So ... it's been a while. Turns out, exams and mental health issues aren't exactly a great combination fit for writing, but thank God exams are over. Hey, on the bright side, my revision experience as a hermit in my room gave me plenty of inspiration for this chapter!
Everything was irritating.
Not terribly irritating. Just mildly so. The worst was definitely the insistent stinging in his back, crackling steadily like a wood fire, but adding to that were the pallid colours, the sound of footsteps everywhere going everywhere but him, as if he and his room really were contaminated and contagious.
The room was about as basic a private hospital room as you could get. A bed with a tray attached from which one could eat off of, a sink attached to the wall and a monitor to check if he was getting worse.
Just when he was getting used to not being treated like a freak, this happened.
And it was only 10 in the morning!
What he wouldn't give for Finley's company right now. He had his laptop and phone with him so he could still function somewhat in a confined hospital room, but he couldn't message the other boy right now when he was likely to either be at school or having chemo. Come to think of it, he wouldn't mind Rosemary's company either, it was never a dull moment with her. Or any of the dumping ground residents. Hell, even having Mischief here would be more bearable than this!
It was maddening to say the least. Ryan very badly wanted to punch a wall, to at least feel something other than chronic back pain, to receive some kind of stimulation, but he had a feeling if he did, he'd end up in a padded cell with even less outside contact.
The only thing Ryan had to occupy himself with was the schoolwork that was being emailed to him lesson by lesson to ensure he didn't fall behind even more, but as time dragged on, no more information could penetrate the smog of boredom numbing his brain. By three o'clock that afternoon, with his only human contact being the nurse who had arrived (very) briefly to serve his lunch a few hours earlier, time and space felt like thick, dark molasses - part of him yearning to move, to get out, the larger part finding it to be too much effort to try and shift in any direction.
Maybe it was the less-than-palatable hospital food. Maybe it was a side effect of the radiation. Maybe he was just going mad from what was essentially solitary confinement, but now his stomach was somersaulting and crumpling in on itself. The front of his face felt achy and heavy, especially behind his eyes.
It hurt to look at the daylight. It hurt more to look at the harsh lights from the room and his computer screen. It even hurt to look at his bright white note pages with their colourful highlighters. It was just as well he couldn't go anywhere, as now he could hardly sit up properly, let alone stand, with or without the cane.
When the door opened, Ryan instinctively pressed a hand to his aching forehead, the sound stabbing at his ears in the most obnoxious manner. Great, he'd spent all day yearning for a break in the monotony and now it had come, his body was protesting.
"Hi, Ryan," came Mike's voice, obviously trying to sound cheery, before noticing the boy's less-than-optimal state. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his tone changing to that of concern.
Ryan reluctantly forced his eyes open and turned his head to face Mike. The man was standing in the doorway, a good three metres away from the bed Ryan was lying on. "You came?"
"Of course," the man said. "I couldn't leave you here on your own for three days. You still need someone to tell you to spend less than 4 hours online."
Ryan let out a laugh before regretting it. "Ugh, don't make me laugh, I feel like crap."
"You don't look so good either," Mike said, taking a couple of steps towards him before being held back by the nurse standing at the doorway and overseeing the visit. "I'm sorry, Mr Milligan, but it's best you keep some distance, for your own safety," she said regretfully.
"Right," Mike replied quietly with a small nod, before turning back to Ryan. "Does your head hurt?" he queried, noticing the way Ryan was unconsciously applying pressure to his temples.
"A bit," Ryan said. "It aches in front, and it feels kind of ... heavy? But I'm also lightheaded at the same time." He would've laughed had it been less uncomfortable for him to do so. "Mostly I'm just dizzy, and nauseous."
"Have you told anyone about this?" Mike asked, though the look on the nurse's face told him this was news to her as well.
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because what can they do about it when they can't even stand closer than ten feet away from me?" Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, from both his headache and frustration.
"It's important that you tell them when you're feeling bad, Ryan. It could be something serious," Mike warned.
"Yeah, more serious than the fact that I have cancer and it's bad enough that we have to give the cancer cancer by giving it something that normally gives people cancer." Ryan was starting to get jamais-vu from the word "cancer".
"Dr Gareth will be making his rounds soon," the nurse piped up. "If you want to, I can tell him about your symptoms."
