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“Jim, please let me take you to the hospital. Please,” Pam begged, sounding more and more frantic by the minute. 


Jim shook his head stubbornly. 


“It’s just a reaction to the...,” he gulped down the nausea rising in his throat, “To the chemo. It’s always like this.” 


“It is not always like this! This is different! Something is wrong!”


It was almost midnight on the first day of Jim’s very last week of chemo. He’d finally made it to the home stretch. Just that morning his doctor had told both him and Pam that he had high hopes for the big surgery in a few weeks. They’d celebrated just hours ago with a dinner they’d cooked together, the first he’d had the energy to participate in for several weeks. But now, just when everything seemed to have balanced again, cancer tipped the scales. 


Things had taken an abrupt turn for the worst when he had woken, after having barely been asleep, in such severe pain that his whole body convulsed violently. He bit his lip for several minutes, maintaining a weak hope that it would pass, but it did not, and nausea found him as it always did. 


He’d felt his way to the bathroom as quickly and quietly as he possibly could, not wishing to wake Pam who, for now, slept peacefully. She’d been so happy today and more hopeful than he’d seen her, maybe even since the beginning of this whole ordeal. He hated to think that he would soon be the one to rip her from that and tried, with great difficulty, to suffer in silence. She must have noticed his absence, though, because it wasn’t long before he heard a gentle knock on the door and felt her soft hand on his skin. Even as he wretched and spat into the toilet bowl, it traveled across his tensed shoulders to slip under the sweat soaked bangs that clung to his forehead. 


He leaned into it slightly with eyes still closed,

secretly relieved, despite himself, that she had come for him. 


“Oh, babe,” he heard her sigh. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”


Jim struggled to reel himself back together long enough give her an answer. 


“Was trying to wait it...it out,” Jim choked and gagged again. 


The moment his stomach stilled, he crashed back roughly against the bathroom wall, leaning his head against it with eyes screwed shut. The pain seared into him like blades, but he knew it would pass soon. It always passed soon. 


Pam sat down beside him, and he felt the soft fabric of her pajamas brush against his arm. It brought momentary relief, sweet if only temporary. 


“Then let’s wait it out,” she whispered, and placed her hand on his thigh. 


He felt her warmth despite the fever. 


But that was two hours ago, and now Jim’s body unraveled before their eyes even as Pam, clearly terrified, plead with him to go back to the hospital. 


He remained alone on the cold tile floor trembling violently as Pam paced back and forth in the pale bathroom light. It should’ve passed by now, but it hadn’t, and she knew it. Meanwhile he tried, yet again, to quietly breathe through another painful stomach spasm, whimpering slightly as it peaked.


When he opened his eyes again, she had stopped pacing and begun to watch him, her arms folded tightly against her chest and her lips pursed into a thin line. 


“Those lips...,” he mused silently. 


But unmerciful pain spiked again before he had even the time to finish his thought. Jim gasped against his will, and somewhere in front of him, he heard Pam fumbling inside one of the bathroom drawers, eventually pulling out a medicine bottle that the hospital had given him weeks ago, for when the pain became intolerable. 


“Here,” he heard, and she forced two chalky pills into his sweaty palm. 


Jim looked at her silently, then down at his hand. He’d spent his days heavily medicated for weeks now just to get through. The pills made him feel distant, absent from his wife and baby. He hated them and hated himself on them, making sure each dose was absolutely unavoidable before it was taken. He looked back to Pam, torn and too exhausted to make a decision for himself. 


“Take them,” she instructed again, sounding if possible, more frantic. “They’ll help.”


“Pam,” he said softly, holding onto her hand that had released the medication. 


“Please,” she begged, her lip trembling even as she spoke. 


A new kind of pain surfaced inside of him, accompanied as usual by guilt and insecurity. 


“Hey, hey,” he soothed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. 


“We need to go to the hospital,” she said again, this time with obvious tears falling from her bloodshot eyes. “I’m freaking out,” she whispered and her voice broke slightly under the weight of panic. 


He pulled her closer as she knelt in front of him, stilling the trembling long enough to kiss her forehead. 


“Look at me,” he demanded gently and she gazed into his eyes. His stomach leapt differently inside of him, if not easing the pain then surely making it far less noticeable. “I’m okay,” he swore to her. “I am. Everything’s okay.”


“No,” she replied, shaking her head more than necessary, yet she did not break eye contact.  “No. You don’t get to say that.”


Jim, taken back, shook his head slightly, at a loss. 


