Smile for the Paparazzi

“Kate, have you seen my This is why I’m hot t-shirt?” I heard Trixie’s voice call from the laundry area.

I closed my book and walked over to where she was, by the washing machine. “I think it was in the last load of laundry. Check the dryer.”

She bent to open the dryer and her blue long sleeved shirt rose up above her waist a bit so that I could see her bare skin. I cringed, catching a glimpse of a nasty yellowish bruise.

“Got it!” she said triumphantly, holding the t-shirt up. The offending blemish on her back disappeared when she stood up.

“Ummm, Trixie? You have a huge bruise on your left hip bone,”

She lifted up her shirt a bit and twisted her body to see the bruise in question. Once she caught sight of it, she cursed. “Ah, damn. Shit shit shit. Can you start your car?”

I complied and soon she was getting in, a manila folder in hand.

“Can you drive me to the hospital?” She asked softly. I nodded and started towards Mercy General Hospital.

When we were at a red light, I glanced at her, curious for an answer to the obvious question.

“It’s probably nothing,” She told me, a nervous smile on her face. “But when I was little, I had leukemia and the doctor said that if I ever got another bruise, I should go to the hospital and check my white blood cell count.”

“Shit, Trixie!” I said, panicking.

“No, no, it’s no big deal. There’s a good chance that I don’t have anything.”

I took a deep breath and kept driving. When we got to the hospital, Trixie made an appointment. They couldn’t take us for another hour and a half, so we went to Barnes and Nobles to pass the time.

An hour before her appointment, we returned to the hospital.

“Winthrop, Trixie,” the doctor called.

“Can you come with me?” she whispered to me. “You know, for moral support?” Trixie was more nervous than she let on. I nodded and stood up with her.

The doctor led us to a check up room. “Hello, I’m Dr. Palumbo. What brings you to the hospital, Miss Winthrop?”

She handed him the folder. “When I was about eight years old, I was diagnosed with leukemia. After a few years of chemotherapy, I was released from the hospital. I was told if I ever got any bruises, I should go to the hospital, just to get a blood test.”

While she was talking, the doctor was flipping through her file. “Okay, then, we’ll get you a blood test then, Miss Winthrop. The nurse will be here in a few minutes to collect the suitable amount of blood,”

She nodded. “Okay.”

The doctor then left us alone.

“What if it is- you know…” I asked. I was unable to force myself to say “leukemia” or “cancer”, in case I jinxed it.

“Leukemia?” Trixie filled in. She apparently had no such inhibitions. “I would check myself into the hospital and get treatment. I had it before and I survived, didn’t I?” Despite the bold tone of her voice, her face was pale.

The nurse came in and drew blood. She left to get it tested and then came back shortly afterwards, getting Trixie’s name, address and phone number. She said that the blood count would be finished in about two to three days and that the hospital would call her when it was done.

We drove home in silence. Everything was so surreal to me, it seemed like time slowed down. Despite Trixie’s assurances that she would get past this, I kept wondering about what would happen if she didn’t. We had become fast friends in the six months we were in New Zealand, our crazy personalities clicking instantly. I couldn’t imagine not having her around for pop tarts at 3 am and going to the mall to try on the ugliest things we could find.

The days following the hospital visit passed slowly. Trixie decided not to tell anyone about the possibility of leukemia until it was confirmed. She also decided to post a blog about what was going on as soon as she got the results back. “The fans deserve to know exactly what’s going on without any influence from the media,” she stated.

Three days after the hospital visit, Trixie was reading a book at the kitchen table and I was cooking dinner. It was fairly quiet, until the shrill ringing of the phone pierced the silence, making us both jump.

Trixie stood up quickly and answered the phone. “Hello, this is Trixie Winthrop speaking,” She paused for a moment and then, “Okay, I’ll be there in a half an hour….Okay, bye,”

“That was the hospital,” she said to me. “They have the results.”

“Okay, I just put the lasagna in the oven, and it’ll be done in about an hour. I’ll call Jon to take it out of the oven. Can you start the car?” I asked.

