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daniels-howl-blog · 7 years

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Was it all worth it?

Daniel was a dying boy. And It was apparent that this chapter would be the last of his story. Or at least it had before the day a Sercert Government facility took him in for some experimental treatment that might save his life. But at what cost? Word count: 2010 (give or take) This is first post so tell me if you would like more of this story. Tw: This discusses very sad topics including hair loss and other cancer treatment side effects so be ready. __________________________________________ Chapter 1

The first blow came when the doctor said those words. The words, that’s sound carried the weight of gunshots in the thick air. They made time stop and my heartbeat ring in my ears as they made me realize how meaningful and precious each of the continuing consistent beats were. I remember my mother being in a hysteria beside me, so much so that some nurses came in a rush to see if they were needed. Her tears fell like a river and dripped down her face like a broken tap, multiple drops taking their time forming at different rates but still dropping all at once without consistance. Her cheeks were red and angry from the rushing tears and her chest rose and fell with a speed of a hummingbird’s wings in flight. She grabbed the doctor for dear life in shallow attempts of him possibly taking back his words, realizing his mistake and letting us keep our false sense of anxious tranquil but the only thing that left his lips was a facsimile apologize that was sincere but too often experienced and repeated to land as anything more then pity. The screaming sobs filled the air and further muffled the doctors words of reassurance but we had known what he was trying to say regardless. No words left me and my breaths were quiet and slow, my ears were stuffed with cotton and my lips were pressed into a thin line. I hadn’t felt it yet, I hadn’t truly let it register and maybe at that time I was still in denial.

The second blow was a few weeks after the hospital visit and another boring sit com sat through while I waited for it to be over. I had come home to take a shower and get the smell of anesthesics and cleaning materials off my skin. I wordlessly walked to my room when we entered the house.

I didn’t talk much during after these times or at all, neither of us did. There was nothing to say about the matter, no point. I got in the shower and let the water fall as I washed, letting my mind go blank and my eyes close as I stood under the shower head. I absent-mindedly felt around for the shampoo, finding it and beginning to apply it. I relaxed under the water and let my arms move on their own to bathe my skin and wash my hair.

I had noticed how soft my hair was and how the tangles seemed to give so easily even when it had been a while since I properly maintained it, given the constant fatigue of even the idea of combing it.

I had pressed the pads of my finger to my scalp, massaging it to relieve my mind’s heaviness when it happened. I had given only the slightest tug when I felt my hair give way. My eyes snapped open as I looked at my hands. They were tangled in hundreds of brown strains and I saw more swirling down the drain with the running water. It was only a moment of staring, eyes wide before the screaming began.

But this time it was my own, the sound was shrill especially to my own ears but at that moment no other sound seemed to make sense. I dropped to my knees curling into myself as my hair appeared as a dark sludge, taken down the drain while my screams continued.

My screaming and sobbing didn’t stop even when a towel was put around me and arms pulled me in. My tears didn’t stop even when sweet comforting words were whispered in my ear and time didn’t stop no matter how much I begged for anyone to take away my memories and make me forget, letting me become numb again.

Sound was muffled and distorted and even that slowly faded, so everything sounded like what can only be described as a soft white noise, grief struck me down for everyday I tried to pretend that what was happening wasn’t really and the words played through my mind again and again, fuelling my screams.

“-you have cancer.”

~ School only got more difficult, logically, people wouldn’t stop asking why I always wore a hat, even in gym. And though I simply shrugged and ignored the question it got harder to not want to break down or get angry, because everytime I took off my hat I knew more of my hair would go with it. My mother had offered on many occasions to just shave it all off but, I always refuse. I didn’t think I could handle seeing that, but I knew losing all my hair was inevitable with the treatment, that made it choppy and rough in some areas.

I had been in gym running laps with my class and had broken a sweat from just the first couple of runs. I was already so close to being done but no one esle had sat down and I didn’t want to be the first one to tire. I didn’t why it mentioned so much at the time, it just did. No matter how much my body protested and yielded me to stop I kept going, my stomach churned and my muscles ached but I pushed on because someone had to tired at some point.

Halfway on my 8th lap, a white hot pain stabbed at my stomach, so intense my weak knees bucked from underneath me and I slide across the floor. I wrapped my arms around myself and shut my eyes, biting the inside of my cheek as it proceeded to puncture my insides. Whimpers escaped me and tears that I tried so hard to keep at bay streamed down my face and onto my lips.

I could hear the class crowd around me, speaking and whispering amongst themselves about what was happening.

