Installment Fifteen

This was it.  Taylor was being hooked up to the catheter in his chest, the chemo all set and ready to go.  But Tay was less than ready for that.  He looked so scared I could have cried.  I was only in the room for a few minutes before it all, only long enough to see him grab my mother’s hand and squeeze, fear in his eyes, ”I don’t wanna do this…  I’m scared, Mommy…” I wished so hard that there was something I could do for him.  We were all asked to leave shortly after that so they could start everything up and make sure it was going to go well.  He was going to be on the intensive chemo for five days straight, and according to Dr. Peterson it was going to “cripple” his immune system considerably; no one could go in there without the proper hospital attire out of the risk he could get an infection – with no immune system people usually tend to get sick.

I had three days to think about what was happening to him before I was allowed to see him.  Mom was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle it, but dad reminded her that I’m mature for my age, and I could deal with it.  Mom warned me of how sick and weak he had become, and just how sick he looked.  She warned me that he had spent considerable amounts of time vomiting, sleeping restlessly, crying… He was weak more than just physically.  I had to be dressed up in a gown, gloves, and a surgical mask – there could be no risk of sickness – none whatsoever.  I was little scared, to be honest, of what I was going to see exactly, and when I walked into that room with my parents, I think I stopped breathing.  I had never seen anyone look like that in my entire fifteen years.  It brought tears to my eyes, and I felt like someone was trying to pull my heart out, and ripping at my very soul.  Imagine what it must have been like for Taylor…

“Hi…” my voice was strained, almost too quiet to hear.  He didn’t answer me, just opened his pale blue eyes, looking at me pleadingly.  I looked at mom and dad, finding sorrowful, apologetic looks upon their faces.

“Honey…” I don’t think mom knew what to say to me; I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.  I thought I was strong enough to handle anything they could, but I was wrong.  Just looking at him, seeing him that way… His skin was pure white; his lips were pale and dry and cracked, his eyes dull and glassy with dark circles around them, his dark blue bandana seeming almost black in contrast to his skin...  I just started to cry.  I really couldn’t handle seeing him that way…

“Avie… please don’t cry…” he whispered.  I shook my head through my tears, unable to stop them.

“I’m sorry,” I cried softly.  “You look so sick…”

“Oh Avie…” he whispered.  “I told them not to bring you here…” He looked at our parents, his eyes pleading with them.  “Take her home,” he whispered.

“Come on, sweetheart,” dad said softly.  “Let’s go.”

“I’m so sorry, Tay,” I whispered, shaking my head.  “I wanted to see you so bad, but I can’t… I’m sorry…” It was obvious how much it took out of him just to speak, let alone move.  He shook his head slightly, and motioned for me to come to him, but to be honest, I was scared to…  I moved slowly to him, and he took my gloved hand, barely able to give me the assuring gentle squeeze he meant to.

“I’ll… be ok,” he whispered unconvincingly.

“I love you, Tay,” I whispered back.

“I know, honey.” He had tears in his eyes.  “I love you too.” He let go of my hand and closed his eyes.  “Take her home, please…”

“All right,” dad said softly.  “We’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

That night was something I would never forget.  I dreamt about it.  The image of Taylor’s face, looking the way he did, haunted me for so long…  There was so much despair in his pale blue eyes that night it was practically dripping from them.  His whole body oozed it.  And as if things weren’t bad enough, the type of leukemia that Taylor had – acute monocytic leukemia – caused him to develop these red spots on his arms; they weren’t like boils or anything, but they still looked painful, almost like rug-burns minus the scabbing.  It was too obvious how much he was suffering all ready, and I had this uneasy feeling…  It’s strange; I’ve always been that way, and most of the time I’m right.  Maybe I’m clairvoyant or something, but I’ve always known when something bad was going to happen.  But he was getting the transplant from Zac, and that was going to help him, so why the bad feeling?  I was completely baffled and made myself believe that I was just nervous for him; nothing else could go wrong for him – he’d been through enough and didn’t need to go through anything worse.

“You ready?” Isaac asked Zac, who was sitting on the mobile hospital bed in a patients gown.

“Oh yeah,” he replied.  “I’m always ready to go under and have a huge needle stuck in my hips repeatedly.”

“Stop,” Rachel said lightly, playfully smacking his chest.

“Hey, wanna join me?  You know I’m naked under this thing…” He grinned at her, and she slapped his shoulder.

“Gross, Zac,” I replied, hearing Isaac chuckle.  “I definitely don’t wanna know when you’re nude; it’s a mental picture I never want in my head.” Then I decided it was time to be cute.  “Besides, have you thought about the fact Dr. Peterson isn’t doing your harvesting?  It’s some male doctor that’s going to be staring at your naked ass for however long the procedure takes.” I grinned, snickering to myself.

“Aw man, Avie,” he said grimacing.  “That was just plain cruel to make me think about.” Rachel was laughing along with Ike, and Jessie standing off toward the corner of the bed.

“I hope he isn’t sweet on you,” Jess added with a chuckle.

“Aw gross,” he said grimacing.  “My ass is an exit not an entry.”

“Zac!” The three of us chorused, laughing a little.  Then I started to think about Taylor and how scared he was, how scared I was for him…

“Zac Hanson,” a man in green scrubs said, interrupting us.

“Yeah?”

“Are you ready young man?” He asked.  “You’re about to help save your brother’s life.”

“When you put it like that it makes me want to get poked with huge needles.” We all smiled.

“You won’t feel it; you’ll be asleep, and it’ll be over before you know it.  And we’ll be transplanting your bone marrow into your brother, and hopefully giving his life a better chance.” I still had such a bad feeling…

“What if something goes wrong?” I asked.  “With Taylor, I mean.”

