New Age Medicine
I awoke to a rhythmic pulsing in my head. It harmonized with my beating heart. The unpleasant feeling was saved by the clarity in my mind about my decision. I wanted to live. Well, not right that second. I wanted to fall back into the blissful coma of unconsciousness. But I did want to survive. I knew I had been using my illness as an excuse to hide from the world, but why? The world was awesome! Tom had spent the last year showing me that, and last night had only served as another reminder, despite this morning’s hangover.
Sure, if the treatment worked then this stage of my life would only last another year or two at most, and I would have to join the real world eventually. But my life had already dramatically changed once. If I could go from the average life I had in high school to having the time of my life in college, then I wanted to take it all head on. I hadn’t thought college would be like this, at least not for me, so why did real life have to be the bleak picture I had in my mind? No doubt I just didn’t understand it yet. But I wanted to at least give my body a fighting chance.
I slowly sat up and took a moment to look around. I had made it back to my room, which was in a healthy amount of disarray, and then I had collapsed on the wrong end of my bed. Other than that, no major mishaps. A good night. Most likely my last one without consequence, one way or another.
I crawled over a mass of blankets and rolled onto the floor. I stood up slowly, using the bed for support, before stumbling down the hall to the kitchen. After a short search I found a half-empty bottle of Gatorade in the fridge. A speculative sip returned good, non-alcoholic results so I downed the whole thing and retreated to my room, stopping for a few aspirin as I passed the bathroom.
A short search revealed my cellphone was still in my jeans pocket and had just enough battery for a quick call home. I searched home in my contacts and held my finger over the call button for a moment, too hesitant to commit. What would I say? The last time I had called home was almost a month ago. That had not gone well.
The conversation had started out normal enough.
What classes are you taking?
How is school going?
Is there anyone you’re interested in?
I think my parents hoped I would find a love interest and want to seek treatment because of this imaginary person, since I had refused to do it for them. I answered their questions and asked my own mundane ones in return.
How was my little sister?
Has she sent out any new college applications? Any word back?
How was the cat? (That didn’t go well—turns out the neighbor’s dog had gotten ahold of it.)
Everything still the same at home? Other than the cat, yes, as it always was.
Inevitably talk of treatment came up. Usually my dad was the one to force the conversation in that direction, but this time it was my mom. It always led down a dark path that ended in an argument.
I was tired of them asking me about it. They knew, as well as I, that there was no treatment plan that would result in my survival. I had avoided home all summer because of this never-ending argument. They resented me for that decision, but they also didn’t want me to cut them out for my last days. Still, they carried on their campaign to convince me to seek a cure. I suppose I would have done the same if it were my own child who was at death’s door. But I was the child. And I was tired of fighting. I placed the blame for my choices on their parenting. I had accused my parents of condemning their own child to death for the way they raised me. I was refusing to fight for my life because of them.
Those who are closest to us always know what to say that will cut most deeply.
My mother had broken down; her sobbing had come across clearly on the open line. My father had been furious. Nobody felt better after that outburst. I had been avoiding calling them ever since.
The problem was, I knew I wouldn’t survive any attempt at a cure–until now, that is. So now I had to call them and tell them there was hope, after all. Should be easy, right? This was the phone call they had been waiting for since news of my disease had first broke. I was going to seek treatment, and there was a chance I could be cured.
This was what they had always wanted… Then why did my fingers feel numb? The phone felt like a lead weight in my hand. I didn’t know how I would apologize for the last call. Pride and shame warred in my mind as I tried to rationalize how I had last spoken to them. In the end I knew what I had said had hurt them and that I had done it on purpose, hoping they would just leave me alone. It had worked.
I took a deep breath and pressed the little green icon. I held the phone to my ear, my heartrate climbing with each successive, unanswered ring.
“Hello—”
The line cut out abruptly. It had been my mother.
I stared down at the blank screen. A red, empty battery icon answered my unasked question. I didn’t know whether to be angry or thankful. I threw the phone at my bed and it bounced across, into the wall, and fell behind the mattress.
Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. I wiped them off and headed to the bathroom. I rinsed my face with soap and water. I stood there for a moment, staring at my face in the mirror. The face of an ungrateful child. Maybe this was fate. I had wanted this to be my decision. Now it was. I couldn’t even talk it over with those who were closest to me.
I could wait for my phone to charge, or find wherever Tom had passed out to use his. Though, it was unlikely his had any charge either if last night went the way I imagine it had for him. His phone was undoubtedly forgotten somewhere and his bed full. I didn’t feel like impeding on the aftermath of that party.
I shook my head and returned to my room. I found a clean shirt, put on some deodorant, and headed for the door, afraid that if I stayed I would never work up the courage to leave. I tried to put my parents to the back of my mind. If the treatment worked, I could come back and apologize with the news that I was better. They couldn’t be mad at that. And if I died…? Well, then I wouldn’t have to have a difficult conversation. I took the coward’s way out and pretended I was being independent, grown up. I left as quietly as I could, stepping out the front door into the brisk morning air.
