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“Thank you,” I say with a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
Out of habit, Lee leans forward as though he’s going to kiss me goodbye, and my breath hitches. My heart starts to race as my brain whirls, and for just a fraction of a second it’s like everything freezes and I wait for him to kiss me.
It’s like this every time, like my world pauses while he kisses me, but today is different. He seems to catch himself when he’s almost in touching distance and at the last moment he turns his head to press a kiss against my cheek. It’s so close to my lips, I can almost feel him right on the edge, but it’s not enough. He lingers for just a moment before pulling back, leaving a burning spot on my cheek where his lips just were.
Tears begin to well up in my eyes, and I need him to leave so they can fall freely without him knowing. As he turns, I hear his breath hitch and I wonder if he’s feeling the pain as much as I am.
“Goodbye, Em.”
“Goodbye, Lee.”
The door closes and I just about make it so I can collapse on my bed before the tears start to fall. Sobs wrack my body, and I don’t ever think they will stop.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
EMMALEIGH
“Em, I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass out of that bed right this damn second, I will come and drag you out myself,” my best friend, Lucy, shouts loudly from the kitchen.
It’s been almost two weeks since Lee left, and for the first few days, I actually had to take the SIM card out of my phone to stop me from texting him. I genuinely felt like an addict struggling to go cold turkey, thinking of all the different ways I could survive without my fix. I didn’t just miss him, I craved him. And being without him, not having him in my life, even just a text, it hurt worse than any physical wound. Take it from the clumsy accident prone girl who has broken more limbs than the average person, pain in the heart hurts worse than anything else.
Naturally, when people couldn’t get in touch with me, they started to panic. This led to a very long lecture from my mother, who threatened to move in with me if I ever worried her like that again. So, I got my phone up and running again, but my desire to hear from him was still there. Well… until a couple of days after the appointment I told Lee about. I hate when my mind drifts back there.
The doctors, after a lot of backwards and forwards whilst I was in hospital, they thought they knew what I had, but they needed me to have a lumbar puncture, which isn’t a procedure they do at my hospital. So the following Tuesday, my dad drove me an hour down the road to our nearest specialist facility.
To say I was terrified is an understatement. As a nurse, I know what a lumbar puncture is, and I know how to perform one—not that I do, that’s a job for specialist doctors—but I know nothing at all about what it feels like to have one.
As I laid there in a ball, with a nurse trying to keep me calm, while another nurse stuck a large needle into my spine, I tried to think of better things. They told me to find my happy place, as that helps. But in all honesty, I pushed my happy place away, and thinking about it—about him—does nothing but hurt.
After sticking the needle in my back repeatedly over around an hour, the nurse finally admitted she was unable to complete the procedure, and that I would need to come back in an hour and have it done under guided X-ray. Neither myself or my dad, who had been waiting for me, were very happy. My back was so bruised already, and I didn’t like the idea of them trying again.
Thankfully, under guided X-ray they were able to do it within minutes, and I couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t do it this way to start with. But if I thought the pain of the procedure was bad, it was nothing compared to the appointment to discuss the results.
My dad took me, and I was actually glad it was him. My dad hates hospitals, and so to make up for being uncomfortable, he always tried to make me laugh. I’ve been in and out of hospital since I was a kid, and we’ve developed a little routine now. He never talks about anything heavy, and instead spends his time trying to distract me.
This includes playing the hardest game of Eye Spy that anyone has ever played. You would think playing with a sick child means you dumb it down a little so they can win, but no. My dad is insanely competitive, and it actually became funnier trying to guess his really obscure answers. One of his more difficult, and therefore funniest, was in the very hospital waiting room we were in, and he said the letters ‘EWS’.
I don’t know how long I spent guessing before I finally conceded, and he told me the answer was ‘Emergency Warning Sign’. How the hell a ten year old was supposed to get that, I will never know. But it made me laugh, which I think was the point.
Though, at this appointment, now that I’m older and a lot more knowledgeable, it’s harder for Dad to distract me. Still, he tried, and he did manage to make me laugh a few times, which made the waiting time a little less anxious.
We were in with the doctors for almost fifteen minutes, but it may as well have been just a few seconds. As soon as he confirmed their suspected diagnosis, my world fell apart. A ringing sound blurred my hearing, and those fucking spots in my eyes started up again. My stomach rolled, and I didn’t know if I was going to be sick or if it was just anxiety.
I have a condition now. A label. Something that will follow me around wherever I go. My life will change forever after this very moment, even if I don’t want it to.
“The tests confirm you have Relapse Remitting Multiple Sclerosis. It’s a neurological condition where your immune system attacks the healthy cells in your brain when they shouldn’t. Depending on which area of the brain is affected, will determine what symptoms that relapse produces. I know this is a lot to deal with all at once, so we will refer you to our MS specialist nurse. Once you have come to terms with your diagnosis, we can get you started on treatment,” the doctor explains, his voice displaying no emotion at all.
It’s almost like he’s reading from a script, and I’m the tenth person he’s read it to just today. he sounds almost bored, but this is my fucking life. I don’t want some cookie cutter explanation, I want something real.
I can feel the anger building the whole time he’s talking, and I only pick up on bits as the rage is making me lose focus. When he finally stops his speech, I snap. “Why the hell do I have to come to terms with my diagnosis before I start treatment? You’ve just diagnosed me with a condition that will one day kill me, but in the meantime, my life will just deteriorate to the point it’s unrecognisable. That’s not something you come to terms with overnight, so why the hell do I have to wait for treatment?”
My dad places his hand on top of mine, but I shrug it off. I don’t need comfort, and I don’t need him trying to calm me down. I’m anything but calm, and I want some fucking answers.
“Treatment is long term and can be very strenuous on the body depending on which you choose, and most are still experimental with very little research. We need to know you’re in the right place to make those kinds of decisions. And MS is not necessarily a disease that will kill you. Research is advancing—” he explains, but I cut him off before he can give me any more bullshit.
“Research may be expanding, but MS is still an incurable condition. It’s still a degenerative condition. And most people with MS die on average ten years before people who don’t have it—or sooner if they kill themselves, which is a high probability given the awful nature of the disease. Don’t forget, doctor, I’m a nurse. I’ve cared for people with MS, in all stages. I know what it does to your body.”
“Enough, Em. Please, just let the doctor speak,” Dad snaps at me before turning back to the doctor. “Sorry about that, it’s a lot to take in.”