"Please," Ryan said.
Mike nodded at her thankfully, before asking Ryan: "Spoons?"
"I don't know." Ryan groaned. "Probably less than I should, I probably can't have used that many being stuck in one place all day."
"Radiation therapy is draining, Ryan," Mike said. "Do you want to take a nap? I can leave if you want to rest."
"Not yet," Ryan said hurriedly, not wanting to go back to losing his mind from boredom and isolation just yet. "I'll wait until Dr Gareth sees me."
"That's fair," Mike said. "Have you done the school work they've sent you?"
"Some if it," Ryan replied. "Can we talk about something else? Something less ... serious."
"Of course," Mike said, lightening up. "You won't believe what's happened at home."
They fell into a lighter, more irreverent chatter for the next several minutes. About how Mo was trying to move back in with his grandparents, how Bailey had suddenly become considerably more irritable and snappish ("I'm sure it has NOTHING to do with Mo potentially leaving."). About the weather and the latest stupid things Donald Trump had said/done/tried to do. Anything but the fact that the following couple of days would be almost as pleasant as this one.
That was until the announcement came that visiting hours were over for the evening.
"You'll be back tomorrow, right?" Ryan asked as Mike was preparing to leave.
"Of course I will," Mike said. "Did you really think I'm such a terrible person that I'd leave you here on your own for the next 48 hours? You wound me!" He exclaimed, over-dramatically placing a hand to his chest.
Ryan chuckled, and it hurt his head just like last time, but he no longer cared that it hurt.
Thankfully, it wasn't too long afterwards that Dr Gareth appeared at his door. "Good evening, Ryan, are you feeling okay?"
"Not really," Ryan admitted. He'd been able to slightly forget his feeling of general unwellness during Mike's visit, but it hadn't taken long for it to come back worse than before. The conversation had probably cost him a spoon.
"Nurse Lily told me your symptoms," the doctor said. "You said you've been feeling dizzy and nauseous?"
A nod.
"That's not surprising, I'm afraid," the doctor said sympathetically. "It's a side effect of the radiation, due to the location of the pellets being close to the GI tract, especially now when the radiation is at its strongest."
"Can't you give me something for it?"
"I would, but it's likely the side effects will improve on their own as the radiation decreases," Dr Gareth explained. "I'm so sorry, I understand that brachytherapy isn't the most ... exhilarating experience."
"Tell me about it," Ryan groaned. "At this rate, you might have to reserve a spot for me in the psych ward."
Dr Gareth laughed at that, though Ryan was only half-joking. "Do you have any schoolwork or anything to occupy yourself with?"
"Hurts to look at my laptop."
"That does present a problem," Dr Gareth admitted. "It's getting late, in any case. Try and sleep the worst off, if you can."
Falling asleep was harder than it should've been considering Ryan's fatigue. When he finally slipped away, his dreams were vivid and strange. Walking through a narrow, thorny thicket deep in the woods while vague, shadowy animals scuttled past. Floating just below the surface of the water in what felt like a public indoor swimming pool during closing hours, cool and dark with only vague shafts of moonlight for vision. A dense forest with mighty oaks and sweeping willows, the air thick with humidity and astringent tannins (Ryan would later ponder that if the colour green had a smell, it would be just like that).
Suddenly, without quite knowing how he got there, he was halfway up the tallest tree, clinging to a rough branch, then another, and another. His body felt strong in a way that it hadn't for a long time, he'd almost forgotten what life without spoons and chronic pain and fatigue felt like. He was scrambling up the tree like a squirrel, even when the branches got thinner and smoother and harder to grip, much less stand on, he couldn't stop. Higher and higher, until he broke through the leaf canopy and all he saw was sky, and sun, and it felt like he was flying, like all the sky in the world was here and the sun was happy to see him. Like he could've stayed up there for forever.
And then the branch gave way.
Ryan woke with a gasp. The pain in his back had him fearing that he had fallen hard and injured himself, before he realised where he was and would be for longer than anyone desired.
When Mike came to visit him later, Ryan wasn't looking much better than he had the previous day. Physically, maybe, he wasn't lethargic or visibly ailing, but he was noticeably on edge, his shoulders set and his face fixed into a scowl, not dissimilar to the one he had worn almost perpetually prior to becoming ill. "Feeling better?" he asked the tense teenager.
