by Monica James
“Are you ready?” he poses, nothing but importance to his question.
“I am.” My palms begin to sweat.
“I’ll just be out there.” He gestures with his chin to where a glass window separates the room.
“Okay.”
Whatever the result, we both know it will change our lives forever. If it’s worked, it means I get to live, but Roman still dies. And if it hasn’t worked…
“See you soon.” Bending forward, he places his lips on my forehead.
Once I’m dressed in the hospital gown, I step out from behind the medical screen. Before I boost myself onto the bed, I look at Roman. He sits, leaned forward, steepling his fingers over his mouth. I hate that he’s here because of me. He has enough of his own issues to deal with, yet here he is, forfeiting his health for mine.
“I love you,” I mouth, uncaring that Dr. Carter can see.
Roman nods once before placing his palm to the glass, an open invitation that his heart beats for me too.
With that image as my driving force, I lie down, the plastic beneath me cool. I take three steadying breaths, closing my eyes and going to my happy place.
“Okay, we’re ready. You can listen to music while inside. This will take approximately twenty minutes.”
Roman’s pain is flagrant through the glass, but I use that as my strength to calm my nerves and live for us both.
Seconds later, the bed slides into the circular tunnel, cutting me off from the real world. The noise is unbearable, the droning sound cutting into my canals. My scalp begins to smolder, but I know this is a psychological response to why I’m in here.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and I focus on the only thing I can to make all of this go away.
Roman.
After this test finishes, I will know what my future holds, but what about Roman? He said he didn’t have long. I swallow past the lump in my throat.
This isn’t fair, but I’ve come to learn that life rarely is. As the machine rattles around me, I plan a course of attack, determined to exhaust every single option for Roman. I won’t give up on him. I can’t.
Lying here with a possible second chance at life, I come to understand Roman’s comment about feeling unworthy of his life. It doesn’t seem fair that we’re alive, while the ones we love have been taken away, or faced with a grim future ahead.
For the next twenty minutes, I drift off into another plane, neither here nor there. I’m floating above myself, looking down on my life and wondering where I can better things. Roman’s life is far more important to me than mine is. I want us to both live, but the reality is, that will not happen. One or both of us will expire, and truth be told, I would rather that person be me.
Tears leak from my eyes and a burning aches in my chest, but I’m brought back to now, realizing the scan is over. The bed slowly retracts, and I’m grateful the twenty minutes felt like two. My pupils take a moment to adjust to the bright light, and I blink, hoping to clear my head.
When I think I can stand, I raise my weary body, but I get the sense that something is horribly, grievously wrong. “Roman?” I whisper, but everything turns cold.
My glasses clear up my vision, but I don’t understand what I’m seeing.
“Lola, we will just be a minute.” Dr. Carter’s voice holds the same grim response it did all those years ago. I’m suddenly transported to when we first met.
Roman stands motionless, hands interlaced atop his head as his cheeks puff out, exhaling deeply. He looks so lost. I beseech him to tell me what’s wrong, but he stares vacantly ahead.
What has happened for him to look like he’s dying inside? A plume of disquiet engulfs me, and I lean against the bed for support. I’m certain something has happened to him.
Dr. Carter enters the room, a folder and what appears to be my scan in his left hand. I wait for Roman to enter, but he doesn’t. Turning to look back at the window, I no longer see him.
“Dr. Archibald needed a minute.”
“A minute for what?” My voice betrays my fears.
“How about we go back to my office, so we can discuss the results?” Why is he stalling? “Would you like to sit?”
“Why are you treating me like I’m sick? I’m fine. What’s going on?”
He pulls in his lips, the seriousness of what he is about to reveal weighing heavily on his shoulders. “Your scan results…” He walks over to a board and lights it up, clipping my scan to the top railing. “They have revealed a darkened mass here and here.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a small laser light.
I amble over, my feet functioning on autopilot.
“This here”—the red laser circles a black blob—“is your first tumor. And this…” His sentences all mush into one because all I can focus is the word ‘first.’ First would imply it was here before any others, others which weren’t there the last time I checked.
“Where’s Roman?” I whisper, cutting Dr. Carter off.
He pauses, the red laser dot stationary on a smaller blob I’ve not seen before. “Have you heard what I’ve said?” He speaks in a monotone, like he would to any other patient who has just received the worst news of her life.
“Yes.”
“And you understand what it all means?” He peers at me, nothing but sadness reflected on his kind face.
“Not really.” I can’t accept his news until I know Roman is safe.
Sighing, Dr. Carter gently places his palm to my forearm, requesting my full attention for what he’s about to reveal. “Lola. I am so sorry. These drugs, if they worked, would have done so right away. They don’t need time to take effect.
“But sadly, now you have two tumors. Your original one has doubled in size. The newer one is still small, but…” His pause leaves me winded. “But it’s only a matter of time. It will get bigger. Both will.”
“W-what does that mean?” I stutter, my head suddenly weighing a thousand pounds.
“It means it didn’t work.” The reply doesn’t come from Dr. Carter.
Spinning around, I see Roman standing in the doorway, looking beyond broken. His shoulders are slouched, his hands dug deep into his pockets, his downturned face hiding his fears.
