Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
He nods, that heaviness still right there in his eyes—eyes that look so similar to his daughter’s. “Either way, I appreciate you,” he tells me. “I know I haven’t made life easy for you over the last year, but there’s no denying how happy you’ve made her.”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her,” I say just as Zoey begins to stir in my arms. She yawns, and the soft, pained groan that follows shatters me.
“Mmmmm,” she moans, opening her eyes and peering into the brightness of her room before glancing up at the clock. “Shit. I didn’t mean to sleep that long.”
“You’re fine, Zo,” I tell her, brushing my fingers over her waist, terrified of the thought I might never get to hold her again.
She looks around her room, taking in the empty walls and lack of flowers. “Has Dr. Sanchez been in yet? Is it time to go?”
“Not yet,” Erica says, leaning forward in her chair to grab Zoey’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “She should be here any minute with your results for the first phase of your chemo, then we’ll be able to take you home and figure out our next steps.”
Zoey nods and presses against my chest for leverage to help herself up, and I can’t help but notice just how weak she is in her movements. She rubs her eyes as I reach for her bottle of water and press it into her hands, despite not being asked for it. She’s not the best at remembering to have water, so whoever is closest is on water patrol. Every twenty minutes, force her to have at least a few sips, even if it means getting your head bitten off. Same goes for food, though that task has been a little more challenging, especially on chemo days.
Zoey is just finishing her small sips of water and handing me back the bottle when Dr. Sanchez walks in, and she immediately grips my hand like it’s her only lifeline. Her eyes go wide and hopeful, though I see the doubt swimming deep within them.
We already know how this is going to go.
“Please tell me there’s good news,” Zoey begs, her voice already breaking.
Dr. Sanchez looks at Zoey, and the heartbreak in her eyes tells us exactly what we need to know. Zoey whimpers before the doctor says a word and we watch as she takes a seat at the end of Zoey’s bed, gently squeezing her foot. “I’m sorry, Zoey,” she tells her in a pained tone. “The results of your blood tests have confirmed that this round of chemotherapy hasn’t been successful. There are still high counts of leukemia cells in your bone marrow, which, unfortunately, means that you are not yet in remission.”
Zoey cries and turns into me, crushing her face into my chest as I hold her, fearing the worst as the doctor’s words play on repeat in my head.
The chemo didn’t work. She’s not getting any better.
Erica cries, sobbing into her hands as Hazel rushes into her father’s arms, crying as though she’s already lost her.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, being the only one among us who has the strength to voice the one question that’s circling each of our minds.
Dr. Sanchez gives me a warm smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “First and foremost, we need to allow Zoey’s body some time to rest. There’s only so much chemotherapy one’s body can handle at a time. She’ll get a few weeks to recover, then we’ll get her back in to start a second round of chemotherapy at a higher dosage.”
“A higher dosage? Does that mean it will be more intense?” Erica questions with fear in her eyes, knowing how much suffering Zoey has been through this first round, but to be more intense? Fuck! I don’t know if Zoey has the strength to push through. This round tore her to shreds.
“Yes,” Dr. Sanchez says with a regretful nod. “It will be more intense. Her leukemia is very aggressive, and over the past five weeks, it has shown that it’s not going to give up without a fight. The leukemic cells are developing quicker than anticipated, so we need to be prepared for that. There’s also a good chance that in these next few weeks of her recovery phase, the cancerous cells will begin to spread. So we’ll require Zoey to come in for regular testing. It’s important that we keep a close eye on any progression her cancer may have so we can make adjustments to her treatment plan as necessary.”
“What happens if that fails?” Zoey asks, her voice muffled by my shirt.
“Then we start looking into alternate options,” Dr. Sanchez says.
Zoey’s father shakes his head as if unable to comprehend what’s being said. “But . . . If she were to fail her next round of chemo and her cancer continues to spread, will she have the time or strength to even attempt those alternate treatments?” he asks, a gut-wrenching fear in his tone. “The chemo clearly didn’t work this time around. So why not try those alternate routes now?”