, hasn't it Harry?" Ange smiled. "He's been such a good little boy, we've all been getting along like a house on fire."
"I'm happy for you, mate," Ryan said, clapping Harry on the shoulder and trying to ignore the familiar sting of Harry being happier with his foster family than with him. "What are you here for then?"
"Lou did his back in whilst in the garage last week," Ange explained. "Of course, being a dwarf, it could've been quite serious for him. But he's been having physio for it and the doctors say he's on the mend."
Ryan smiled politely, but he couldn't help but wince slightly at the mention of Lou's back. It only made him think of his own spine, which had started clamouring for attention again. He unconsciously rubbed the spot where the tumour was, despite the fact that too much pressure made it worse and could even make his legs buckle if it was pressed hard enough.
"Have you done your back in too, then?" Harry asked, noticing the gesture. "Is that why you have a walking stick?"
"You could say that," Ryan shrugged, opting to not tell the full truth. It sounded like Lou's injury had left Harry with enough on his plate already. He didn't want to throw his best friend having cancer into the mix, despite the look May-Li was giving him out of the corner of his eye.
The lift pinged open at the ground floor and they all walked out.
"See you around, yeah?" Harry grinned. "I've still got your number. You wanna meet up again sometime?"
"Maybe later," Ryan said. "When I get a bit better."
Harry suddenly threw his arms around Ryan in a parting hug - which turned out to be a very bad idea as his arms landed right on the cancer.
"Oh God," Ryan winced, his face tightening as pain erupted from the tumour, spreading all over his back like molten lava. His legs would've probably collapsed under him if he hadn't staggered backwards to sit on a nearby chair in the corridor.
"Are you alright?!" Harry asked, his eyes wide and deeply apologetic. Just for a second, his friend's hunched posture, coupled with the cane, made him look like a very old man.
"He should be," May-Li assured him. "Just give him a few minutes."
"I'm really sorry, Ryan," Harry said, blinking hard. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I should've known."
"It's not your fault," Ryan grunted, sitting up straighter as the pain subsided.
"However did you do your back in?" Ange asked. "From the look on your face, it must've been a mighty injury."
May-Li looked uneasy at this, as if unsure of what to tell them, but Ryan looked her and Harry solemnly in the eye, looking resigned. "I didn't really do my back in like Lou did," he admitted. "I have a tumour."
"A tumour?!" Harry echoed. "Isn't that ..."
"Yeah."
"Oh, goodness," Ange gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry to hear that."
"Are you going to die?" Harry blurted out, his voice cracking.
"No, I'm not," Ryan said, trying to smile. "I'm gonna fight and beat this."
This was not a total lie. He would fight it with everything in him, but he didn't know if he could win.
"We can still meet up, right?" Harry asked.
"Of course," Ryan said. "I'll text you later, yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded, before going over and hugging Ryan's shoulders more carefully this time. "I'm always here for you."
"Cheers, mate," Ryan said, before Harry left with Ange, who had her arm around him.
"That's the first time I've ever heard you say that you could beat this," May-Li remarked.
Ryan shrugged. "I couldn't scare him."
"Do you feel up to walking?" she asked.
Ryan nodded, using the back of the chair to push himself up before following May-Li past the main reception and out through the doors.
As they stepped out into the car park, their ears picked up the sound of someone retching unpleasantly nearby. Sure enough, they saw Finley kneeling in front of the bushes, which were now streaked with an ugly puce. His mother knelt at his side, rubbing his back as he heaved.
She looked up and saw them, shaking her head sadly. "It's always like this on chemo days," she said. "I wish I could say it gets better."
Finley turned his head to see who she was talking to, and couldn't help but smirk a little at Ryan's expression.
"Oh, you're still here are you?" he said in mock annoyance. "This is what you're missing out on. Envious?"
"Oh yeah, always wanted to take drugs that make me lose my hair and puke in bushes," Ryan replied, with the same dry sarcasm.
"Hair is overrated," Finley said. "Go bald and you save money on shampoo."
Finley's mother let out a laugh at this, though she still had a look of concern in her eyes. "Do you think you're okay now? That's the third time you've thrown up."
Finley took a few deep breaths before saying, "Yeah, I'm okay. Can I just sit down for a minute?"
