A Day in the Life
By the second week of October, I had settled into a rhythm of classes in the morning and afternoon, work in early evening, then video games and bed. Maybe throw in a party on weekends, but for the most part life was really low key. I kept attending classes partly because I enjoyed the idea of learning, partly to keep meeting new girls—err people—and partly because a small part of me refused to accept the reality of my mortality. I still had a tiny voice telling me it was all a bad dream.
Despite that small voice, I began wearing my cancer like a cloak. It was an armor that made me impervious to the real world. Everyday worries were inconsequential to me. My attitude toward small inconveniences improved greatly, even if my outlook on life had not. No point in being depressed for your last few days, right? Besides, even if something did go wrong, I would not live long enough to have to deal with the consequences. I was carefree. This mindset gave me the courage that, until recently, I could only find in Tom’s special cocktails.
Despite all this, I still hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to the girl in front of me in advanced algebra. I may have under-exaggerated how much I slacked in high school. Her name was Melissa. She had short, curly brown hair that perfectly framed her cute, circular face. The rest of her was just as short and bouncy as her hair. This was the one class I showed up to early and left late, just to see her come and go.
Every day she came in and greeted me with a brief, "Hi Ryan!" before her attention was completely absorbed by the girls to her left and right. Community college was essentially high school two-point-oh. Those who stayed on top of the latest rumors and gossip still reigned, and Melissa was queen.
Even with my impending doom, I could not come up with the courage to respond with anything more than a simple greeting. Every time she addressed me, my mouth went dry and all cleverness departed like a fleeting memory. I was left with basic function only. All I could ever manage was a short, mumbled hello. The fear of being rejected overcame even death, as it turned out. If I made a fool of myself in front of her, I knew I’d have to live with the shame, even if my days were numbered.
Tom thought I was being a huge coward, which I was. I knew if I did not make a move soon he would take matters into his own hands.
The teacher brought the class to order, and so began the daily grind, same as every other day. Math passed quickly, mostly because I spent the whole time thinking up suave-sounding conversations with Melissa that occurred in the only place they could: my own mind. Then English and Literature came along and took up two hours of my life that I’d never get back.
I usually spent the hour after English class at a local coffee shop. This particular week I was studying for a chemistry test on Monday. Most of that time I simply stared out the window with the book on my lap, hoping for some learning through osmosis. Too bad that was the closest that region had been to any real chemistry.
I ended up spending lunch there too, as my motivation to move dissipated with the relaxing atmosphere. I always did love coffee shops. The constant smell of fresh brewed coffee and toasted sandwiches, the bustle of busy workers and customers in the background… I could unwind and let my mind wander. I liked to imagine it helped me retain what I had just learned from class. Unfortunately, actually paying attention may have been a necessary precursor to letting that knowledge sink in. And day dreaming about a fictitious life probably wasn’t helping.
I had one of my regular doctor's appointments that afternoon, so I eventually had to pack up and leave from my cozy booth. The doctor wanted to check up on me at least once a week to monitor my condition. I usually made it to every other appointment. Today it was either the doctor’s office or Physics. Might as well skip with the excuse of a doctor visit. My teachers knew about my condition and gave me plenty of leeway. Besides, I would have hated to let any of my theoretically newfound chemistry expertise get pushed out by more information.
Fortunately, my doctor had given up on trying to convince me to pursue any treatment options. At this point he was just checking the cancer's progress. The disease was much more productive in its chemistry-related endeavors than I was. Eventually they would start prescribing pain killers to “ease the passing,” but I wasn't to that point yet. Tom also had a plentiful supply of herbal supplements, if I were so inclined.
Honestly, the only signs of sickness I had experienced were a general lack of energy and getting tired more quickly at work moving the weights back to the racks. It was hard to tell how much of that was just normal laziness. But according to my doctor, it would get exponentially worse near the end. Oh well, that’s what the drugs were for.
The hospital was only a mile or so from campus, so I generally walked. It was a pleasant half-hour trek through the small college town. Combined with a thirty-minute appointment, I would only have an hour to kill before work.
Campus was full of bustling students who still had some of their initial motivation left. The midterm slump hadn't hit yet. After that it would be a struggle to get to Thanksgiving. Then one last heroic push through finals to Christmas.