“Are you all right?” I ask, unable to stop myself as I run over.
He lifts his chin, and I’ve never seen him more heartbroken than right now. “Am I all right?” he questions, bewildered.
“Yes,” I reply, touching his face, ensuring he’s real. “Your heart is okay?” On cue, I place my hand over the thundering beat. The frantic rhythm is faster and more irregular than I’ve ever felt it before.
“Lola, stop it!” Roman shouts, seizing my wrist and clasping it tight. “Stop worrying about me. Worry about yourself!” His outburst has me jarring backward, stunned. “No, my heart is not okay. It’s fucking broken! Did you hear what Dr. Carter said?” He drops my wrist, only to clutch at both my upper arms, shaking me fervently. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Why aren’t you as angry as I am?”
Black consumes his pupils, reflecting what he’s feeling within.
“As long as I know you’re okay, I can deal with anything I need to.” And it’s the truth.
This entire time, I was more concerned for Roman’s well-being than I was for mine. Is that what sacrifice feels like? Putting the one you love before your needs?
“How is this possible?” Roman lets me go and storms over to Dr. Carter, who is standing blankly in front of the lightened board. “She was getting better.”
“Because she wanted to, and at some point, I believe she was,” he simply replies. “But the drugs, they were, they are…” I step forward, knowing what he’s going to say. “They are simply prolonging the inevitable.” He turns to look at me, nothing but regret marring his demeanor. It’s the same look he gave me when I told him I quit the first time around.
I’ve grown to admire Dr. Carter, not only because he’s a wonderful doctor, but also because he’s a wonderful human being. He gave Georgia hope
, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful. “Thank you, Dr. Carter. For everything.”
He nods, but accepting my gratitude doesn’t appear to be an easy thing. “It’s been my absolute pleasure.”
This is really happening.
Now that the dust has settled, I take in the scan. The two darkened masses look so harmless, but their significance is poisonous. This time there is no miracle pill, but I suppose there never was. This was my fate from the very beginning. The trial bought me some time, time to meet and fall in love with the man who changed my life forever.
“No!” Roman roars, his explosion startling me. I’ve never seen him this enraged before.
“Roman, it’s okay.” I try to soothe him, but it’s pointless.
“It’s not fucking okay! How can it be?” He jabs his finger at the scan, glaring at it like it’s his worst enemy and he wants to strangle it with his bare hands. “You’re dying! Tell me in what universe can that possibly be okay?”
I open my mouth, but shut it soon after. I understand what he’s feeling. I felt it the moment he told me his fate.
“This is bullshit!” He doesn’t allow either Dr. Carter or myself time to console him. He storms from the room.
Dr. Carter sighs, running a hand down his weary face. “I’ll have Wilma schedule a follow-up appointment.”
“Why?”
“There may be something else we can do,” he replies, stumped. We both know that we’ve exhausted my options. It’s the end of the line. I’m surprisingly calmer than I thought I would be. But I guess the same news delivered the second time around softens the blow.
“No, I’m done. If there’s nothing you think you can do, then I want to live however long I have clearheaded and not doped up.”
He nods, understanding my request.
Swallowing, I ask the question we all want to know in a morbid sort of way. “How long?”
I don’t envy Dr. Carter. His job would have to be one of the hardest in the world. “I don’t know…one month, maybe two.”
Wow. I stand with my mouth parted, my mind reeling over everything Dr. Carter has said.
“That’s just a guess, judging from the scans. We can always run some tests, but…I really am sorry.” Still standing motionless, Dr. Carter does something he’s not done before. He hugs me.
I am stunned for so many different reasons, but being embraced by the man who hardly shows any emotion has a tear cascading down my cheek. I have touched someone who has touched me. We go through life hoping to make an impact, and I’ve managed to accomplish that with a man I respect, admire, and treasure. I can leave this room with a smile on my face.
“I better go find Roman.” I sheepishly pull from his embrace. “Thank you again. I really appreciate it. You were so good to Georgia and me. I know she thanks you, too.”
Dr. Carter nods, and I bite my cheek. Is this the last time I’ll ever see him? He must be able to read my thoughts because he suddenly turns his back, but not before I see a tear catch on his lashes.
I don’t make a fuss. I simply grab my clothes and leave.
After changing in the bathroom, I calmly press the call button, peering down at my steady hands. They’ll never grow wrinkled, nor will they ever nurture the kin from my womb. This outer shell will be immortalized in time. This is how people will remember me—forever young.
The elevator doors open, and I ride it down to the main foyer. I exit, my steps not wavering, my head held high. I finally feel free. I haven’t been delivered a death sentence. I’ve been given yet another chance to live.
Stepping out of the revolving doors, I see Roman sitting on a park bench, head downturned, legs spread apart. His hands are interlaced low, as if he’s praying to whichever god may be listening. I know he will most likely bite my head off, but he needs to know I’m okay with this. I told him I would accept the results, whatever they were. With the good comes the bad, but it’s the bad that makes you appreciate and cherish the good.
“I come in peace.” Lifting his head, I see the bitter sadness behind his eyes. I stop a few steps away, unsure if he wants me to leave. “May I sit?”