"Of course," she said, standing up and pulling her son up with her. Finley steadied himself before walking over to a bench and sitting down. Ryan went over and sat down next to him, while May-Li and his mother left them to talk in private.
"I shouldn't be complaining, really," Finley mused. "I know that as most leukaemia patients go, I'm one of the luckier ones."
"How do you mean?" Ryan frowned.
"I haven't even had a bone marrow transplant, for one," Finley said, "and I've never once been declared terminal."
"So you'll just be going in and out of remission for the rest of your life?"
"Pretty much," Finley said. "Still, I'd rather live a long life like this than die before I get laid."
Ryan let out a laugh. "That's almost what I said to you about the treatment I wanted."
"Are you gonna get it?"
"Probably not," Ryan sighed. "Gareth asked about it and they said no, because they'd get thrown in jail if they did."
"Thought as much," Finley said bluntly. "'Do no harm', as they say."
"Yeah, that's why they poisoned you," Ryan said sarcastically.
"That was different," Finley said. "Yeah, that arsenic sucked, but it wasn't going to permanently disable me."
"You say you've never been terminal, right?"
"Of course."
"I am, most likely," Ryan said. "The average survival rate for astrocytoma is only 3 to 4 years. It's pretty much a death sentence and I don't want to die."
"Fair point, I guess," Finley said. "You could always enter a clinical trial, though there's a chance you could end up with a placebo instead of the real drug. Or if you're really unlucky, the drug will do way more harm than good."
"Have you been in any clinical trials?" Ryan asked.
"No, and thank God for that," Finley replied. "Or rather, thank Gareth for that."
Ryan frowned.
"Just over ten years ago, they developed a new drug to treat leukaemia, called TGN1412, or something," Finley explained. "The clinical trial for that went horribly wrong, six people were hospitalised. I was six at the time, I'd just relapsed, and my dad really wanted to enter me into the trial, but Gareth said it was too risky because I was so young and the regular chemo worked well enough for me. In that sense, I pretty much owe the man my life and what little is left of my health."
"And then he gave you arsenic," Ryan finished, smirking dryly.
"Yeah," Finley sighed. "My dad hit the roof when he found out. He's a lawyer, so he knows a lot of legal ins and outs. He probably would've tried to sue Gareth for not stopping him if-"
"He's a lawyer?" Ryan interrupted, suddenly bolt upright and attentive.
"Yeah," Finley said. "My mum's a teacher, so we're pretty well off. I guess my sisters and I really were born with silver spoons in our mouths, like you said," he said, with a short laugh. "What do your parents do?"
But Ryan wasn't listening properly. "How good a lawyer is your dad?"
"Pretty good," Finley said, frowning slightly. "I've watched a few of his trials. Why do you want to know?"
"Do you know if he could convince a court and judge to not prosecute a bunch of medics for allowing and carrying out a paralytic surgery?"
Finley's flicked his eyebrows up - or rather, the muscles above his eyes where his eyebrows should've been - before smiling a small, conspiratorial smile. "I reckon he could ... if you're willing to pay a few grand."
Ryan groaned. May-Li had been right about the costs. He really would have to give up all his remaining allowance to afford it - as well as taking a chunk out of the others' allowances too.
"Of course, I could always just ask him to put together a contract," Finley said. "Normally, you'd have to pay a few hundred per hour, including consultation time, but I'm his son, so he can't charge me a penny."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled and dog-eared piece of cream coloured card, took out a pen and scribbled something on the back, and gave it to Ryan. "That's his business card, it has his number and the address on it. His firm lets him work from home, so it's my address too. Don't misuse it."
Ryan felt like he could kiss the boy sitting next to him. "Thank you, you're a literal life saver."
"Don't thank me yet," Finley said, getting up. "Thank me when I persuade my father into accepting your case. See you soon, probably." With that, he left.
Walking back to May-Li's car, Ryan took the time to read the business card:
The Law Office of
JOSEPH ALBASTON
Attorney and Counselor at Law
The number and address were listed underneath - he lived quite nearby, it was only a short bus ride away. What made Ryan stop in his tracks, however, was when he turned the card over to see what Finley had written on the back.
A phone number, along with the note:
My mobile number. Text soon ;)