Terrible body aches.
Migraines.
Forgetting the simplest things.
And worse, coughing up heaps of blood and soon finding out that the black masses were spreading to my left lung.
I was running out of time, and when I finally told Max the truth—that I was going to die—he demanded to know where I was. I told him and he came to me.
And to his face, I told him that we could no longer see or talk to each other. It seems a selfish thing to do, but I did it so he wouldn’t worry and so he wouldn’t be like John—clinging to false hope. Although he kept his distance for the most part, Max never accepted it.
I’ve always regretted telling him that, but for me it was a choice between Max or John. John is my husband and he was dedicated to keeping me as healthy as possible and nothing more. Back then I needed that.
But the worse I got, however, the more I knew I’d made a mistake. I wasn’t getting any better. I was slowly but surely decomposing due to my damaged lungs and nothing could stop it. There was someone who could make me feel better just by being himself and I knew that person was Max. Even a simple visit would have made me feel better.
John was too afraid to touch me. Too afraid to even kiss me. He was afraid that any kind of affection would cause me to lose breath and die right in front of him. He was overreacting, but that was my John. My Worry Bot. I loved that he cared so much at first, but now I can’t stand it.
His smothering and pestering me to take my OPX seriously. The way he tells me not to eat this or that like I’m a child. I know he’s only looking out for me, but to me it no longer matters. I am going to die regardless of what I eat or say or do, so I might as well eat, say, or do it.
John eventually focused less on our relationship and happiness and more on keeping me alive, which wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t a great feeling either.
He lost the true meaning of the partnership we agreed to keep and reprimanded everything I did. This disease, it changed him—but only because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing me. He had to sacrifice some part of himself for that, I suppose.
The Onyx Pleura changed our connection with each other… made me question our love. It changed every single thing, and for that I hated that I’d ever bothered hacking up blood on our perfect honeymoon cruise.
Why couldn’t everything stay peaceful? Why couldn’t I just be healthy?
Out of the billions of people in this world why did I have to be one of them to go through this? I wouldn’t wish this disease on my worst enemy, so all I ask is why me?
What did I do? Why do I have to keep suffering? Why do I have to be the one to die?
Why?
Just tell me what I did wrong…
Just tell me why…
Why, God? Why?
TEN
The OPX isn’t working today.
I feel horrible. Nauseous.
My eyes flutter open and I spot John watching me, most likely contemplating whether I should continue taking the treatment or finally call it quits. But he’s stubborn. He won’t give up. One of these bags will be the cure I need, he says. It just has to be. One of them will work.
But I know they won’t.
I want to tell him…
Baby, I’m dying. Baby, let me go. Baby, forget about me. You deserve better than this.
But he won’t. Not John. Not ever.
My eyes close. I don’t know when I’ll have the energy or the will to wake up and face him again, so I give myself a quick prayer:
Allow me to die in my sleep, Lord. Let it be easy. I’d rather not suffocate, if you will. Make it easy on everyone, so they won’t have to look into my eyes and witness my last breath.
Please, God, that’s all I ask.
ELEVEN
Past – First Date with Max
Crave was crowded, as expected. I was surprised Max and I had even gotten a table.
Taking a look around the bar, I noticed all of the waitresses, in their short black dresses, passed by us and gave Max the look.
One girl with mocha skin and bleach on the tips of her curly hair smiled at him. Before I knew it, she was at our table with a notepad in hand and a wide smile on her lips.
“Hi,” she sang, looking into Max’s eyes. “I’m Janelle and I will be your server tonight. Anything you need,” she murmured, looking from his eyes to his lap, “and I will be more than happy to provide whatever it is for you.”
I scoffed and Max looked at her, astounded by her audacity, but didn’t say a word—at least not about the way she was flirting with him right in my face. “Right. Yeah, let me get a coke and rum.”