“What do you mean,” he asked, gripping her hand still more tightly. 


“You don’t get to say that to me,” she said again, almost accusingly. 


She was sobbing now, but Jim, still confused, gulped down his response in silent wait of her own timing. 


“You don’t have to watch your soulmate die, Jim,” she said with a shuddering breath. “You just don’t.”


Jim had no words. He simply gaped at her. She did not ask for his response, though, only reached forward to touch his chest, one hand still wrapped tightly in his. He felt his heart hammer underneath her fingers. 


“I will not let you die,” she sobbed. Then again, “I can’t watch you die.”


XXX


Jim woke the next morning and blinked groggily up at the bright sun streaming in through the slitted blinds. He used most of his energy to roll himself over, noticing first, the small trash can placed directly beside his head. 


“How do you feel,” he heard. 


Jim started, finally noticing his wife sitting on the coffee table beside him, watching him. 


“How long have you been there,” he asked, squinting up at her. 


Her eyes had dark circles under them that could no longer fully be hidden by makeup. She did not attempt her usual brave smile. 


“All night,” she responded. 


He reached out for her hand and grasped it firmly realizing, also for the first time, that he was on the couch. 


“How did I get in here,” he questioned her, genuinely confused. Last night was just a string of blurry memories. 


He was chemo drunk. 


“You were really sick last night,” she explained to him, absentmindedly playing with his fingers. “We were up for hours. I think it was one of the worst nights we’ve had.”


Jim swallowed again. His throat felt swollen and raw. 


“You didn’t want to lay in the bed,” he questioned, wracking his mind to connect broken puzzle pieces. 


“Well...,” she said softly, offering him a grimace, the first slight form of smile he’d seen that morning. 


Jim groaned to himself. 


“What did I do,” he asked. 


“Nothing on purpose,” she interjected assuringly. “Just...you were just really sick and...you threw up on the sheets.”


Yep, this was a new low. 


He pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair, settling finally over his eyes. 


“I’m so sorry,” he sighed, absolutely mortified. 


She pulled his hand away. 


“You were really, really sick,” she said again. “You get a pass.”


When he finally brought himself to look at her, she wore a small smirk, easing his humiliation slightly. 


Suddenly he remembered what day it was. 


“What time do you have the big lunch with that customer,” Jim asked. 


“Oh,” she sighed, squeezing his hand slightly. “It’s at noon, but I’m going to call and cancel.”


Jim’s heart dropped. 


“But this is a huge sale! You’ve been talking about it for weeks,” he said confusedly. “What changed?”


She offered him another small smile and his heart sunk even lower. 


“Oh...I changed,” he realized, looking away from her again. 


“It’s just, you still have a low fever and after last night...I just don’t want to leave you right now.”


Jim felt the familiar sting of guilt and tried to push himself higher up on his pillow in an escape attempt. 


“Hey, look, I’m alright now. Last night was just a super bad reaction. It’s over. See?”


He smiled at her, a super cheesy smile, probably looking a little more crazed than actually happy. She returned it, but continued to stare at him, looking very much still worried. 


“I think I can survive two hours without you,” he croaked with a smirk of his own. “As fantastic as you are.”


Pam’s smile became more genuine, if only just barely, her inner conflict playing across her face. 


She finally settled on, “Will you at least eat something before I go?”


Jim’s stomach flipped at the thought. She must’ve seen his hesitation because she added earnestly, “You have to eat something. You haven’t had anything in days.”


He knew better than to protest twice. 


“Yeah, definitely,” he nodded, and she left in the direction of the kitchen. 


Then, after a few minutes of solitary silence, he heard her cell phone ring. 


“Hey, mom,” he heard. “Will you be here soon to get the baby? I have to leave in a few minutes.”


Pam’s mom had been doing so much to help them out with their daughter since he’d gotten sick, and Jim made a mental note to do something special for her after his surgery, when things finally started looking up. 


“Oh my god. Are you okay,” Pam asked, and Jim’s chest tightened a little. “No, of course, we understand. I’ll just cancel my meeting,” she said thickly, and Jim recognized that she was about to cry. “No, no I’m fine, really mom. I’m just tired...and a little overwhelmed,” her voice broke. “I just have a lot to juggle and Jim can’t really do much anymore. It’s a lot of pressure.”


Jim’s stomach clenched sickeningly as he let this blow sink in. 


“Jim can’t really do much anymore...”


