What's Left of Me

He makes me feel happy, complete, and, most importantly, loved.

I can survive cancer.

I will survive cancer.

But I know for a fact that I will not survive losing Parker if he can’t look past the disease and see what lies beneath.

“Please open the door, Aundrea.” His voice is softer. I can picture him, head resting against the door and hand on the knob, waiting for me to let him in.

I take a deep sigh. Reaching up with one hand, I unlock the door and slide out of the way.

The door is pushed open slowly. All I see are his black Steve Madden shoes coming to stand in front of me.

He doesn’t speak. I just hear a soft sigh of relief as he crouches in front of me.

My heartbeat is fast and irregular. I try to calm my breathing, counting to ten in my head.

When I finally do lift my eyes to his, I’m not met with passion and desire. These eyes are different. They’re the eyes of a confused man, unsure of who is sitting before him.

There is no movement. Not from him or me. Our eyes stay locked and I swear I’m not breathing. I can hear the blood flowing in my veins, building pressure in my ears.

His eyes roam over my face and with a soft breath he whispers, “What happened?”

I want to open up to him. I need to open up to him. But how do you tell someone you love that you have cancer? That you're slowly slipping away? That your body is floating away from you? There is no right time. No right moment. No right words. Words I need to speak. Words I need to form, but can't seem to get out.

My hands begin to tremble as I bring them to his face, cupping his cheeks.

Slowly, I lean into him, bringing my lips to his. It’s the lightest of touches.

Neither of us move or deepen the kiss. We just stay there, connected, absorbed in one another, the only sounds our shallow breathing and the clock slowly ticking away each passing second.

He brings his hands to each side of my neck, brushing his thumbs back and forth in soft short strokes. I don’t even know I’m crying until the tears make their way between our lips moistening them.

“I have cancer.” It’s the faintest whisper. So quiet, I’m not even sure I said it. But when his thumbs stop moving, I know he heard me.

Parker grabs my shoulders, lightly moving me away from him so he’s looking at me straight on. I watch his eyes as they scan over me. My lips, my nose, my eyes, my forehead, finally stopping on the pink and orange wrap that is in place of the hair he normally sees. I watch as the vein on the side of his neck throbs, showing how fast his heart is beating. His throat gradually moves as I watch him swallow.

“S-Since … since when?” His voice breaks on the words.

“Since I was seventeen.” I try to sound confident, but instead, my words come out fragile and weak.

Parker runs his hand through his hair and stands. I don’t follow him, or try to comfort him. I just watch as he paces my room. When I get dizzy from watching him, I stand up, leaning against the wall for support, and just wait. Wait for him to process it. Wait for him to ask questions. Wait for him to look at me.

He stops abruptly and, looking out my bedroom window, he asks, “Are you dying?”

“I’m sorry? What did you say?”

Usually when people learn I have cancer, the last thing they ask is if I’m dying. People want to know what kind of cancer, how I’m feeling, and sometimes what I’m doing for treatments, but no one has ever asked me if I’m dying.

“Are you dying?” He says it louder this time, still not looking at me.

“We’re all dying, Parker.”

That causes him to move so fast that I don’t even see it coming. One second he’s across the room, and the other he’s right in front of me. Placing his hand under my chin, he lifts my face so that I’m forced to look into his sad, sympathetic eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“No,” I whisper. He lets out a sigh, but I continue. “At least, not anytime soon.”

That causes him to tense.

“Look, I don’t know how to answer that, but what I can tell you is I have a team of doctors doing whatever they can to keep my cancer from spreading. I have one chemo treatment left before my transplant.”

“Transplant?”

“I had my bone marrow taken from me at the end of August for my stem cells to be frozen, then replaced after my chemotherapy.”

“Why?” His voice has turned strong. It’s loud and alert.

“My chances of accepting the transplant are higher if it comes from me rather than a donor. And, in my case, the doctors don’t want to take any more chances. My blood counts were decent, so they took the transplant from me.”

He walks away from me, going to sit on the edge of my bed. He rests his elbows on his knees, putting his head in his heads.

Without looking up, he asks, “I mean, why do you need a bone marrow transplant?”

“Because of the type of chemotherapy. The drugs I’m getting are too strong. They’ll kill all the bad cells I have so, in turn, I have to replace them with healthy cells from the bone marrow after the treatment is finished.”

He sits there, breathing in short, shallow breaths. When he looks up at me, I see his sadness. His pity.

“Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“With those sad puppy dog eyes you give to one of the animals you’re trying to save. I don’t want your sympathy or pity, Parker. It’s that look, right there, why I didn’t want you to know.”

