"Who Would've Thought Getting Knocked Down Would End So Well?"
This Is It
No matter how many times I listened to Dr. Stein’s message on the answering machine, I could not infer anything from her stoic tone; she possessed the irritatingly elusive poker face of voices. Five listens later, I’d learned nothing more than I had the first time.
My fingers squeaked across the counter top as I swept a few stray dust particles from its surface. It was a habit I’d picked up somewhere along the line though I could not recall when. It was a way to busy my shaking hands. I did not want to look at Billie Joe. He had not said a word since the message had been played the first time, and it was not difficult to gauge the route his thoughts had taken.
“So…”
His voice cut through the stagnant air, filling the room with the sound of something other than Dr. Stein’s polished monotone. Lifting my eyes towards his slouched frame, I watched as he buried his face in his hands tiredly. A heavy sigh replaced his worried voice.
My eyes burned with tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. Closing my eyes quickly in an attempt to halt the flow of the offensive liquid, I only served to dampen my eyelashes before the tears slid down my face.
I exhaled slowly, hoping the action could somehow reverse the mood that had been set. “So…” I repeated, my voice strangled with tears, “this is it…” I trailed off, my glassy eyes now locked on Billie Joe. The only thing I wanted in that moment was to be held against his body, to be wrapped in the safety of his arms. Closing the distance between us, I stood in front of him, hunched over, drained, needy.
Billie Joe’s arms opened slowly as he made a silent plea for contact, contact that I, too, craved more than anything. In the stillness of our kitchen, we clung to one another, knowing how difficult the next few days would be.
It was at that moment that I wished I was a religious woman. Closing my eyes, I silently prayed for the best.
* * * * * * * * *
The longer I sat, the more my stomach twisted itself into a series of intricate knots, each one tighter than the last. Each and every morsel of food I’d eaten in the past year threatened to make another appearance as my heart banged incessantly against my ribcage.
Cross-legged, arms folded, I sat next to Billie Joe in the quiet of the waiting room at the doctor’s office. It was a scenario I’d come to know all too well: the familiar dance with the receptionist, the way we were herded into the unyielding plastic seats, the smattering of uninteresting magazines picked up for the sole purpose of shielding ourselves from the unrelenting gaze of fellow patients who awaited their fate. As a matter of fact, I hated the doctor’s office.
Each time the receptionist’s mousy voice called for the next patient, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I both wanted the results immediately and desired to run away and never look back. Had Billie Joe not been seated next to me, his fingers curled lovingly around my own, I’m quite confident that I would have already been on my way home, playing the ignorance is bliss card. One by one, patients came and went; what a cruel game it was, forcing us to wait for our diagnoses. I always thought that doctors had to follow the Hippocratic Oath, first do no harm, to the letter. Guess not.
A woman, about my age, breezed through the door, making a beeline for the reception desk. She, too, was a brunette. And there our similarities ended. She beamed as though she held in her possession the world's most profound secret. She exuded radiance at every step. Cradling her very pregnant belly, she positioned herself directly across from me. We were a funhouse mirror reflection of one another; my brown hair was dull, lifeless and sparse. She possessed a full head of curly locks, strikingly similar to what I once had. Her healthy complexion was only enhanced by the glow that came from the little one growing inside of her, a joy I had not known, perhaps never would. I snuck wistful glances at her, at her rounded midsection. I thought I was pregnant once.
With a deep breath and a heavy heart, I informed Billie Joe about Tre’s comment and Drew’s suspicions and told him that it was possible that I could be pregnant. I confessed to Billie Joe that I was apprehensive, scared and unprepared.
“Amelia, life happens when you don’t expect it to. So what if a baby is a little earlier than we originally planned?” He placed his hand gently across my abdomen. “This child will know love. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
* * * * * * * * * *
I sat, nervous and hunched over in the waiting room for what felt like hours though I knew it hadn’t been more than ten minutes. Dr. Stein stepped into the sterile white waiting room with a familiar clipboard in her hands and an unreadable look upon her face.
“I have examined your blood work,” she said once we’d settled in her office. She shuffled her papers in order to reach the page she was searching for.
My heart jack hammered in my chest; I was amazed that no one else in the room seemed to notice. Billie Joe sat perched on the edge of his seat, leaning towards the doctor, hoping to receive the news he wanted to hear. I too, had warmed up to the idea.
“Upon performing urine and blood tests, it is clear that your body is not producing HCG, the hormone that is detected during pregnancy.”
“So I’m not pregnant?” I asked, somewhat shocked and a little disappointed. Billie Joe slumped in his seat looking dejected.
