And then, one magical day, her doctor came out, and he said that he saw no problem with me going in with them. I knew Julie had pushed this, even if her mom didn't seem to have a problem with it.
I thought about how strange that was. In the movies, parents always seemed to hate the boy that was going out with their daughter, and when something bad happened, they tried to push the guy away as much as possible, because they were protective over their daughter.
Julie's parents weren't like that. They wanted me around, and they seemed to accept me as Julie's boyfriend (the word was still strange. Boyfriend. Julie's Boyfriend).
Her mom actually squeezed my hand once, while we were waiting, and gave me a comforting smile. I knew I had to look like a nervous wreck.
Julie was the only one that never looked worried. While they were running numerous blood tests, or testing her for anything else, wherever else, she looked strong and determined.
It was Mrs. Michaels and me that looked like insane patients.
And then, we were sitting in the small room, waiting for the doctor. Two chairs, one for Julie, and one for Mrs. Michaels, and then the large, oak desk.
“It's always bad when you have to go to the doctor's Office,” Julie said softly. “Isn't it?” she asked, looking to her mom.
“Or extremely good news. He could have found a donor,” she said. I tried to hold to that thought, though Julie looked unaffected. It was the first time I saw her look worried.
A few minutes later, the doctor came in. He was a tall guy, about six three, and he towered over my short Julie. He looked nice enough, even with his Abraham Lincoln beard.
“Good morning,” he told us, shaking each of our hands. He sat down behind his desk, and he laid his folder against the desk. I knew that look, because doctors had given me the same look over the years.
I stood behind Julie's chair, bracing myself against the back. I was hoping for good news, but I felt the same pessimism as Julie. Even when her hand reached behind her and touched mine, I knew we were both expecting the worst.
And then, he looked up, and he drew in a deep breath. “Things don't look good,” he said.
It was then that my ears did what they did best, and blocked out his words, and returned to Julie. I saw her below me, sinking into the chair. I felt the way she had tightly gripped my hand as he said those words.
Things don't look good.
I didn't need to know that. I already knew that. I needed to know, and Julie needed to know, that we had a chance. It was all we needed. Just one ray of sunlight to prove we could still fight this.
And then, he said it, but Julie didn't realize it. She still looked lost, but I thought I might have been found.
“-bone marrow transplant looks like our only option for recovery, and even then-”
“We haven't been able to find a match. None of us were,” her mother said to him, her voice desperate.
“What are the chances that someone outside the family is a match?” I asked. The doctor and Mrs. Michaels turned to me, staring at me as if I was crazy.
The doctor cleared his throat and shook his head. “They're very slim-”
“Falon.”
“I need numbers, doc,” I told him, cutting him off and ignoring Julie. Her voice had been small and meek, but I had heard it, and she knew I had. She knew it.
“I don't have numbers. There aren't any exact numbers for that. But, it's possible. You just need to be checked to find out,” he said.
“How would I do that?”
“Falon.”
“You'd pay to have it done. They'd see if you were a match and then go from there,” he replied.
And if I'm a match, it would help Julie?” I asked.
“Falon!” Julie yelled, and stood from her chair. She was shaking, and she held my eyes angrily. “Stop it!” she demanded.
I shook my head. “I won't. There's nothing wrong with at least seeing if we coul-”
“No,” she said immediately.
“What's wrong with trying, Julie? You need it, and if-”
“No,” she said again, this time, more vehemently.
I wanted to shake her, but she looked determined. She looked to the doctor rather than meet my eyes again. “Tell him the risks. Tell him the risks if he's a match,” she told him.
The doctor folded his hands. “There are risks of complications with the anesthesia, like with any surgery. There's also a chance of nerve damage when we extract the bone marrow from you. Of course there's pain that can stick around longer than normal. There's also chances of muscle and bone damage, but they're rare,” he said.
“And, there's a chance it could not work too. There's a chance that my body can not accept it,” Julie told me.
I furrowed my brows. “And there's a chance it could work. I don't see why you won't at least let me see if I can help you,” I asked her.
She shook her head. “I refuse. I won't let you do it, and I won't accept it. I'll wait for another donor,” she said.
“They have the same risks,” I told her.
She looked up, and I saw the real fear. The fear she was truly feeling. She shook her head, and met my eyes. “They're not you.”
♥
The outcome was bleak. We walked out of the doctor's office with him telling them what they expected to hear. Chemo and radiation
