Radiate (8 page)

HAYLEY MATTHEWS: AWESOME TTYS! = )

I click off the chat window and bounce up in my chair. Another night hanging with Daniel. Is there anything better? Nope. Not really.

FML? Seriously?

No way.

Not when a cute guy is waiting for me.

Cancer, bump, tumor thingy... whatever. I’ll deal.

***

The smell of sizzling bacon and sweet pancakes tickles my nose early Saturday morning. Mom knows it’s one of my favorite meals of all time. I love the way the salty bacon mixes with the sugary syrup. An involuntary drool bolts me out of my warm, dreamy bed-cocoon, where I’ve been reliving last night’s make out session with Daniel. I walk zombielike down the stairs and into the kitchen to load up on the yummy goodness.

“Well, good morning, Hayley.”

I stop in my tracks when I see none other than Uncle Roger sitting at the table with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him and his laptop computer.

“Hey, Uncle Roger,” I say, smiling. After a cheek kiss and a hug, I pause. “Oh my God, it must be really bad.”

He peers over his glasses. “What is?”

“My prognosis.” I nearly choke on the words. “Mom called you, and now you’re here. It’s got to be the worst.”

Mom walks into the kitchen with a huge basket of laundry under her arm. “Roger, Jared’s at the store until five, but maybe after then we can—Hayley! You’re up. Look who’s here.”

“I know. I can see,” I say with a bit too much ’tude. Spinning back to my mom’s brother, I ask, “What made you come all the way from San Francisco on a Saturday to be in Maxwell, Alabama?”

Uncle Roger peels off his glasses and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Truth be known, Hayley,
you
did.”

My shoulders slump in anticipation of more talk of surgery, treatment, and missing cheerleader practice, school, and football games. I won’t have any of it.

I stab my fisted hands onto my hips, not in ready-to-cheer mode, but defiant as I’ve ever been in my life to adults. “Uncle Roger, if you’re here to tell me to quit the cheerleading squad, it’s not going to happen.”

He slides a chair out for me. “Of course, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for you, Hayley.”

I bite my bottom lip in angsted shame and let out a sigh of relief.

Placing the clothes basket into the laundry room, Mom then moves over to the counter to serve me up a plate of bacon and pancakes. It’s all hot and steamy, just the way I like it, and the flaps have butter swimming on top and over the sides. I focus my attention on the breakfast treats and take the offered chair next to my uncle.

“Eat, sweetie,” Mom says.

I plunge my fork into the food and scoop it into my mouth as if I’ve never eaten before. Nothing soothes worries like Mom’s homemade pancakes.

Sitting next to me, Mom reaches for a Sweet’N Low packet to pour into her coffee. She stirs the liquid slowly, methodically, as if hypnotized by the black swirl. “I called Roger because cancer is his specialty. And, because we need a second opinion we can
trust.
”

I nod in understanding.

Uncle Roger slides his laptop to the middle of the table, up onto the lazy Susan so Mom and I can get a better look. “I got your X-rays from Dr. Colley and from Dr. Maddox so I could study them more and be sure of what we’re dealing with.”

Seeing that gross, foamy-looking...
thing
that’s growing inside me makes the yummy pancakes turn to paste inside my stomach. I set my fork down and push the plate away.

Mom’s concern is apparent. “Roger, we should have waited until she finished eating.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I assure her. “Let’s get this over with.”

Uncle Roger pulls a laser pointer from his pocket and then enlarges the X-ray of my leg so that it’s full screen. I swallow hard as I listen to him describe what’s going on in my body.

“I’ve been studying this nonstop since it was e-mailed to me. Right here”—he points to the middle of my fibula where the growth is—“appears to be a juxtacortical or surface tumor. They’re defined as those kinds of lesions that arise adjacent to the outer surface of the cortical bone. These surface tumors have the tendency to arise from any of the mesenchymal elements present along the bone surface or from the pluripotent cells found within the periosteum.”

Uncle Roger has always been one to use big words that no one else understands. These apply to me, though, and the nausea begins to bubble up into my throat. He lost me after “appears to be . . .”