The local park was filled with all the usual college students: the studious groups with heads bent over books, the guitar serenades lead by Kurt Cobain wannabes, the shirtless Frisbee players, and of course many people just out to enjoy the last of the warm weather. There were even a few school clubs still out recruiting.
No fraternities or sororities though. The school was too small, and no one seemed to think graduating here was prestigious enough to warrant them. If there had been fraternities, I most likely would have never met Tom. He would have been the most recruited man on campus. So there was at least one upside. His parties were probably better anyway.
My thoughts carried me past campus and into town. The sounds of students faded behind me as I walked onward, replaced by the usual sounds of a small town. Since it was still lunch, there were only a few cars on the road. The school was a small bubble of hopes and dreams in the middle of a diminutive town in the middle of nowhere. The students still had some excitement about what lay before them, and high aspirations about where they would go. It was nice, as far as community colleges went. But even still, it was mostly locals.
Many of them were destined to end up right where they started and begin the grind of five days of work a week just to pay some bills and make ends meet. No real goals or greater meanings to their lives than living to the next day, week, month, year. Maybe that’s why people had kids. Personally, I never understood the draw, but maybe it gave people who were just living to survive a sense of purpose.
It seemed to me, as I stood dying, that to continue living would lead to no more excitement or general purpose than simply leaving this existence behind. Maybe there was something after, maybe not. But just living every day to get to the weekend was no better than not living at all, in my mind.
What was the point?
Here in the real world, past the bubble of excitement that was the college campus, everyone was too busy working to simply enjoy a nice day at the park, play a sport, or join a club.
But not me. I was free from this curse. I would never have to live through such a mundane existence. Or maybe this was all just a justification I made for myself to better accept that I would never have any of this.
Even still, I smiled. This walk always helped remind me why I had chosen to enjoy my last few months, instead of fighting it out and hating my last year. My time was too precious to be spent so unpleasantly.
My contemplations led me straight to the front door of the doctor’s office. I made my way inside to be met by the perfect example of my past musing. Jane, the receptionist. She was a middle-aged woman who lived up to her name. But if one day a Mary stood in her place, the hospital’s patrons would have been none the wiser.
Jane was pleasant enough, though, as she greeted me and handed me a pre-formatted form to fill out. It was a completely unnecessary nuisance. All the same information they already had in their files. But I wouldn’t be seen until it was completed. Another piece of bureaucracy in a world far too full of it.
I returned the offending form promptly and waited for my name to be called. It didn’t take long. I was led to an empty examination room. The orderly left me there with the promise that someone would be in to see me shortly. I barely spared a glance around the room. I was already all too familiar with it. Plain wooden cabinets with a generic linoleum countertop against one wall. Another with various posters depicting diseases and their effects on the body. An examination table jutting out into the middle of the room, the familiar parchment paper covering it. The last wall had a few machines for measuring various vitals, a scale and height measurement instrument, and even more posters. These rooms had practically become a second home for me.
My normal visit was made up of a nurse coming in, taking my vitals with said machine, and making small talk. Then Dr. Jones would show up and take some blood for testing. They would tell me the results from the last tests, usually a slowly diminishing white-blood cell count and a slightly heavier prescription for all the medicine I wasn't taking. Finally, it all culminated with one last anecdotal, miracle story of some other cancer patient, somewhere else, beating impossible odds. And how, despite their predictions, I could still double my time left if I started treatment now. I always declined. It was fun, our little song and dance.
However, today was different. Before any nurses showed up, a woman I had never seen before walked in. She was wearing a white lab coat over red scrubs. She had wavy blonde hair and big blue eyes, which she turned towards me as she smiled. Their depth caught me off guard. Like staring out at the dark blue sky just after sunset, but before dusk set in.
Unlike all the other nurses who shuffled in, preoccupied by charts and barely aware of the patients they were trying to help, she glided into the room almost too gracefully. Her attention was focused solely on me. Her red lips pursed as she looked at me with a quizzical expression.
Too late, I realized she must have spoken.
I stood there unsure as to whether I should try to bluff my way out of the situation. Or would that only serve to make me look even worse? Fortunately she solved my little dilemma by breaking the silence.
"You are, Mr. Ryan Cooper, correct?" she asked.