She nodded and took the keys. I took out my phone and dialed Jon’s number.

“Hey Kate, what’s up?” He answered on the third ring.

“Hey Jon, I need to drive Trixie to the hospital, and I just put lasagna in the oven. Can you come over and take it out in an hour?”

“Is everything alright?”

“She got a blood test and the results are back,” I stated simply.

“Oh, okay, I’ll be there soon.”

Jon arrived in ten minutes, and we left a minute after that. Trixie checked into the hospital 27 minutes after we got the phone call from the hospital. The nurse told her that the doctor would be with her shortly.

“Kate,” Trixie said as we sat down, “Can you come with me for moral support again? I just don’t know if I’m- if I’m strong enough to hear the worst.”

“Of course Trixie,” I said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.

Dr. Palumbo came in a few minutes later and called Trixie. We stood up together and followed him to a check up room similar to the one we visited three days ago.

“Miss Winthrop, your blood count is in. The number of white blood cells is abnormally high, which shows that you have a relapse of acute lymphoblastic leukemia,” he said, a sympathetic look in his eye. “You’ll need to check into a hospital as soon as possible for chemotherapy. I suggest the University of Chicago Medical Center. The doctors there are experienced in treating ALL.”

Trixie was holding my hand this entire time, and she was squeezing it rather tightly. “Okay doctor, thank you,” she said quietly.

When we arrived back at our apartment, Jon had left and the lasagna was cooling on the counter.

“Kate, I’m not really hungry right now,” Trixie said, glancing at the lasagna. “I’m going to go to bed, and tomorrow, I’ll check myself into the Chicago Medical Center.”

I nodded silently and watched her leave the kitchen. I got myself some lasagna and sat down, but found out that I didn’t have an appetite either. I pushed it around on my plate for a bit before dumping it into the garbage.

I went into my room with my laptop. I replied to comments and whatnot on my facebook for a while, before checking to see Trixie’s blog.

“Dear Friends and Fans,” she had written.

As some of you may have known, I had leukemia as a child. A few days ago, I found this really gross looking bruise on my back. I hadn’t done anything to get said gross bruise, so I went to the doctor’s to get it checked out. Well, it turns out that I’ve relapsed. That means that I have leukemia again.

Tomorrow, I’m checking myself into the hospital for chemotherapy. Hopefully it goes away quickly. I’m trying to keep my chin up and tell myself that Iwill get through this. I had it before, and I survived. I can do it again. But no matter how many times I tell myself this, I’m still scared shitless. Luckily, I have my best friend Kate (who you may know as my costar from my latest movie) to help me through the hard times. So, there, you have it from the source. I don’t want you believing any lies written by desperate journalists.

-Trixie

I noted that Trixie had put down Camisado-Panic! at the Disco for “What I’m Listening To”. Ryan had written that song about his alcoholic dad and the lyrics pretty much fitted any situation dealing with relapsing.

Seeing it in plain words, set out like that, overwhelmed me. I felt the need to call Ryan.

“Hey baby,” he said, picking up the phone on the fourth ring.

“Ryan-“ I said, my voice wavering.

“Is something wrong?” he said, instantly picking up on how distraught I was.

“Ryan, Trixie has cancer. She has leukemia.”

“Oh my God.”

“Ryan, what if she dies?”

“Shhh, she’s not going to die.”

“How do you know?”

“Trixie’s a tough cookie. If there’s anyone who can beat cancer, it’s her.”

“Well, she did have it when she was little…”

“See! She beat it once, she can beat it again.”

“Ryan,” I whispered.

“Yes?”

“Promise me that Trixie’s going to get better.”

“I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Kate, we’re on the phone.”

“Fine,” I said, my tone grumpy, but a smile on my face.

He laughed into the phone. “Goodbye Kate.”

“Hey, I’m not done talking to you!”

“Yes?”

“Goodbye Ryan.”

He laughed again. “You’re ridiculous. Bye.”

“Bye,” I said, hanging up. The phone was still warm in my hand, and I felt better.