But he continues. “In most cases, it’s hard to determine whether the sarcoma arose from within the periosteum or from other juxtacortical connective tissues. As you can see, there seems to be a variety of histological tissue types within here. Possibly caused by a viral infection or something of that effect. It’s hard to tell at this juncture whether it’s benign or malignant, so that’s why we need to approach this in a conservative, slow manner instead of resorting to intrusive surgical evacuation.”

“What do
you
think, Roger?” my mom pleads.

“This is merely a plain radiograph, so the lesion demonstrates heterogeneous ossification. To understand its makings more, you would need to conduct bone density tests, an MRI, more in-depth radiology. From a purely observational standpoint, I would say that it has the potential to be a high-grade osteosarcoma. Hayley’s demonstrated an enlarged, painful mass and swelling that is symptomatic of a high-grade osteosarcoma. The duration of the symptoms prior to diagnosis is relatively short because of the pain. Most patients catch it in one to six months of the lesion development.”

My eyelid twitches from the stress, and my heartbeat accelerates. His words are a cacophony of confusion to my eardrums. It’s like being battered with wave after wave of unwanted information. I have to stop him. “Uncle Roger, I don’t really get anything that you’re saying to me. I mean, I’m not stupid or anything. I get it. There’s a big, honking lesion-thingy in my leg, and it’s so not a good thing. What do we have to do to get rid of it?”

Mom takes my hand and squeezes it as we both focus on my uncle’s suggestion.

“I’ve made several calls, and you have options. These types of tumors should be approached aggressively, with wide surgical resection. You could come to San Francisco and I could refer you to a colleague of mine who specializes in orthopedic cancers. Or, you could go to the Mayo Clinic, which is world-renowned for its cancer treatment.”

San Francisco? No way. That’s on the other side of the country! “Where’s the Mayo place?” I ask.

“It’s in Rochester, Minnesota.”

My eyes roll from the information. “California? Minnesota? I can’t be that far away. I have practice, and camp, and—”

“Hayley!” Mom snaps at me. “This is your life.”

I cower in the chair, still not believing the severity of this... this... cancer that’s attached to me. I won’t let it get the best of me. I mean, medical technology is at its best these days. I’ll go to the hospital, they’ll do a few tests, cut it out, and I’ll be back to cheerleading in no time.

“Any place closer to home?” I ask Uncle Roger calmly.

“The Mayo Clinic has a location in Jacksonville, Florida, which is closer.”

“That’s about six hours from here,” Mom says.

I continue to gnaw on my bottom lip as all of this unfolds around me. “That’s so far.”

Uncle Roger lays his hand on my arm reassuringly. “There’s one more option, Hayley. I’ve got it on good authority that there’s a doctor that specializes in not only orthopedic cancers, but juvenile cases. His name is Dr. Tanner Dykema, and he’s been written up in
Cancer
magazine for his accomplishments. He approaches each case methodically and slowly, being conservative about surgical options and postoperative treatment.”

Slowly? No, I need a doctor that’ll do this quickly. “Where is he?” I ask.

“The University of Alabama in Birmingham. UAB, my alma mater,” my uncle says with a broad smile. “It’s only three hours, and your brother is in the area. Your parents will have a place to stay while you’re in the hospital, and your dad can drive back and forth to Maxwell.”

“Your dad wanted to be here for this, but he had to be at the store. He and I agree this is the best option for you. We don’t want any rash decisions. We need to find out exactly what this is and how to treat it,” Mom says.

“I know it’s hard to look at this in any kind of positive light, Hayley,” Uncle Roger starts, “but you’re very lucky. I believe you caught this in time, and your parents are getting you medical treatment right away. Back in the eighties, these types of cancers were rarer and the options were fewer. However, progress and technology are on our side, and Dr. Dykema and his team will get you fixed up in no time.”

I certainly hope so!

I hang my head, thinking of the lost time with my cheerleader practice. It’s a necessary thing, though. We’re talking
cancer
here. Not a cold or the flu or a pulled muscle or a sprain.

This is my time .
.
. my time in the spotlight .
.
. my time to shine. Nothing’s going to slow me down for long.

Lifting my chin, I turn to Mom. “I trust y’all. And I know I’ve got to get this done. Just promise me that I’ll be back in time for cheerleader camp.”

“That’s not up to me,” Mom says. “It’s up to you, Hay.”