I do not know how I missed her voice the first time. It was slightly musical, but not high-pitched, and matched her appearance in every way.
"Y-yes." I stammered.
I couldn't remember the last time my voice had cracked. My mouth felt suddenly parched.
She smiled almost apologetically, as if she knew exactly the effect she was having on me and was embarrassed by it.
"My name is Dr. Stone, but you can call me Holly," she said with another smile.
I felt like I needed to sit down, suddenly light-headed. I tried to blame the walk here, but even my own mind rejected the lie.
"Are you all right?" She looked at me with concern.
I must have looked as pale as I felt.
I frowned, and she blushed.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I mean… I didn't mean… I know you’re not all right…" She almost seemed flustered as she trailed off, which helped me relax.
"No worries. I'm fine. Just thirsty. It was a long walk here from school,” I answered.
Ah shhiiii… I mentally berated myself for mentioning school. She would know I was a lowly student. I stood no chance with her now. Though that very line of thinking amused me. The notion I had ever even been on the same plane of existence as this woman was pure foolishness.
If she thought any differently, she didn't show it. She simply nodded and moved forward with a sense of serious professionalism.
"Well, Dr. Jones won't be coming in today. I'll be taking care of you. He assured me this would not be a problem, but if it is just let me know at any time and we will cease immediately and await his return," she said.
Score one for Dr. Jones.
She watched me carefully, her expression changing from professional to one of amusement.
“Yeah, no problem.” Again I found myself caught up by her looks and had failed to answer.
She began going through the motions of checking my vitals, clamp on the finger, covered thermometer under the tongue, and all the other appropriate poking and prodding with cold metal and bright lights.
"I understand that you have refused all treatment?" She glanced up at me while tapping a knee; it kicked out stupidly.
I nodded.
"Is there a specific reason for this?" she inquired.
"They told me it was terminal regardless of the treatment. I didn't want to spend my last few days so unpleasantly." My reasoning, before so clear and resolute, suddenly seemed dull and simple as I explained it to her.
"You would have had more of them," she replied.
"I prefer quality over quantity," I retorted.
I had come to hate people preaching to me about this decision. As if I were a child and hadn’t thought it through. Though, she was making me second-guess myself. If she were the one administering the treatment…
"I can understand that," she responded as she continued working.
After she finished, she stood in front of me for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face.
"What if I told you there was another option? An experimental one?" she asked suddenly.
I nodded for her to continue. I had already heard them all, though none from her. I could sit here and listen to her pitch me new procedures all day. Much better than listening to teachers in class. I wasn’t entirely convinced she couldn’t change my mind. The way she spoke made me lean in, hanging on to every word.
"What I am about to propose is an entirely new procedure, undoubtedly unlike anything you have heard before. In fact, it has barely undergone human trials, and the consequences are not entirely predictable," she spoke cautiously.
"Will I at least get paid?" I asked her, grinning incredulously.
"No, nothing like that,” she answered with a light laugh, “though you would have to sign a waiver."
"I guess I would be open to the idea," I responded.
Chances were I would have been open to anything she was proposing.
"Simply put, the treatment is a form of DNA injected into a protein shell meant to infect your cancerous cells and correct them. Or mark them for termination by making them recognizably corrupt to your body,” she explained.
“I am part of an advanced scientific research group, and we were made aware of your condition by Dr. Jones. He was the one who originally put your name forward since your case was terminal. Unfortunately, I will only be in town a short while, so a prompt decision is imperative.” She clasped her hands in front of herself as she talked.
I wondered how many times she’d delivered this speech before, and if anyone had ever been able to turn her down.
"Well, that doesn't sound so bad. What's the worst-case scenario?" Despite my previous determination to refuse all treatment, I was genuinely curious.
"Regrettably, a failure by the virus to eradicate the cancerous cells within your body will most likely lead to hyperthermia as your body tries to fight the cancer and the virus. This would be followed by massive organ failure, and death,” she answered.
“I’m going to be honest with you—there is no way to stop your body reacting once the virus is injected. You will either be cured or killed. But you would be under sedation and oblivious to any adverse effects,” she quickly finished.
Well, that was blunt.
"Oh. Well how long do I have to decide?” The idea of dying sooner was not one that appealed to me, despite all my bluster about life and death.