“I don’t pity you, Aundrea. I …”

I move to stand on the opposite side of my room. I need some space between us for this conversation. If I am going to open up to him, then I need to be able to think clearly.

“Were you going to tell me?” He doesn’t turn to face me, but continues to look into the empty space I just left.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. When I had the courage.”

He turns then, looking in my direction. “Do you have the courage now?”

“I’d like to think I do, but deep down I’m not sure.”

We don’t speak. I move back to the bed and sit on the edge. He stands like a statue, staring out my window. Our eyes meet often, but he always looks away first, like it pains him to look at me.

“You should have told me sooner.”

“I know.”

“I …” He looks at me with his mouth open, but no words come out. He closes it, then opens it again. “I need a minute.”

My eyes follow him as he starts to walk in circles around my room, stopping to rub his face, or run his hand through his hair.

When he stops in front of the door, my hand flies to my mouth to stop the choking sob. My eyes fill with tears and slowly, one by one, they start to fall. This is it.

Just as his hand touches the door handle, I blurt out, “I know this is all too much for you. Hell, it’s too much for me at times.” I wipe the tears from my swollen eyes. “But I want you to know I understand if you walk away. I won’t hold it against you, or think differently of you.”

Parker drops his hand and turns around so quickly that I have to blink to make sure I’m seeing him correctly. Walking closer to me, our eyes locked, he speaks loudly, “Aundrea, I’m mad and frustrated you didn’t tell me sooner. I had a right to know.”

I nod. “I know. I am so sorry, Parker.” I choke on my sobs, trying to push them away.

Bending down in front of me, he whispers, “You need to listen very carefully to what I am about to say, okay?”

I nod because I can’t speak.

“You own me, Aundrea. As much as it pains me that you couldn’t tell me, I couldn’t walk away from you if I tried. The second I laid eyes on you that night, in the mirror, I knew it.” He takes my hands in his, squeezing gently. “I would be a damn fool to let you slip away from me. I am so unbelievably in love with you.”

The tears slide down my face as my shoulders shake uncontrollably at his words.

“I’ll wait, Aundrea. I’m here when you’re ready to talk to me.”

Eventually, he takes the spot next to me on the bed, never letting go of my hand. I feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to speak.

I search for the words to explain everything, but I can’t even form a coherent sentence in my brain. I don’t know where or how to start. Instead of trying to think of what to say, I just start to speak.

I open up.

I let him in.

“There are times I feel defenseless. Like there is nothing I can do, no matter how many walls I build. My cancer always finds a way back in. It’s changed me, and sometimes I’m not sure if it’s made me stronger or weaker. I know I’m not perfect. I can be moody, and Lord knows I can be emotional. I have flaws that I’m not proud of. Some that are because of my cancer, and others that are just me. I lack confidence when it comes to being seen in public, looking like someone I don’t even recognize, with or without a wig. You’re the first person who has made me feel beautiful, like I can be and do anything I want. And, more than anything, I’m scared that you’ll never be able to go back and see me that way.”

He turns so that he’s looking at me. “I don’t see you as anyone but you, Aundrea.”

“You say that now, but I’ve seen what having cancer can do to the people around me. To the people I love. It destroys them. It causes them nothing but pain, and they have to plan their life around me and my treatments. All I’ve wanted to do is protect you in the only way I knew how. Leaving you out of it for as long as I could.”

“Like I’ve told you before, I want to know everything about you, Aundrea. That means the good and the bad.”

“I know … but you have to understand that, for the first time in my life I had someone who saw the person, not the cancer. I was, and still am, afraid that you’ll realize being with someone who has cancer is more than you can handle. I mean, why would you be with someone who doesn’t even know if they’ll be here five years from now when you could be with someone who is healthy and has a long life ahead of them?”

“You’re the only woman I want, Aundrea. I don’t want anyone else. I could have been there with you.” His voice cracks as he forms his words, and I can see the moisture forming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry …”

“Me too.”

When he doesn’t say anything further, I continue, “I couldn’t think about starting a relationship with anyone while going through treatment. I mean, how fair would it be for you to also take care of your sick girlfriend? You say you don’t want anyone else, but what about when I’m so weak I can barely get out of bed for days and I can’t keep anything down because I’m so sick? Or when the pain is so unbearable I can’t walk? I’m falling in love with you, Parker, and I want you to be able to love me and accept me with or without cancer. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be able to see who I am behind the wigs and the pale skin. Most importantly, I want you to see past the illness that consumes me, and see the woman sitting before you. I want to be able to continue on with you like before. I want you to treat and love me as if I’m not some sick girl who people think is fragile.”