He turned over on his side and put a pillow over his ear to block the rest of the call. He didn’t need to hear how upset Pam was and her ever growing disappointment in him, but imagined all the same what she must still be telling her mother. Then, just as his pride had almost disappeared, he felt something tap on his pillow. 


It was Pam. 


“Hey,” she said sweetly with no trace in her eyes that anything had changed, “Can you sit up for me?”


Jim pushed himself up again on shaky arms, cursing his body for being so weak. Pam placed the pillow in his lap and set a bowl of steamy clear liquid on top of it. He stared down at the bowl, swallowing thickly as his stomach gave a threatening somersault. 


“Small sips,” she encouraged, and Jim reluctantly obliged. 


“You better get dressed,” he said, not wishing her to know that he had overheard the phone call. 


She sighed deeply, glancing from his eyes to the window, as she always did when she was trying to hide something from him. 


“Actually, I changed my mind. My mom’s tire popped on the way here this morning and,” she said glancing back at him momentarily, “I didn’t really want to go anyway so that actually gives me an excuse to stay here with Cece.”


Lies. Lies. Lies. 


Jim tightened his jaw and sat up as tall as he could, saying, “I can watch the baby,” as he did. 


Pam squinted back at him, a small smile playing across her lips as if the thought of him actually being a good dad was laughable. 


“Sweetheart, that takes a lot of energy and I just don’t think...”


“That I can take care of my own daughter,” he finished, growing angrier by the sentence. 


“No! That’s not what I said! It’s just I worry about you. That’s all. You need rest, Jim.”


“Or you worry that I would let something happen to her,” he said, aggressively stirring his soup. 


She reached out and grabbed his wrist. He looked hesitantly up at her. 


“I trust you completely,” she assured softly. “But I have to make some really hard decisions right now. At least until you get back on your feet...and I’m sorry if those decisions hurt your feelings.”


Jim snorted, but she was right...as usual. 


With everything in him, he summoned his strength, pushed away his pride, and looked her in the eyes. 


“Please let me do this,” he requested of her. “I need to do this.”


Pam hesitated for several long moments before responding, “I think you do,” and, squeezing his wrist, got up to go get ready. 


By the time Pam returned, Jim never wanted to see a bowl of soup ever again. He’d set it to the side and shifted down into his blanket, dozing in and out while he waited. He only woke when he felt something heavy and warm being laid across him. He blinked up at his wife. 


“I just took the comforter out of the drier,” she explained. “Thought you might like it.”


He did. 


She set the baby monitor down on the coffee table, next to the half eaten soup, then reached out and stroked his cheek. His skin was sensitive to contact, probably from the remnant of last night’s fever, but he savored her touch all the same. 


“Cece’s down for her nap and if you’re lucky she’ll be out for the next two hours so you can sleep, too. I’ll be back soon,” she said. “After I bag this sale, of course.”


“That’s right,” Jim assured her. “Easy out.”


“You’ll call me if you need anything, right,” she asked, maintaining a casual brave face. “Not that you’ll need it, though, because you’re capable,” she added. 


“We’re fine,” he assured her again, and pulled her forward to kiss her goodbye. 


Pam smiled at him, then stood to leave.


“Hey,” he called, catching her just before she shut the door. 


She stuck her head back through the frame. 


“You look so pretty,” he said, smiling proudly and looking her up and down. 


She rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same before saying, “Bye babe,” with a soft slam of the door. 


Jim, left alone with his thoughts, soon slipped back into unconsciousness. 


XXX


Jim woke suddenly, like a car crash or a thunderclap. 


He was covered head to toe in an icy sweat that bled copiously out onto the couch. He was freezing, unable to get warm despite being buried under the blanket. He convulsed violently and uncontrollably, great beads of water tickling his neck as they dripped. An excruciating yet reminiscent pain traveled through him like electricity and he curled into himself, feeling as if his stomach might implode. He thought for an instant that he would pass out under the strain, like he had that day in the office, but he forced himself not to. He had the baby. 


He attempted, with great difficulty, to sit up, groaning as the room span dizzyingly. The pain distorted his vision, making it difficult to concentrate on which direction he was facing. 


Something was very wrong. 


He abandoned pride. He forgot shame. Doubled and panting he stumbled to the bedroom in search of his cell phone, leaning heavily on any furniture he could find along the way. 


Pam would know what to do. 


Tripping down the hallway, the thought of nearing death penetrated his scrambled mind for the first time since the night of his first surgery, and Jim felt terror throw salt in his wounds. 