“Gee, don’t worry about me, Avie,” Zac said, “I’ll be a-ok.”

“Shut up, Zac; you know I care about you too.”

“We’re hoping nothing will go wrong.  We can only hope for the best.  Things seem to look well, though.” He turned to Zac again, two nurses coming in.  “Let’s get you to the operating room, young Mr. Hanson.” He smiled, and the two nurses began to wheel Zac’s bed out.

“See you guys soon.” He smiled, and settled back, his arms folded behind his head as he was wheeled out.

“Don’t worry,” Ike said, “everything will be ok.”

We came back the next day for Zac to be discharged, also after Taylor’s transplant had been completed.  According to Dr. Peterson it – the bone marrow – was given to him much like fluids were given through an I.V., directly into his blood stream.  Now the waiting began, and we had to sit and wait to see how well the engraftment took place – that means the new bone marrow “migrates” to his bone cavities and starts to produce healthy cells.  He had a bunch of tests done before the transplant – tests on his heart, lungs, kidneys, and a whole bunch of other “vital organs” according to the doc.  The tests were done before so they could be compared to tests done after the transplant to make sure that everything was going over ok.  I could only hope and pray, like the rest of us.  We were warned that the transplant was a debilitating experience; it was like symptoms of a severe case of the flu – nausea, vomiting, fever, diarrhea, extreme weakness – only it lasted several weeks instead of several days.  Dr. Peterson explained all of these things to us, and made it very clear that like when he was receiving the chemo we would all be decked out in hospital gear if we wanted to see him.  She told us the risk of graft-versus-host disease, which would be if his body started to “disagree” with Zac’s bone marrow; the worst case scenario would have been graft rejection, which would be his body directly rejecting Zac’s bone marrow – I didn’t know the details of either, only what the doc had told us briefly about each.  All in all, Taylor was going to very sick and weak; it would take more energy than he really had to just sit up in bed for a long time, to watch TV, or talk on the phone, to read even, or have visitors.  He spent a lot of time trying to sleep off his symptoms, though unfortunately, it never seemed to really work.

We went to see Zac first, seeing as he was being released.  He was sitting up in bed, and of course we had brought Rachel with us.  She went over to him, sat down beside him and kissed him.  Mom smiled at him, dad’s arm around her shoulders.  Jessica was at school – she was getting out at noon to come visit both of our brothers; Ike was with May and Chris, and would be joining us later, and Mackenzie and Zoë were with a sitter.

“Hey Zac-man,” I said, smiling a little at him.

“I’m so proud of you,” mom said.  “We all are.  What you did for Taylor…”

“Hey, if it’s going to help save his life…” he said seriously.  “Besides,” he said, returning to his usual goofy self, “I don’t mind a little ass pain.”

“Zac,” Mom said grinning a little and shaking her head.

“Rach, kiss me and make me feel better?”

“Sure, baby,” she said with a small smile, leaning over, but he started to turn over.  “What are you doing?” She asked, which all of us were thinking.

“You said you would kiss me and make me feel better – so kiss my ass and make me happy.” He grinned over his shoulder at her.

“You jackass,” she laughed.  “No.”

“Damn,” he pretended to be disappointed.  “Almost had you.”

“Or not,” she replied, taking his hand.

“Hey, has anyone gone to see Taylor yet?” He asked.  Mom and dad nodded.  “How is he?”

“Not feeling to wonderful, but he’s dealing,” dad said softly.

“Well, I’m ready to blow this Popsicle stand.” He said standing and taking his clothes from Rachel.  “I’m gonna change in the bathroom so we can get out of here sooner.” He started toward the bathroom and stopped to turn one more time.  “Hey, um, do you think I could stop and see him first?”

“Of course,” mom answered.  “He wanted to see you anyway.”

We let just Zac go in to see Taylor; he had to wear the whole get-up: the gown, the gloves, and the surgical mask.  I hadn’t seen Taylor yet, and I almost didn’t want to; I was afraid of what I was going to see.  It was horrible just seeing him on the chemo treatment, and they said he was going to be sicker after the transplant until the new bone marrow started to kick in, so I was scared to see him.  I knew we needed to be strong for him, and I was afraid that I would just crumble, and I didn’t want him to see that happen.

I almost wanted to know what I had missed when Zac came out of the room.  He slowly pulled of the mask, and was obviously trying to hold back tears.  I was afraid something was wrong with Taylor, but I suddenly couldn’t find my voice.

“Son, are you all right?” Dad asked him quietly.

“Yeah,” Zac answered quietly as well.

“What happened?” I whispered.  “Did something happen to Taylor?”

He shook his head, pulling off his gloves slowly.  “He thanked me for trying to save his life.” He said quietly.  “He said he’d never forget me doing this for him, even after he dies…”

“Oh Zac,” mom said quietly.

“Why would he say something like that?” He asked, shaking his head slightly.  “I mean…” He shook his head again, and welcomed Rachel’s warm hug.

“Everything will be fine,” she said softly to him.

“How is he doing?” I asked him; it was less curiosity and more need.

“Uh…” he hesitated.  “He’s… not feeling too good.” I knew he was searching for delicate words that I could handle.

“Just tell me, Zac,” I said.  “Does he look like he’s dying?”

“He isn’t,” he said insistently, “but he looks like it.  He said he’s really sick to his stomach, and he’s really weak – he had a hard time just talking to me.”

“He’ll be ok though,” Rachel said comfortingly.  She turned to our parents then, “He will, won’t he?”

"I’m sure he will,” dad said tightly.  It made it more and more obvious that my parents were doubting his recovery, which meant one thing: they knew something we all didn’t.

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