Page 63 of Ten Hours

I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry at his words.

Me: I know the feeling.

“Good afternoon, Miss Roberts. I’m here to take you down for your scan.” Laura, one of the nurses steps into my room with a wheelchair in tow.

“Give me just one sec,” I say, turning my attention back to my phone.

Me: I gotta go. Text later?

I drop my phone on the bedside table before swinging my legs over the bed and allowing Laura to help me into the wheelchair. Even though I can get around a lot better now, they still insist on wheeling me for any tests or treatment.

“Only a little bit longer and I hear you’ll be free,” Laura comments as she slides down the footholds on the chair.

“Thank goodness.” I sigh, feeling more run down than I think I’ve ever felt before.

I’ve heard horror stories about chemotherapy, but nothing can prepare you for what it’s like to actually go through it. I shudder to think how much worse it will get. At least I’ll get to go home soon where I can recover in my own space, and with all my books.

“All set?”

“One sec.” I lean forward and grab my phone, seeing Abel’s reply message displayed on the screen.

Abel: As long as you promise not to ghost me again.

I laugh, garnering myself a curious look from Laura as I drop my phone back on the table, knowing I can’t take it with me.

“Boyfriend?” she guesses, as she leads me out of the room toward the elevator.

“Something like that.” I smile, watching the doors slide open in front of me.

——

Abel: Please tell meyour day is going better than mine.

I read Abel’s message, wishing I could tell him it was. Truthfully his message is about the only good thing that’s happened to me today.

The anti-nausea medication has lost its effectiveness and as such I’ve spent the last day and a half sick to my stomach, unable to hold anything down.

Chemotherapy is no joke. And I’ve only been through one session. I wonder how people deal with these symptoms because I feel like death.

Me: Sorry, nothing good here to report.

Abel and I have been texting on and off for the last two days. Nothing of any real significance, but even still, it feels so good to talk to him.

Abel: Well, that’s unfortunate. What’s going on with you?

Me: Stomach thing. What about you?

Abel: Mom thing.

Me: Wanna talk about it?

The dotted line dances across my screen for several moments before disappearing altogether.

Me: Or not?

The dots instantly reappear.

Abel: Sorry, Adam just flew in from California so things are kind of crazy here right now.

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