Tom had become a good friend over the last year, but I still didn’t feel like having a conversation about this procedure with him either. I spent the walk contemplating whether I was only being selfish, or actually a bad friend. Outside of my immediate family, he deserved to know as much as anyone. But I knew he would have his own opinion on the matter. Maybe it was the nurse from yesterday, but I had no desire for anyone else's input. It was my decision.
I stepped forward with a new sense of determination. Which lasted a block. Then it was head bent down against the cold. Yesterday’s warm weather a distant memory. The cold wind only served to exacerbate my receding headache. Thank God for aspirin or "over-the-counter-all-night-bender enablers," as Tom liked to refer to them.
I realized I was going to miss my chemistry test if this treatment lasted through the weekend. Well, either I would be dead and it wouldn’t matter or I would have the best excuse for missing it and more time to study. Either option worked for me.
The walk felt like it took almost twice as long as the day before, but it was probably all in my beating head. Eventually I arrived at the doctor's office. I checked in at the front desk, same as any other day. I filled out the same sheet of paper I had a hundred times before. I turned it in same as any other day and waited for my name to be called. It didn’t take long.
“Ryan?” A voice called into the almost empty waiting room.
I was met with another face I had never seen before. Two in as many days? That seemed unlikely in this small-town clinic. I had met almost everyone who worked here over the course of the last six months’ worth of visits.
This new man was dressed in nurse scrubs, but he looked more like a professional athlete. Swept brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a lean, muscular body even scrubs couldn't hide. Tom would have been jealous of the forearms coming out of those sleeves.
I stood up and walked toward him.
“Right this way.” He proceeded down the hall, and I followed.
He led me back to my second home. Another examination room. A different one from yesterday, though the only decipherable difference was the posters on the wall. He performed all the same routine checks and annotated them on another one of their charts. His actions mirrored Holly’s in their almost alien smoothness. Every movement was perfectly efficient and precise. However, where Holly’s demeanor had been friendly and inviting, this new nurse was cold, borderline hostile. I felt like he was silently judging me. I shuddered as I watched him.
“So, you are here for the experimental virus?” he asked.
“Pending test results,” I answered.
“Everything came back positive. In fact, they’re even better than we initially hoped,” he answered brusquely. “So, would you like to proceed? There are some forms you would need to fill out.”
Just like that? I supposed they would have anticipated me coming in and already had the results on hand considering how urgent Holly sounded yesterday.
My confidence from the morning had waned. I wished Holly was here. I wasn’t sure what to think of this new guy.
He stood completely still in front of me with his arms crossed. I could feel his eyes boring into me, waiting for an answer.
“Yes. I would like to proceed.” My voice came out softly into the still air in front of us. I cleared my throat and stood up straighter, hoping to muster up some confidence.
“Right this way,” he said as he led the way out of the room.
We continued down the hall, back toward the reception area. But this time he stopped in front of an elevator. We rode up the elevator in silence. I stood quietly, wondering what I had gotten myself into. The ride was short, seeing as the building only had three levels. Again he led the way with a determined pace that I struggled to keep up with. I nearly ran into him when he stopped abruptly in front of a door. I hoped he hadn’t noticed, but I would have been hard pressed to tell if he had. His demeanor remained unchanged as he held the door open for me.
The room itself was much larger than the examination rooms downstairs. It had none of the posters about diseases. No examination table, either—just a bed with a tower of expensive-looking machinery by its side. A small table stood opposite the bed, a TV was mounted on the wall above it.
The nurse had taken a folder from the outside of the door. At the top was my name.
“Here.” He set some paperwork and a pen on the table.
“What’s this?” I leaned over the table to look it over. It was filled with legal and medical jargon.
“You can sit and read it over if you like,” he answered dismissively, “but it is a waiver that absolves us from any consequences, signifies you understand the experimental nature of the treatment, and there’s a section about confidentiality.”
“Confidentiality? I thought I could talk this over with loved ones.”
“You could, before, but afterwards you will be under a strict non-disclosure agreement until we can determine the exact results of the procedure.” He watched me carefully as he spoke.
“What if, just as a hypothetical, I haven’t talked it over with anyone yet?” I asked nervously.
He sighed heavily.
“Have you not?”
“No.” I looked down.
“Well then you better not die, because that will be hard to explain.”
“Heh,” I laughed weakly. I couldn’t tell if he was joking.
He pointed out all the places I was supposed to sign and initial on each page. I filled out the form under his steady gaze, too scared to back out now. It felt a bit like being strapped into a roller coaster as it started up the first hill. Only I’d suddenly remembered I was terrified of heights.
That's when she walked in, and all thoughts of backing out were swept from my mind.
"I'm so glad to see that you have decided to pursue this treatment option. I have very high hopes. Your tests came back even better than expected!" Holly declared by way of greeting.
Even though he had already told me this, it sounded so much more reassuring coming from her. I felt like a weight had been lifted. At least she was sitting next to me on this roller coaster. The pictures at the end would finally be worth the money. I quickly finished filling out the form.
“Here’s a hospital gown for you.” She set it down on the table as she swept up the paperwork.
“Everything seems to be in order,” she said shuffling through the documents. “I’ll just be waiting right outside while you get changed.”