Still half blinded by pain, he groped his way around the bedroom feeling minuscule relief as his fingers brushed the cold metal of the phone. But as suddenly as relief had come, misfortune took its place. 


Jim wretched violently and unexpectedly, abandoning all as he sprinted to the bathroom. It was not elegant. His mind now saw in double. Jim simply picked one of the two bathroom doors he saw in front of him and crashed roughly through it. 


He vomited into the toilet bowl with instant tears of exertion draining from swollen eyes. His hands, bracing themselves upon the seat, shook so tremulously that he feared they may at any moment give and send him crashing face first into the cold porcelain. 


“Have to call Pam,” he thought, until another harsh gag disrupted him and he spat distastefully into the water. It was a new flavor, bitter, almost metallic. He opened his eyes just wide enough to make out a whirlwind of red reflecting back at him. 


“Not again,” he whispered. 


But he heaved once more, confirming his fear as blood gushed thickly from his mouth. 


“Oh god,” he whimpered. “Oh god. Not right now. Please.”


Pain tore through him, shredding a path as it went. He fell abruptly back onto the floor beside the sink, gasping in the wake of the nausea, eventually collapsing fully onto the cool tile. An ominous reality danced before him.


He was surely about to die. 


“I’m sorry,” he sobbed as burning tears fell. “I can’t. I’m so tired,” he cried though he knew Pam could not hear him. 


The pain was unbearable. He gripped his stomach tightly and with a gut wrenching cough, spat blood onto the floor. An unwarranted stillness passed suddenly through him as the thought of falling into blissful sleep tempted him. Maybe it was time to give up. Then, through the chaos, in the stillness, he heard his baby begin to cry. 


A new strength surfaced within him. Cece needed her father. 


Without thinking, he pushed himself up shakily and on pure adrenaline, his body wracked with pain. He grabbed his phone from the counter and as an afterthought, the pain killers beside it.


He pulled himself up the stairs and into the nursery with great struggle, immediately picking up a very upset Cece. 


“Don’t cry. Everything’s okay,” he whispered soothingly to her. 


They needed to get downstairs, because darkness was already beginning to creep back into Jim’s altered vision. He stood at the top of the stairwell and peered down. They rippled hazily. 


“Here we go,” he whispered, clutching Cece tightly to his chest and taking that first step.


He was halfway down when pain surged through him once more. He cried out audibly, still clinging to his daughter in an effort to sooth her. She echoed his scream. 


Everything moved in and out of focus, spinning horrendously and sending Jim over the edge for the last time. He vomited forcefully and without warning, spilling blood onto the carpeted stairs. His knees shook under his own weight as he stopped to wipe his mouth with his sleeve. 


“So much blood,” he thought momentarily. 


He felt light headed at the sight of it and accidentally missed a step, catching himself jerkily on the handrail before he toppled over. 


His arms felt like lead as the baby grew heavier and heavier with each second that his strength failed. He rocked Cece back and forth and, fearing he might drop her, decided to stay down. 


He leaned on the bottom step, bracing himself against the wall and laid Cece down on the carpeted landing. Her shrill scream pierced his pounding head. 


“Daddy’s sorry. I’m so sorry,” he slurred, vomiting again thick blood onto the step above him. 


With a last spasm of pain, he remembered his medicine bottle and fumbled clumsily with it. But in his desperation, the cap flew off and pills scattered around him in an explosion of medication. 


He abandoned them. 


He could not hold on. Unconsciousness taunted him. He felt around for his phone which he had dropped in the struggle, leaving one hand with his distressed child. He had time for one call, his surroundings fading quickly. Should he call Pam or an ambulance? His mind was too foggy to weigh pros and cons. But in the end, he decided that he didn’t want his wife to discover him dead. 


“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”


“Please help,” he mumbled, “My baby’s with me. B-blood,” he stuttered as slippery thoughts slid through his grasp and out of his mouth.


“I’m sending someone to you, sir. Can you tell me your address,” the operator asked. 


“Please help my daughter. My wife’s at work,” he panted, crying out again as pain ripped his insides apart. 


He dry heaved and the phone slipped from his hand, but he no longer cared, leaving it to turn back to his baby. 


“I’m right here. I’m staying right here. Don’t cry,” he begged, slipping down on the landing to lay with her. “I won’t leave you alone, ever. Just breathe,” he whispered. 


“Breathe,” he whispered again. 


“Breathe.”


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