Ryan just gave a terse nod in response.
"You sure?"
"Yes," Ryan said back, his fist clenching, before he realised what he'd done and tried to relax it again.
Mike gave him a look. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Ryan said. "Absolutely nothing happened with me. Why would it? I'm trapped here."
Mike sighed. "Look, I know it hasn't been fun for you being in here for so long, but-"
"It's not that," Ryan interrupted, feeling himself start to shake with adrenaline. "It's not that I'm trapped here in this room. It's that I'm trapped here in this body." He thumped himself on the back, ignoring the bombshell of pain it set off. "This has taken so much shit from me. I have to go to radiation, I have to count spoons, I can't even skateboard anymore. I miss my freedom, I miss just ... being able to walk to the park and get ice cream without worrying if I'll be able to do my homework or eat anything else that day because of it." He scoffed as a sudden realisation hit him. "And it's all just gonna get worse after the surgery and it'll be because of me! Like, is it even fucking worth it?!" His fist suddenly slammed the nearest wall, sending shockwaves through his wrist.
"Hey, hey, hey," Mike attempted to placate him, feeling rather powerless at being unable to approach him. "What's brought this on?"
"Nothing, just ..." Ryan hadn't forgotten his dream, it had been too lucid for that, but it felt like too much to explain to Mike. "Too much thinking. I've had a lot of time in here to do that."
Mike sighed. "I wish there was some way I could make this easier for you, " he said regretfully. "You don't deserve this, Ryan, no matter what. But you're a very strong boy, you've taken it in stride. Yes, some days will be harder than others, but don't lose yourself now."
"Thanks," Ryan mumbled flatly. "I just wanna get out of here."
"I know," Mike said. "What about Finley? Have you talked to him since coming here?"
"Nope," Ryan said, looking rather melancholy as he was reminded of that fact. "He could be on chemo or something, though."
"True." Mike agreed. "Still, it's worth giving him a text. If he doesn't answer, well, you'll know why."
Ryan did just that after Mike had left again.
You okay? I'm in quarantine right now, going crazy on my own.
It took less waiting than he'd expected for a reply to come.
F: Rosemary here, Fin's on chemo. I was gonna tell you to go away, but since quarantine doesn't sound fun, I can keep you company.
R: Thanks. Understatement of the year.
F: What's it for?
R: Internal radiotherapy, they planted these radioactive seeds inside of the tumour and they get less radioactive over time. Until then, no one can come near me.
F: And then they just leave them in there?
R: They'll come out with the tumour when I have the surgery anyway.
F: Do you know when that's happening yet?
R: Nope.
F: How much longer will you be in quarantine?
R: I get out tomorrow evening, can't wait, I'm losing my fucking mind.
There was a rather long pause after that, save for the flickering ellipses on the recipient's side of the screen. Ryan wondered if he'd said something wrong.
F: Bitch you haven't seen Finley on chemo. He's completely bedridden, threw up 20 times in half an hour and can't even sleep without drugs. The thing that's meant to save his life is destroying him from the inside and none of us can do a thing to stop it. Do you think he'd rather have that or just be in a boring room for a few days? It's like you being forced into a room that makes you feel like your bones are on fire. Do you wanna trade places with him? Count your fucking blessings, Ryan. He's lived with this his whole fucking life, you can handle it for a few days.
He had.
Ryan suddenly felt horrendously shitty remembering his complaining to Mike earlier. He may have been trapped in a body that could barely walk or stand for longer than two minutes, once that constantly gave him grief, but it suddenly felt like nothing at all compared to Rosemary's description of Finley's experience, where his major problems literally ran through his veins.
Before he could say anything, however, he received another message.
F: I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, I know it's not the suffering Olympics. I just hate seeing him hurting so much and I can't make it better. I keep feeling like there's something more I should be doing but I can't, I wish I could just take it all away and put it on myself, you know?
R: I do know. You've met my sister, right? You know what happened with us?
F: Yeah
R: I've spent years wishing I could take it all back, make sure she never had to suffer through all the shit that comes with being paralysed. Even now I still wish I could do more to help, when there's something she just can't do. But I can't do certain things since I got sick, I can't carry her up the stairs when she wants or go with her to an inaccessible place. It sucks when she has to miss out on things because I can't help her.