They both left the room.
I stood alone for the first time since arriving. It was all happening so fast. I took a deep breath to calm down and looked down at the piece of clothing on the table. It was a typical hospital gown, blue with a square pattern. A completely open back. Was I supposed to strip naked or leave my boxers on? I decided leaving them on was the best decision, since I could slip them off if necessary. Trying to put them back on would make for a much more awkward situation.
Once changed, old clothes in a semi-folded pile on the table, I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. My mind raced in the quiet and I wished for the umpteenth time I would have called my parents. The door finally opened after what felt like hours had passed, but I knew it must have only been a few moments since I’d sat down.
“Ready?” Holly stood in the doorway.
Her smiling face conveyed all the expression of reassurance I needed. Reassurance that this was my decision. I could say no right now and she would understand. But we both knew I wouldn’t say no to her.
I nodded.
She immediately got to work fiddling with the complicated machines I always saw people hooked up to on TV. They even made all the right beeps, whirrs, and hisses. It felt surreal.
This was everything I had been avoiding. All the fights with my family, arguments now rendered pointless as I pursued the treatment I had so strongly resisted. My cancerous cloak, protecting me from real life. My very existence in the balance. All would be decided right here, right now. I felt myself beginning to panic until, a hand brushed my arm.
“Feeling ok?” Holly’s face was mere inches from mine.
Her blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail behind her but still managed to fall to one side and caress her neck as she leaned over me.
“Yep,” I gulped, suddenly very aware of the effect her proximity was having on me. I immediately knew my decision to keep my boxers on had been wise.
"Don’t worry,” she said as she straightened up, “you are basically the perfect candidate. I am a little worried you might skew the results and raise expectations too high for any future participants." She smiled at me.
I felt all my worries melt away.
"Sounds like there's barely any chance it doesn't work!" I felt a moment of unbridled optimism.
"Well, of course, with new medical procedures there are always uncertainties," she cautioned.
The feeling died out quickly.
She finished prepping the machines and donned another pair of blue gloves. She squeezed a gel into her hands and rubbed it on parts of my body. The cold gel was a stark contrast to her warm touch. I was thankful for that. Afterwards she hooked up a few sensors and an IV.
"So… what kind of uncertainties are we looking at here?" I asked, trying to take my mind off of all the poking.
"Well, it is essentially a virus meant to target cancerous cells. So your body will recognize it as a foreign entity and try to fight it initially. Hence this." She held up one of three vials.
"This is Muromonab-CD3. It is used for organ transplants and will allow the virus to infect most of the cancerous tissue before your body can react. Its name comes from the CD3 receptor on your T-cells. Basically, it should keep them from trying to fight the virus. Which could result in your body killing you."
I nodded along as if I understood.
"So this Moromomab CD is safe?" I asked.
The more morbid side of my brain wanted to know exactly what was going to be the death of me.
“Absolutely not!” She let out a soft chuckle. “It has a list of side effects longer than…" She trailed off with a glance around the room, unable to come up with an apt comparison.
"Well, it's long,” she continued, “but this virus has been created specifically to infect human tissue, and it is very effective. If your body were to try to fight it outright, it would lose. You would most likely cook alive due to an out-of-control fever."
She attempted a reassuring smile, but it failed to reassure me.
"But, the Muromonab-CD3 will allow the virus to begin its infection without your body attempting to fight it. And once the virus has sufficiently attacked your tumor, it should, finding no other tissue to infect, allow itself to be killed off," she explained.
"That seems rather intelligent for a virus," I responded.
"It has been manufactured with a half-life less than the effects of this dosage of CD3," she replied.
I suddenly wished I had paid more attention in my biology and chemistry classes. Though, this particular case was undoubtedly outside the realm of any material we would have covered.
"This second vial," she continued, "contains ketamine. It is a strong sedative used in prolonged surgeries. It will allow the procedure to take place painlessly. Once I administer this, you will quickly fall asleep, and you won't remember anything until you're all better!" This time her smile was much more reassuring.
But that didn’t stop a sudden chill from coming over my body.
This was it, the final moment before my life changed forever. One way or another, I'd either be cured or dead. This could be my last few moments alive. I took a deep breath and tried my best to put on a brave face.
"So, do I need to count backwards from ten or something?" I asked.
She stood over me, the fluorescent light shining behind her like a halo.
"No, no. This will be much too quick for anything like that. Are you ready?" she asked one last time.
I took a long look at her. At least my last memories would be of her angelic face and musical voice. I felt a little bad about not thinking more of my family, but the guilt passed quickly in her presence.
"Yes," I answered.
She moved quickly and efficiently. Taking a rather large needle from the table and inserting it into the vial, she drew out an exact amount and injected it into the IV port.
"What about that last vial? You never said…" I inquired.
"Oh that? That's the virus. Your miracle cure," she answered.
"Does it have a name?" I asked.
Before she could answer, I felt my body grow heavy. A calmness spread through me. I couldn't tell if it started at my fingertips and toes, or ended there. But it felt wonderful. A magical sensation. An overall fuzziness to the world. Her last words were lost to the echoes of my quickly receding consciousness.