“Good morning,” she warbled, as chipper as a canary. A canary that had no clue it was in a fucking cancer ward. She asked for Neil’s name and birthdate, then explained, “We’re going to administer the drug, along with some fluids. That will help you combat the nausea and dehydration, and hopefully make it a bit easier on you.”
“This being the first dose, the effects won’t be as, erm, severe, then?” Neil asked hopefully.
She made a noise as she went about collecting items from the little plastic basket she’d carried in with her. “No... would that it could be that way, but this is a bit like jumping into the deep end of a cold pool.”
I reached over and took Neil’s hand. He squeezed mine, hard.
She turned with a plastic sleeve of fairly innocuous looking clear fluid marked with some very comforting warnings about poison and corrosiveness. She held up a length of plastic tubing and said, still in that chipper canary voice, “Are we ready?”
“Hey baby,” I said softly, tugging Neil’s hand. He turned his head, and when his eyes met mine I could almost feel his fear. I gave him as comforting a smile as I could manage. “Just look at me, okay? I’m right here.”
His fingers locked around mine in a death grip.
It was strange, seeing Neil freaked out. It was stranger that my presence seemed to help him; I always took comfort in him, so I guess I’d overlooked the possibility that he could take comfort in me, too.
Neil’s port site was still slightly tender, and he winced as the nurse swabbed around it. I tried not to let my disgust show in my expression, but the tube she connected to him looked like a crippled squid, with three pathetic tails hanging from it. The nurse hooked up a bag of fluids to one, and the sleeve labelled “Chemotherapy” and “toxic” to the other. She taped everything down very efficiently with a little windowed sticker that covered both the main line and the port, flicked a wheel on the tube, and said, “There you go. Let me get you set up with a basin, in case you need it.”
Chemotherapy started, not with a bang, but a... well, not even a whimper, really.
Neil settled back more comfortably against the raised head of the bed. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be.”
I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but I figured I had some responsibility to him in the reality-check department. “Why don’t you wait a few hours and see how you feel.”
He made a face. “Oh, good lord. I can taste it.”
I reached into my purse. Emma had mailed her dad scads of candies called Miracle Berry tablets. She’d learned about them while scouring internet message boards for chemotherapy comfort tips. I was glad I’d remembered them. I popped one from its bubble pack and passed it to him.
He sucked on it a moment, then said, “Well, it certainly helps. The drugs do sting a bit, though.”
I rubbed his arm. “Is there anything else you need me to do? Just say the word.”
He considered. “You can get out your iPad and we could watch something. Sherlock is on-demand.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening watching television on the iPad, propped on its little stand on the table that slid over his bed. After the drugs had been pushed into his system and the lines had been disconnected, I laid beside him, occasionally holding the basin for him when he felt like he might vomit. But he never did.
At around seven in the evening, our nurse from that morning was ready to sign off her shift.
“I’m off for home now. Time for you to go, as well. Visiting hours start again at eight in the morning.” She moved Neil’s mostly untouched dinner tray aside and made a note in his chart.
My heart lurched. I’d known coming into the hospital that he would be staying overnight and I wouldn’t be. Now that it was time to leave, though, I couldn’t go. He didn’t feel well. He hated the hospital. He was going to be bored and lonely and he had cancer and they were sending me away to leave him alone. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I tried to hide them from him.
“Sophie,” he soothed, putting his hand on my shoulder. “It’s only for a night. You’ll come back in the morning and I’ll come home with you. I’m fine, really.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. He put his arms out, and I leaned against him. He smelled funny. The chemo was already seeping out in his sweat.
Wiping my eyes, I sat back and smiled at him. “You’re right, I’m being silly. It’s going to be nice to have that big bed all to myself.”