Dr. Stein shook her head slowly. “I’m afraid not.”
Nodding slowly in an attempt to let it all sink in, I suddenly felt empty. Never had the thought of a human being growing inside me been so attractive and unattainable at the same time.
“You explained that you experienced weakness, fatigue, headaches, decreased appetite, swelling in the abdomen area, and other symptoms.” I nodded. Billie Joe continued to stare at the doctor, growing impatient while we waited for her to reach her point.
“We examined a sample of your blood under a microscope and found abnormal cells.” I was not sure I wanted to hear the rest. Nervous about what I would be told, beads of sweat began to form along my forehead.
“What does that mean?” Billie Joe asked, suddenly becoming nervous. My saline trail of perspiration began to evaporate in the cool, dry office, eliciting an involuntary shiver to emanate from my body.
“Amelia, you have leukemia.”
Tears sprung to my eyes; the surprise, the hurt, the disappointment of that time bubbled back to the surface. Having to face this woman was a slap in the face; she made me painfully aware of everything I wanted but did not have, could not have. As my body tensed and I diverted my gaze, the need to leave the room, to leave her taunting presence, was overwhelming. Removing my hand from Billie Joe’s, I stood up abruptly.
“You okay?” He asked, surprised by my sudden movement.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need some air.”
He did not question me but from the look of concern that overtook his features, I knew that he’d taken in my teary eyes, the pregnant woman across from us and the situation at hand and had done the math.
“I’ll be here,” he replied gently as he eyed me carefully.
Deciding to make an attempt at collecting myself in the bathroom, I slipped through the door, releasing a sigh of relief when I heard the familiar, comforting sound of the lock click into place behind me. I’d never been an envious person; even I was surprised by my reaction to the woman in the waiting room. I positioned myself in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked the woman staring back at me. “There is no reason to be jealous of her! I have Billie Joe and my health-” I stopped short; I didn’t have my health. It was the first thing people uttered automatically and took for granted. It was something I didn’t have and could not buy. I didn’t even have my health. I had cancer. I was nervous about the results. I was feeling sorry for myself.
“Enough of this,” I said firmly, splashing cold water on my face. If I was going to make it through this appointment, I needed to grow a thicker skin. I reached for the paper towels; balling up the rough material, I patted my face, wiping away the excess droplets I'd doused myself with moments before. Dumping the paper in the garbage can on my way out of the bathroom, my ears perked up at the sound of my name being called.
“Amelia Othello?”
This was it.
My fingers squeaked across the counter top as I swept a few stray dust particles from its surface. It was a habit I’d picked up somewhere along the line though I could not recall when. It was a way to busy my shaking hands. I did not want to look at Billie Joe. He had not said a word since the message had been played the first time, and it was not difficult to gauge the route his thoughts had taken.
“So…”
His voice cut through the stagnant air, filling the room with the sound of something other than Dr. Stein’s polished monotone. Lifting my eyes towards his slouched frame, I watched as he buried his face in his hands tiredly. A heavy sigh replaced his worried voice.
My eyes burned with tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. Closing my eyes quickly in an attempt to halt the flow of the offensive liquid, I only served to dampen my eyelashes before the tears slid down my face.
I exhaled slowly, hoping the action could somehow reverse the mood that had been set. “So…” I repeated, my voice strangled with tears, “this is it…” I trailed off, my glassy eyes now locked on Billie Joe. The only thing I wanted in that moment was to be held against his body, to be wrapped in the safety of his arms. Closing the distance between us, I stood in front of him, hunched over, drained, needy.
Billie Joe’s arms opened slowly as he made a silent plea for contact, contact that I, too, craved more than anything. In the stillness of our kitchen, we clung to one another, knowing how difficult the next few days would be.
It was at that moment that I wished I was a religious woman. Closing my eyes, I silently prayed for the best.
* * * * * * * * *
The longer I sat, the more my stomach twisted itself into a series of intricate knots, each one tighter than the last. Each and every morsel of food I’d eaten in the past year threatened to make another appearance as my heart banged incessantly against my ribcage.
Cross-legged, arms folded, I sat next to Billie Joe in the quiet of the waiting room at the doctor’s office. It was a scenario I’d come to know all too well: the familiar dance with the receptionist, the way we were herded into the unyielding plastic seats, the smattering of uninteresting magazines picked up for the sole purpose of shielding ourselves from the unrelenting gaze of fellow patients who awaited their fate. As a matter of fact, I hated the doctor’s office.
