uninterested in the chemo that the doctor suggested.
She throws on a pair of panties, a bra, and a baggy sweater, and then she turns to me. “Jax”—her voice is resigned—“I know you have my best interests at heart. I do. Believe me, I want to live just as much as you want me to, but some things in life aren’t in our control. I have limited time, and I don’t want to spend it fighting with you. I also don’t want to spend it being sick from chemo or any other treatments that have had no proven success. I’ve done the research. I’ve read all the stats. I know they suck, and they aren’t what we want to hear, but that’s our reality.”
She walks toward me, taking my hands in hers. She swallows. “I don’t have much time left, and there are still so many things I want to do. If I do the chemo, we won’t get to go to Hawaii, and I will miss that opportunity for nothing. Please, Jax,” she begs, her voice breaking, “I’m so tired of fighting about this. I want to dedicate all the energy I have toward good things, not arguments. Please just drop it.”
“I don’t want to feel like I’m giving up on you, Stella.” My voice comes out choked, heavily weighed with sadness.
She wraps her arms around my waist. “You’re not. I know you’re not. I know if you had a choice, you’d fight until the end of time for me. But it’s not your choice. It’s not mine either.” She sighs, her chin trembling. “It’s just the way it is. It blows. But remember…” She pauses. “I just need you to love me through it.”
I hate this. God, I hate this. I’m so angry that I want to scream. I want to scream until I lose my ability to yell anymore, until my voice is gone. I want my cries to be heard, so everyone will know how much this sucks, so everyone can take on an ounce of my pain because, most days, it’s almost too much for me to bear. I hold it together the best I can for Stella. She deserves my strength. God knows she has enough to deal with without my weakness.
I knew it would be hard. But it is so much more difficult than I could have ever imagined. I’m not good at sitting idle and watching Stella lose her battle. There is an innate drive in me that wants to fight.
But I know she’s right. I’ve read the stats, too. There is no beating this type of cancer. I’ve seen her scans. I know how widespread her cancer is. In my heart, I know that none of these treatments will work. But the guilt associated with accepting it is something I can’t face yet. By letting it go, I feel like I’m giving up on her, and it’s so hard…so damn difficult.
“I do love you, Stell. I do.”
I hug her close to me, and she rests her face against my chest. We stand in this embrace, silent, prisoners to our own thoughts.
“Let me go get our suitcases. We can start packing.”
She releases her hold on me and takes a step back. “Sounds good.”
I leave Stella to finish dressing, and I amble through the house in search of our bags. I look through the closets of the guest bedrooms, not able to remember where we stashed the suitcases after returning from our honeymoon to Europe only a month ago.
The basement. I remember and head that way.
I ascend the steps, holding all the suitcases I can carry to give Stella some options. When I reach the kitchen, I can hear her cries. Guttural loud howls composed of pure agony and pain flood the open spaces of our home. I gasp, dropping the suitcases, and I run as quickly as my feet will carry me to her.
Darting into the bedroom, I halt momentarily and take her in. She’s sitting on the floor, sobbing. Her shoulders are hunched, and they rise and fall with her sobs of pain. Her face is partially hidden from my view, but the parts I can see are red and wet from tears. She’s holding her hands in her lap, balling her fists up as she squeezes her sweater, her knuckles white.
I rush to her. “What is it? What hurts? Are you okay?” I ask in rapid succession, frantically looking for my cell phone in case I need to call an ambulance.