“Until the end of the week,” she answered definitively. “We highly recommend talking this through with your loved ones before proceeding, one way or the other.”
Her eyes burned into mine; I looked down, unable to meet her gaze.
Death had been my comforter, my security blanket, my protection against the daily problems everyone else faced. But only because it was still a ways away. It had made life's little inconveniences trivial. It had served as a buffer to the world, and it had the decency to remain at a distance. This made it feel too real. I had always known death was inevitable, but it was that way for everyone. My case just meant I didn't care about that paper due next week, or a project next month, but only because the end of the semester might not matter. Certainly not the rest of the year.
But only a few days? So soon? I thought I had more time than that.
"Well, are there any tests? When would you actually be able to do this… procedure?" How much time did I really have?
"We would do some testing for favorable reception between your body and the virus. For today, all I would need is a blood sample." She held up a vial she had produced from seemingly nowhere.
"But the procedure could commence as early as tomorrow," she followed.
"Depending on the test results, right?" I asked.
"Of course." She smiled reassuringly.
"I know it must be a scary idea for you, and I'm sure you need to talk it over with your parents. But who knows? A few years from now this type of treatment might be seen as routine and trivial, and it will all be thanks to you," she said.
“Well, I guess just doing the tests wouldn’t hurt. Just to see,” I tentatively responded.
She nodded resolutely and walked across the room to the plain wooden cabinets. She pulled a drawer open and proceeded to don a pair of blue gloves.
“Two-by-two, hands of blue,” I muttered to myself.
“What was that?” She turned toward me, a needle in one hand and vial in the other.
“N-nothing,” I answered. How had she even heard me from over there?
She walked forward and stood beside me. Her hand slid under my arm, grasping it firmly. Even through the gloves her touch was warm and reassuring.
She took a sample of blood and injected it into the vial, before throwing the needle out into one of those bio-hazard wastebaskets.
“The testing itself is very simple. We’ll have results by tomorrow morning,” she said. “If the results are favorable, we could proceed with the procedure directly, if you wanted. But ultimately it is your decision!” She spared me one last smile before gliding out of the room with the vial of my blood and the chart.
I left the hospital unable to think of anything other than what she’d said. Well, to be fair, I was thinking about some of her other aspects as well. She had made quite the impression.
I had flushed when she suggested I talk it over with my parents, but she wasn't wrong. They would need to know. Maybe not all the details. Maybe not that this treatment could be potentially lethal. Then they would insist on driving out here and being with me. They would spend the next few days acting like they were my last on Earth. Though, in their defense, they very well could be. But that level of attention was part of the reason I had avoided any sort of treatment in the first place.
I didn't want to get their hopes up only to be crushed if it didn't work out. We had been arguing all summer and it finally seemed like things were cooling off. Well, mostly we just weren’t talking. But I knew if I told them there was a chance I could survive with treatment that everything we’d been arguing about would flair up again. Maybe I was just being selfish, but I justified it to myself as not wanting to put them through another cycle of hope and despair.
No. I would tell them about a new possible treatment, but not its side-effects. Either I would get better and they would be happy; or I wouldn't and at least I could say I tried. They would have to be content with that. Besides, it was my decision.
Again my musings made short work of my journey and took me all the way home.
I got ready for work and spent the better part of the afternoon at the gym. They always put the cute girls up front to work the reception desk, so my job was relegated to cleaning up after people. I didn’t mind.
My work mostly consisted of re-racking weights people left lying around, wiping down the equipment if they didn’t, and picking up the complimentary towels and putting them in the bins for washing. It was mundane work, but easy. I usually just put headphones in and did my own light workout. Every water break was just a quick lap around the gym to clean up.
Today was particularly busy. Probably because it was Friday. Anyone who cared even a little about their physique in college tried to get a workout in Friday afternoon so that they would be free to party all weekend without feeling guilty. But the beer-guts still showed, especially on sophomores and up.
Time passed quickly, as it usually did when I was busy. Lots of weights to put back. I skipped my last reps with my own workout due to how many weights I had to put away. Part laziness, part internal justification I had lifted enough cleaning up after everyone else. Or maybe the fatigue I was promised was starting to hit me harder.
