⏳ ZOE, May
I spent time in oncology during my days as a nursing student. I thought that would prepare me somewhat for the next few days after Adam's first round of chemotherapy. I'd spent the days leading up to it trying to find out everything I possibly could about his particular type of cancer, and it turned out there was hardly any research on it at all. There weren't enough documented cases, and even fewer survivors, for doctors to write extensively about it.
I'd done my research on the effects of chemo and how to help as the partner of somebody going through treatments. I'd talked to people on message boards, and one man (I only knew him as raymond62) even reached out to me personally by private message to talk to me about his wife's treatments and the things he did to make her life a little bit easier during the days following chemo.
Yes, I'd done a lot in hopes of readying myself for everything to come, but there was nothing I could do to prepare myself for the toll watching him go through all of that would have on me emotionally.
When we got back to his place after his treatment, he seemed in pretty OK spirits. He joked around the way he always did and we even spent time outside on the porch swing, playing fetch with Joplin. His mother called a few times to check in and I spent most of the evening texting with her back and forth. Calvin came over after he was done at work and stayed for a while to play video games with his little brother, but he didn't stay too long. By eight o'clock Adam was more than ready to go to bed.
So I spent the evening by myself in the living room, looking at his photos on Instagram. He had a few new ones since this morning. I was in the first one, smiling at the camera with his arm around my shoulders and his lips pressed against my cheek. The second was taken at the hospital, displaying the IV in his arm. The caption was simple enough. It read: 'fuck cancer', with a few appropriate emojis to describe his mood. I read the comments section and smiled a little. There were so many people sending out positive vibes and letting him know they were praying for him.
It was midnight when I finally decided to go to bed, even though I knew I probably wouldn't fall asleep for hours. I climbed in next to Adam, trying to be as quiet as possible. I might've been the one to wake him, or maybe he was already awake. Either way, when I rolled over to face him, his eyes were wide open and he was staring at me.
"How are you feeling?" I whispered.
"Fucking terrible, zero out of ten, I do not recommend," he replied, his voice coming out strained and rough. I watched him scoot a little closer to me in the dark.
I didn't know whether or not he'd want me to touch him and I wasn't going to risk it. I knew from past experiences in the hospital that he didn't always like physical contact while in pain or just feeling bad, not by nurses and not even by his own mother. But this time around he snuggled up against me immediately, like it was instinct for him to do so. He draped his arm over my belly and lay his head down on my chest. I wrapped my arms around him. I spent the next few hours stroking his hair and running my fingers up and down his back.
"Will you still love me when I'm disgusting and bald?" he asked softly at one point, long after I thought he'd fallen asleep.
"Yes, Adam. I'll love you with everything I've got," I whispered back.
"Will you still want to fuck me?" he asked with just the slight edge of humor behind the words.
"Probably, yeah, most likely," I giggled despite the tightness in my throat and the tears prickling behind my eyelids.
I must've fallen asleep sometime during the middle of the night. When I woke up again, it was starting to get light out and Adam was still lying in the same position on my chest, his breathing slow and steady. He seemed so peaceful in that moment, his thick eyelashes almost brushing against his cheek.
I didn't want to move. I didn't want to wake him up. I knew what was likely coming today and I didn't want his personal hell to start, not yet. I just wanted to give him a few more hours of peace.
So I stayed in bed for another hour or two, wanting him to get as much undisturbed sleep as possible, but by the time it was properly light outside the bedroom window, I knew I couldn't keep it up. I was hungry. Joplin would want to go out to pee and have her own breakfast. I wanted to clean up a little around the house in case people decided to come by later to check on Adam. I already knew he wouldn't want to see anybody though, but my introverted ass and I were going to try our best to keep everyone in the loop.
I gingerly untangled him from me and tried to sneak away, but to no avail. He let out a painful groan and shifted to his side of the bed, hands over his face.
"What time is it?" he asked and his voice was like sandpaper.
"Eight," I told him softly, leaning forward and brushing away the hair from his face. "Try to go back to sleep, OK? I'm going to go downstairs and make some breakfast." I hesitated for a moment, watching him as he turned onto his side and brought his knees up to his chest. "Do you think you're gonna be able to eat something a little later on?" I asked.
"No," he grumbled.