Each time the receptionist’s mousy voice called for the next patient, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I both wanted the results immediately and desired to run away and never look back. Had Billie Joe not been seated next to me, his fingers curled lovingly around my own, I’m quite confident that I would have already been on my way home, playing the ignorance is bliss card. One by one, patients came and went; what a cruel game it was, forcing us to wait for our diagnoses. I always thought that doctors had to follow the Hippocratic Oath, first do no harm, to the letter. Guess not.
A woman, about my age, breezed through the door, making a beeline for the reception desk. She, too, was a brunette. And there our similarities ended. She beamed as though she held in her possession the world's most profound secret. She exuded radiance at every step. Cradling her very pregnant belly, she positioned herself directly across from me. We were a funhouse mirror reflection of one another; my brown hair was dull, lifeless and sparse. She possessed a full head of curly locks, strikingly similar to what I once had. Her healthy complexion was only enhanced by the glow that came from the little one growing inside of her, a joy I had not known, perhaps never would. I snuck wistful glances at her, at her rounded midsection. I thought I was pregnant once.
With a deep breath and a heavy heart, I informed Billie Joe about Tre’s comment and Drew’s suspicions and told him that it was possible that I could be pregnant. I confessed to Billie Joe that I was apprehensive, scared and unprepared.
“Amelia, life happens when you don’t expect it to. So what if a baby is a little earlier than we originally planned?” He placed his hand gently across my abdomen. “This child will know love. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
* * * * * * * * * *
I sat, nervous and hunched over in the waiting room for what felt like hours though I knew it hadn’t been more than ten minutes. Dr. Stein stepped into the sterile white waiting room with a familiar clipboard in her hands and an unreadable look upon her face.
“I have examined your blood work,” she said once we’d settled in her office. She shuffled her papers in order to reach the page she was searching for.
My heart jack hammered in my chest; I was amazed that no one else in the room seemed to notice. Billie Joe sat perched on the edge of his seat, leaning towards the doctor, hoping to receive the news he wanted to hear. I too, had warmed up to the idea.
“Upon performing urine and blood tests, it is clear that your body is not producing HCG, the hormone that is detected during pregnancy.”
“So I’m not pregnant?” I asked, somewhat shocked and a little disappointed. Billie Joe slumped in his seat looking dejected.
Dr. Stein shook her head slowly. “I’m afraid not.”
Nodding slowly in an attempt to let it all sink in, I suddenly felt empty. Never had the thought of a human being growing inside me been so attractive and unattainable at the same time.
“You explained that you experienced weakness, fatigue, headaches, decreased appetite, swelling in the abdomen area, and other symptoms.” I nodded. Billie Joe continued to stare at the doctor, growing impatient while we waited for her to reach her point.
“We examined a sample of your blood under a microscope and found abnormal cells.” I was not sure I wanted to hear the rest. Nervous about what I would be told, beads of sweat began to form along my forehead.
“What does that mean?” Billie Joe asked, suddenly becoming nervous. My saline trail of perspiration began to evaporate in the cool, dry office, eliciting an involuntary shiver to emanate from my body.
“Amelia, you have leukemia.”
Tears sprung to my eyes; the surprise, the hurt, the disappointment of that time bubbled back to the surface. Having to face this woman was a slap in the face; she made me painfully aware of everything I wanted but did not have, could not have. As my body tensed and I diverted my gaze, the need to leave the room, to leave her taunting presence, was overwhelming. Removing my hand from Billie Joe’s, I stood up abruptly.
“You okay?” He asked, surprised by my sudden movement.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need some air.”
He did not question me but from the look of concern that overtook his features, I knew that he’d taken in my teary eyes, the pregnant woman across from us and the situation at hand and had done the math.
“I’ll be here,” he replied gently as he eyed me carefully.
Deciding to make an attempt at collecting myself in the bathroom, I slipped through the door, releasing a sigh of relief when I heard the familiar, comforting sound of the lock click into place behind me. I’d never been an envious person; even I was surprised by my reaction to the woman in the waiting room. I positioned myself in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked the woman staring back at me. “There is no reason to be jealous of her! I have Billie Joe and my health-” I stopped short; I didn’t have my health. It was the first thing people uttered automatically and took for granted. It was something I didn’t have and could not buy. I didn’t even have my health. I had cancer. I was nervous about the results. I was feeling sorry for myself.
“Enough of this,” I said firmly, splashing cold water on my face. If I was going to make it through this appointment, I needed to grow a thicker skin. I reached for the paper towels; balling up the rough material, I patted my face, wiping away the excess droplets I'd doused myself with moments before. Dumping the paper in the garbage can on my way out of the bathroom, my ears perked up at the sound of my name being called.
“Amelia Othello?”
This was it.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thanks for your patience! :)