He runs a hand through his snarled hair, so many emotions plaguing him. “You never have to ask permission to be near me.”
I wring my hands behind my back. “I know, but you left in a huff. And I’m not sure if you’re still huffy.” I’m trying to lighten the mood. I can’t stand to see him in pain, in pain because of me. I almost holler in delight when he shuffles over to make room.
I don’t know how to start a conversation like this one. There is no easy way. Everything has changed, and I don’t know what happens now.
“There has to be something more,” he says, breaking the silence. I can’t help but compare our pleas.
“I went into this knowing the risks. It was never a sure thing.”
“How can you be so calm?” he spits, angered.
“I’m pretty sure I asked you the same question.”
“That’s different,” he stubbornly rebukes.
“Why?”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he declares, shaking his head, his eyes peeled to the ground. “You were supposed to live and…”
His pause has me cocking a brow. “And then what?”
When he exhales and tips his head back, peering into the heavens as if asking for strength, I’m suddenly hit with a menacing weight.
“Tell me,” I press.
He shoots up, pacing in front of me, unable to stand still. “And then I was able to go,” he confesses with regret.
“What?” My gasp leaves me panting for breath. “Go where?” I clench at the seat beneath me.
It takes me a second to realize go means go away for good. So he was planning on leaving all along? But I’m still missing something.
Scanning through every single thing I can remember, I suddenly get slammed with one mystery yet to be solved. I forgot its significance until now. “What’s September first?”
When he comes to a halt, I know I’ve struck a nerve. “Teddy told you?” he asks, jaw clenched.
“No, but you’re about to.”
“Just leave it. I think we’ve had enough heartache for the day.”
“Tell me.” Rising, I grip his bicep, pleading he talk to me.
“No.” His tenacious jaw sets.
“No? Are you serious right now?” Now it’s my turn to wear a shade of red. “I thought we were past this. No more secrets, remember? Roman, tell me!”
Finally, he surrenders.
“After your trials…” My feet are cemented to the ground. “Once I knew you were okay…” He’s searching for the right words. But I have a feeling there aren’t any. “I would go to a small lodge in Niagara my family rented over the summer before Scarlett got sick.” His voice is wistful. “So many happy memories are associated with that place. It seems fitting it’s one of the first memories I have because it would also be my last. Well, second last.”
I don’t think I’m breathing.
“The last memory I have will be of you, Lola. The best memory I could ever leave this earth with.”
“W-what are you t-talking about?” I swallow, afraid I’m going to faint.
“I won’t wait around for this illness to cripple me. When I go, I want it to be on my terms. Teddy knows what to do.”
Time stands still.
“Please d-don’t tell me you’re doing w-what I think you a-are.”’ His silence speaks volumes. “Roman, no.” Tears flash before my eyes. This can’t be real. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sighs, his heavy breath warming my neck. “Because you were the only thing that could change my mind.”
“Is that so bad?”
“Yes,” he confesses with regret. “I don’t want to live this way because I will only grow weaker. I don’t want you to remember me that way.”
Even though I can relate to his reasoning, I’m still infuriated. “But you made me do the trials.”
&nbs
p; “Because there’s hope for you. There’s none for me.” Even though that rationale is now obsolete, it made perfect sense at the time.
“There’s always hope. You taught me that.” I sniff back my tears.
We’re now both stuck at a crossroads. What do we do?
“What you’re proposing, you’re committing suicide.” The words feel like acid slipping from my lips.
There is no question of his utter affliction over this entire situation, but his mind is made up. “How is it any different to putting a beloved family pet to sleep? We’re showing them compassion; it’s the humane thing to do. When there is nothing further one can do, then why prolong it?”
He’s so matter-of-fact, it hurts. Surely, things have now changed.
“Then I want to have the same option.”
“What? No.” He recoils, appearing aghast that I would even suggest such a thing.
“Why not? We’re both faced with the same predicament now. Why do you get the option, and I don’t? Everything you’ve just told me relates to me too.”
His lip curls in pure torment. “And I hate that it does. But this isn’t Romeo and Juliet. Once you’re gone, you’re gone. No one will write a sonnet about us.”
I blink, stunned. “You don’t think I know that?” I question, angered he thinks so little of me. “I’m not a child.” I won’t back down. Once upon a time, this may have been a way out for him, but now, it seems like an easy way out—period.
“No, Lola. The answer is no. It will always be no. I won’t have a part in ending your life,” he stubbornly states, jaw clenched.
“But you expect me to sit back and watch you die? Is that it? You get an escape route, while I have to wither away and die! How is that fair?” My calm approach is long gone, and the anger Roman wanted to see from me rears its ugly head.
A surge pulsates through me, and I shove at his chest with all my might. He stumbles backward, surprised by my hostility. This isn’t his fault. The fact he wants to be the decider of his fate isn’t his fault either. I can relate to his decision. I respect his strength.
But I’m blinded by fury because of how messed up everything is. It wasn’t bad enough that one of our lives was coming to a premature end, but now both—what a cruel, sadistic fate we both face. That thought is the fire behind my rage, and I lash out at the only person who understands my pain.