F: Too real man, too real. I understand where you're coming from, really I do, but I think it got to the point where she was expecting help from you, like she was entitled to it. I saw that after hearing it from her, she didn't want to have to worry about you like you were always worrying about her.
R: She recognises that now, she told me. She's been better lately.
F: That's good. I guess it's always just gonna suck when we can't help the people we love.
R: And we can't do anything about that.
F: True. Thanks for understanding, I needed to get this off my chest.
R: No probs, I did too
F: I'm gonna get off Finley's phone now, I'm gonna delete the messages because I don't want him to see them, he'll just feel guilty.
R: That's okay
Ryan did feel considerably better after his talk with Rosemary, and sleeping wasn't as hard as it had been the previous night.
***
The following day was even more eventful, as eventful as things could get in Ryan's current situation. For one, Finley messaged him - the real Finley, not just Rosemary using his number:
Hey, you okay?
Ryan immediately had to remind himself to pretend the conversation with Rosemary the previous night had never taken place.
R: I've been in quarantine for the last few days, losing my mind
F: Brachytherapy?
R: Yep
F: Sorry for not messaging earlier, chemo isn't fun
R: It's okay, I get it
F: When will you be out?
R: This evening, can't wait.
This conversation so far felt very déjà-vu to Ryan, retreading the same ground he had tread with Rosemary, until Finley threw him for a loop.
F: You need to get out more.
R: Tell me about it.
F: Why not go out with me?
Ryan did a double-take, blinking hard as his heart palpitated. Was this really ...
R: You mean like a date?
F: You could say that 😉
This was getting less predictable by the second. Ryan felt weak and trembly all over again, yet the bubbles in his chest were fizzing to the top.
R: When do you wanna go?
F: Saturday?
R: Where?
F: It's a surprise
R: Oh come on, how do I know you're not taking me to a snake pit or something?
F: Damn it, you've spoiled my original plans.
R: Hysterical. I'm rolling on the floor right now
F: I aim to please. But seriously, I promise you'll like it. Just us, without Rosemary or my parents.
R: I'd like that, thanks
F: My house at 2 pm?
R: I'll be there.
F: Save your spoons
Both of them knew that wild horses wouldn't stop either of them.
The day's surprises had continued when Dr Gareth had arrived in the early afternoon to inform him of the date of his surgery - a month from now, on the 31st of October.
"Sorry you'll be missing out on trick or treating this year," the doctor had said. half-jokingly.
"I'll be better, that's treat enough for me," Ryan replied.
He'd messaged Finley with the news almost immediately, to the other boy's well wishes.
Dr Gareth had also told Mike when the man came to pick Ryan up a few hours later. "You ready to go home?"
"Please, get me out of here!"
***
"This won't be small, Ryan," Mike said to him on the drive back home. "We'll need to look into either you moving in with Chloe or getting a stair lift installed. And you'll need your own wheelchair, of course, though Chloe will be the expert on that, not me. That's not even counting the fact that ..."
Ryan had only been half-listening to this, instead focusing on the sunset casting a golden sheen on the passing trees and rooftops and making the clouds go pink. It was a relief to experience motion after three days of being stationary.
When they arrived back and Ryan ascended the stairs, the task being easier than normal due to his relatively plentiful spoons, he saw a plastic stool sitting in his room when he entered it, with a note taped onto it:
Use this in the shower. Save your spoons.
And Ryan smiled.
Why did I think this chapter was a good idea? It took forever because it was about as interesting for me to write as it was for Ryan to go through. Hell, people with astrocytoma aren't even given brachytherapy in the real world. I freaking sacrificed my need for medical accuracy for this?!
Oh yeah, I read about it while I was doing my EPQ over a year ago. Still, I guess it was partially for projection purposes, I spent a lot of time studying in my room during exams drinking copious amounts of green tea to the point where I'm pretty sure I almost gave myself catechin poisoning. Still, Dear Evan Hansen saved the day once again in giving me inspiration to finish what I started. Hopefully it should get more interesting from here.
Speaking of Dear Evan Hansen, I'll probably be writing another chapter to my story You Will Be Found, which was DEH-inspired, despite my original plans to leave it as a oneshot. I haven't started it yet but I have an idea of what it put in it.