I hovered there for a moment longer, wishing there was something more I could do. I tucked the sheets around him and made sure his phone was in arm's reach. I did the same with the TV remote, in case he felt like watching something later.
Then I went downstairs and attempted to be productive.
I did everything I planned to do. I ate breakfast alone on the porch swing while Joplin did her business. I threw the tennis ball a couple times and told her she was such a good girl when she brought it back to me. I did the dishes, I wiped down all of the counter tops and I vacuumed the area rug in the living room. Adam's whole house was going to shine.
I checked on Adam periodically, but every time I found that he was still asleep in bed, or at the very least somewhere between sleep and consciousness. It wasn't until around noon that I heard a loud slamming noise coming from upstairs. I raced up the stairs and dashed into the master bedroom, but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Adam?" The response I got was awful retching coming from the master bathroom. It sounded like he was throwing up his entire insides. He gasped painfully, coughed, and then it happened again. I quickly ran through the bedroom, opened the door and fell into a kneeling position next to him.
He was sweating profusely and he looked pale as a ghost. The stench was terrible, but I was a nurse. I'd dealt with much worse. I reached and put my hand on his back, hoping to be some kind of comfort to him, but he tensed underneath my hand and jerked away.
"Don't touch me." His words were barely a growl as damp hair fell into his face. His knuckles were white as he clung to the sides of the toilet bowl. His shoulders rose and fell as he heaved. "I'm sorry baby, don't... touch me... please," he added, his voice softer, like he was trying to comfort me. I nodded and wiped a stray tear from my cheek.
"OK, but I'm going to sit here with you," I told him and sat down cross-legged on the floor, my back pressed up against the wall.
So we both stayed there on the floor, not speaking. Adam heaved and spat a mouthful of bile, but he didn't throw up again. I watched him carefully. He seemed to no longer possess the energy to rise up the toilet bowl. His legs were sprawled awkwardly underneath him and his head hung limply a few inches above the water and the sick. His hands were balled into fists against the tiled floor.
"I'm sorry," he croaked.
"What are you sorry for?" I whispered.
"For you having to see me this way," he said and collapsed backward against the cabinet of the 'his and hers' vanity.
"I told you, we're in this together. I meant it," I told him stubbornly.
"How bad to I stink?" He tilted his head sideways to look at me with brown eyes that looked completely and utterly defeated. His lips were cracked and I could see a bit of drool mixed with throw up in his beard. His breath stunk really badly.
"I've smelt worse," I told him truthfully and attempted a smile. There was vomit in his hair. "Do you wanna shower? I can help you."
"Yeah, I think so," he sighed and allowed me to help him into a standing position.
I flushed the toilet and turned on the water in the shower. After a few seconds I checked the temperature, and then turned around to face him. He was only wearing boxer-briefs, which was probably a good thing because I would've had a hard time getting a 6'7" man naked when he was hardly able to help.
He was able to get in by himself, but he couldn't stay standing for very long. He ended up in a seated position in the tub instead, his knees brought up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. The water washed over him and he sighed heavily.
I grabbed the shampoo bottle behind him and poured some into my palm.
"Can you lift up your head a bit? I don't wanna get it in your eyes," I asked him as I began to rub the shampoo into his hair. "Am I hurting you?" I asked.
"No," he replied, eyes closed.
I rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and tried my best to wash the rest of him, but in the end I mostly just massaged his back and shoulders until he told me he wanted to go back to bed. I turned the water off and he started shivering like crazy. I rushed to get a big, fluffy towel wrapped up around him.
"You're good at this," he said with a small smile as I dried him off and found some sweats for him to wear in one of the drawers of his dresser. He even managed to brush his teeth. "Are you sure you aren't a nurse for real?" he asked.
"Hey, look at you, making a joke," I smiled tentatively.
"Not a very good one," he admitted.
"Well, you tried," I laughed softly.
I got him into bed again and at his request I also put on Parks and Rec on the TV. I went back downstairs quickly to grab him a glass of water and when I came back he was in the foetal position again, his knees all the way up to his chest. I got him to drink a little, but the glass was still mostly full when I put it down on the nightstand.
"Come lie down with me," he muttered.
"OK," I replied and did exactly that.
"But don't look too fondly at Chris Pratt, I'll get jealous," he murmured.
"I won't... I prefer my men tall with a lot of tattoos," I assured him.