Dallas, the school jock, class president and nicest guy in school sank beside him, trying to figure what was wrong and asking what happened. The pain was too immense for me to answer and his words held no meaning. He must of caught on because he quickly went to get the coach, who had left to gather the day's activity, while the 10 minutes warm up laps were being finished.

I didn’t remember much after that when my mother was called and I suddenly woke up in a hospital bed hooked up to a IV. It was night all of a sudden and my mother was asleep next to me her head laid on her arms with her back arched from also sitting in a chair.

My doctor had told me to take it easy when excersising but I told my mother to hold off on telling my gym teacher to prevent the embarrassment of being put on the spot for doing a special regiment. She made me promise to be careful but that didn’t quite click in my mind until now.

I had to stay in the hospital for a week for testing, proper rest and fluid administrations. My head would throb terribly in the middle of the night and when my eyes opened, a sleep-deprived nurse would smile sadly down at me as they administered another sedative. A warm previously cold cloth was always settled on my forehead. My mother came to visit every time she could with balancing her job to keep up with the hospital bill and the appropriate visiting hours. Random family member whom I’d swore I never met prior came to visit with books, cards and get Well Soon balloons, that would float dangerously close to the ceiling fan in my room.

That was really my only entertainment, aside from the total of 3 channels on the hospital television that consisted of Sit-Coms, Spanish Soap Operas and long product advertisements for women of an older age then I.

My mother and I talked more after that though. But she never mentioned our current situation or why I did what I did, she didn’t even yell at me the day I refused to eat due to feeling of heavy stones in my stomach. She talked about everything but, she talked about my childhood, she asked about me, how I felt, she told me about her day and at particularly late nights she told me about her dreams and asked about mine. I told her the same thing every night, I told her that I wanted to fly her to America and get her a big fat artery clogging hot dog, with fries and a chocolate shake to go with. She would laugh and insist tiredly that she couldn’t eat that much and I’d always reply with:

“ The chocolate shake and fries are for me-“

The conversation left us in a fit of lazy giggles and I could remember her constant tender caress on my arm so light and comforting that it never failed to lull me to sleep, even in the most unruly night when the white pain settled in my stomach late into the night and despite the continuing amount of morphine brought tears to my eyes, making the simple task of breathing almost impossible. Those nights when nurses were on standby and the tubes were down my throat, disabling my ability to speak. Because of these nights, they insisted that I had to stay a bit longer.

It took me too long to realize it and for that I blamed the endless stream of sedatives that turned my brain into mush. I didn’t realize why my mother had started to speak constantly the way she did, soft and faraway. Or why my symptoms seemed to continued to get worse and the nurses would look at me with those sad smiles and gave me gentle, careful, and tentative care.

I wasn’t getting better.

Staff wouldn’t let me look in a mirror no matter how much I asked and it came to a point when I couldn’t even manage a trip to the bathroom without assistance. My limbs always had the sensation of intense pins and needles and my muscles became weaker with each passing day. Not too long after, my scheduled afternoon treatments stopped, even though I continued my stay at the hospital.

My mother had long pulled me out of school and it took me 3 weeks to notice that the nameless family members stop visiting and dropping off gifts.

The medicine kept me numb and unaware of things around me. But at late nights when the pain would come with a vengence and my mother wasn’t there to alert the nurse, I held back from pressing the alert button beside me and I let tears fall down my face as the pain and sadness overwhelmed me. I allowed my quiet sobs to escape and I cried as much as I could before the fever set in and and my heart beat spiked alerting the nurses of my condition. It felt worse knowing you’re dying and not being able to physically react then actively dying and letting myself grieve.

When staff would come to my aid I didn’t hide the fact that I had been crying but only allowed my sobs to get louder as they pulled out that needle and came towards my IV. I used the little energy I had to fight weakly as the sedative flooded my bloodstream and my brain began to slow as well as the thoughts that drove my misery. At first I welcomed the feeling but now, I could only hate it so much, it forced a cloth over my eyes and pushed me into a restless slumber.

I vaguely remembered the murmurs of my mother and another man I didn’t recognize speaking. They spoke for a long time even as I went I’m and out of consciousness. And I could barely make out what they said.

“ Treatment-…

”…-experimental-…“

”…Save him"

The exchange and change of voices confused me so much that I finally stop listening and let the medicine dull my senses and take me into muddled darkness once more.

-Written By Deanna, first girl of the DanHowl Community leaders-

#werewolf #werewolf!dan #amazingphil #danisnotonfire #supernatural #phan #phanfiction #phanfic au #angst #cancer #experimental #wasitallworthit?#dan howell #phil lester #1stpost

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