I got home, showered, threw some leftover pizza in the microwave, and contemplated calling my parents. I was not looking forward to that conversation. I decided to put it off and instead kill some time blasting aliens. I heard a loud commotion outside just as I was settling down onto the couch in the living room. I leaned over, eased the blinds apart, and saw half a dozen cars pulling up. I briefly contemplated retreating to my room, but Tom busted in the front door before I could make up my mind.
“Oh good! You’re home! Patrick’s place got busted by police earlier this week, so we’re going to party here instead!” he said by way of greeting.
Of course Tom was the center of the weekend’s activities.
I nodded in response and started trying to clean up. I collected any dishes I could find and quickly threw them in the sink. A quick wipe down of the table and counter with a damp rag before it joined the dishes in the sink. I wasn’t sure I’d actually made anything cleaner, but at least the table looked shiny. I knew I would have to change before too many people came over. There would certainly be women coming over. Needed to look my best! There was still at least one activity on my bucket list I desperately wanted to complete.
Though, the type of crowd Tom generally attracted was certainly more rowdy than I would normally hang out with. Especially now that I was no longer drifting through his parties with the other guests in various states of euphoria.
Having time to slow down and observe is generally a good thing, but sometimes you don’t like what you see. College parties in general can be very fun to partake in, but a psychologist could probably write an entire thesis just based on their observations of behaviors contained therein. Still, the hot girls would ensure my participation.
Calling my parents quickly slipped to the back of my mind as people kept pouring in. This looked to be a rager, even by Tom’s standards. Every new individual brought an offering of some cheap beer or liquor. All to be left on the kitchen counter before being handed a drink of dubious nature and color. The leftover offerings quickly making their way into the “jungle juice” concoction that had the ability to turn us all back to our evolutionary roots.
I quickly realized I needed to up my game to match the present company. I retreated to my room and rummaged through the closet. I never had the best sense of fashion, but Tom had made sure I had a few suitable outfits. I changed out of my athletic shorts and t-shirt into slightly dressier affair. Simple jeans and a button-up with the sleeves rolled up. All items Tom had purchased for me once he’d seen my wardrobe. At first I’d protested, but once I saw the price of the clothes he had picked out I accepted his offer to pay. After all, I didn’t want my best dressed day to be my funeral.
Having been around Tom for the past year, I knew quite a few of the people who stopped by. I had a few shallow conversations before the pitch of the party reached a level of raucousness that made idle chit-chat nearly impossible. People were shouting, drinks spilled, a game involving the purpose of slapping not-quite-empty cups broke out in the living room. Someone cleared the dining room table for beer pong. I accepted a Solo cup of the aforementioned jungle-juice. It was a little harsh. Still, it took the edge off the noise and awkwardness of the social dance going on around me. At this point it was more akin to a social mosh pit. Two glasses later, and I was having as good a time as anyone there.
I think I may have behaved this way for the better part of the last year because I felt repressed by my parents in high school. At least, like any adolescent, I blamed others instead of reflecting introspectively. I was average in high school which really meant that not-so deep down I felt insecure about my place in the world. I was afraid to talk to anyone outside my comfort zone, and unfortunately that included about half the human race. I never had a real girlfriend, or even went on a real date. I was just mimicking what I saw others do, hoping no one realized I was faking it the whole time. I didn’t know who I was, how I was supposed to act. What growing up, and really living life meant. It took until my freshman year with Tom to learn.
At least, I excused my actions with pretending I was learning what it was like to be an adult. If I hadn’t been diagnosed with cancer, I would have probably ended up a burnout. The parties, drugs, alcohol, they were all too much fun, but also just too much.
Why settle for a boring reality when you can be constantly living in a fantasy? Except that fantasy wasn’t real. Or at least, it wouldn’t continue to be real for the rest of them.
But for me? This was all I would ever know; because I would be dead before reality truly hit. I would never have to graduate college, get a real job, have to form real relationships not centered on having similar classes or meeting at parties. I would never grow up.
This thought was a sort of comfort. But the fact that it was comfortable was terrifying.
I thought that Tom had shown me what it really meant to be alive. With this whole new world he’d introduced me to. And boy was it fun. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t really living. That, I would never get to do.
I don’t remember exactly how the night ended, only that I retired alone. But I had a blast.