“When do we leave for Birmingham?”

“Monday morning,” Uncle Roger says. “I’ll make all the arrangements.”

“The sooner the better,” I say.

Suddenly my spirits perk up, and I sense the adrenaline zooming through me, perhaps rushing toward the unwanted guest in my leg, ready to do battle.

And fight like hell, I will!

The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it.

—C. C. Scott

Chloe is pissed at me.

Like I
chose
to have cancer and go to the hospital.

“Am I supposed to hold your spot for you?” she asks me in the snarkiest way imaginable Sunday afternoon at Madison’s house. Mrs. Ingram and my mom called a special meeting so I could inform the team of what’s going on with me.

“Um... yeah,” I say, dumbfounded.

I don’t know what I expected from Chloe. Perhaps that she be
human,
if that’s possible? I certainly didn’t expect tears from her like I got from Ashlee, Ashleigh, and Tara. The other girls surrounded me and hugged me, saying they’d pray for me and that I can beat this. Cancer’s not an everyday word at PHS, so to hear a cheerleader has it really rocks the house.

Lora’s right there, too, holding my hand like the dedicated partner she is. “I’ll work with other bases while Hayley’s away. It’s no big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal!” Chloe screams out. “We’ve got six weeks until camp, and we still have a lot of work to do on our routine, our pyramids, our stunts, you name it. And now we’re down a person?”

“It’s not like she planned it,” Lora snaps.

“This was supposed to be
our
year,” Chloe says. “First place at camp.”

I’m paralyzed in place by Chloe’s insensitivity. What a royal bitch. I understand that camp is important... but this is, like, my life!

Before I can get my incensed thoughts to spill from my lips, Mrs. Ingram finally speaks up. “Now, Chloe, I appreciate your passion for the squad, but Hayley’s one of ours, and we have to support her.” She turns to me. “Besides, it’s only for a few weeks, and then Hayley will be back. We can just work around the hole in the routine and cheers. We’ll make it work.”

It’s definitely my goal to return. Nothing’s keeping me from camp. “Yes, ma’am. I promise to practice the cheers and dance moves in my head until I’m back on my feet.”

Chloe harrumphs and mutters, under her breath but loud enough to hear. “You should have stayed in the band where you belonged.”

Mrs. Ingram snaps. “Chloe! How rude. You are her captain, and you will support her. All of us will.”

She relents. “Yes, Mrs. Ingram. Sorry, Hayley... I’m just thinking about what’s best for the team. We’re all concerned about your health and getting better.” The words are coming out of her mouth, yet the candy coating around them is just that. Sweet and fake.

Still, I smile. “Thanks, Chloe. You can count on me.”

Lora hugs me. “Of course we can!”

Everyone hugs me one last time, and I feel the support surrounding me.

“I’ll come up to Birmingham and see you,” Lora promises. “Text me and call me. Anything you need from me, you’ve got it.”

A thin mist covers my eyes as my heart feels like it’ll pound out of my body. “Thanks Lora. You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” Lora says. “Give ’em hell, Hayley.”

***

I toss my stuff into the back seat of the truck and look at my cell phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. I texted Daniel, but I haven’t heard back yet.

From behind me, I hear, “I heard the news.”

Gabriel’s there, inching toward me cautiously. He’s wearing beige cargo shorts, a baggy I’ve Got Soul T-shirt with a picture of the Grim Reaper, and he’s carrying a plastic bag.

“Hey,” I say, and smile. It’s weird to have him back... weird in a good way. He was such a good friend. Maybe when I get back from Birmingham, we can resume the good old days. Minus the earwigs. “Yeah... the big
C
word, huh?” I say jokingly, still not exactly grasping what I’m about to face.

He grins back halfheartedly. “My aunt had breast cancer last year. She had surgery and treatment and is doing great. Doctors do wonders, Hayley.”

“I know,” I say. “I’m not worried.” See, when I think of cancer, I think of it happening to older people, like Gabriel’s aunt. Not to teenagers like me.

“Good,” Gabriel says. “You have to have a positive attitude. Don’t let this shit get you down.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“Oh, I’ve got something for you.” He reaches into the plastic bag and withdraws a white box. “Here . . .”