I stare at X Rays, wondering what it really all means ...
Thirteen years ago, she started having headaches. Finally, in November, after a migraine kept her in bed for three days, I talked her into going to the doctor. She called me from the hospital and I knew. I knew before I hung up, before I got in my car, before I stopped at the store to buy flowers, before I entered the hospital. I knew before she'd said to me, "I'm in the Oncology ward ..."
I knew then. I knew from her first migraine what was coming for her. And when the Devil gave her back to me, chip and all, I cherished every second I was given. I still cherish. Any other woman would have walked away a long time ago. She'd have stood there at my execution with her head held high and then walked away. But Dana Scully is no ordinary woman. And instead she risked everything and ran with me. And over time, we learned to forget about the chip in her neck. She was healthy. She stood to live forever.
And two years ago, those migraines came back. Two years ago, the blood returned. Two years ago, I held her hand while her doctor told her about the truths of cancer. We removed the chip, believing it was breaking down. We went through radical radiation treatments, three oncologists - including two we believe were tied to experiments - and now she takes a daily dose of anti-virals. Her doctor has had limited success treating this form of cancer as a virus that is attacking the immune system. She has lived two years with this lump in her head.
Last week we made love in the basement of the library in Bucharest. This week, we stare at X Rays.
Yesterday, they subjected her to more of the tests still wake her, gasping for breath. It seems we have spent so much of our lives in oncology wards. Yesterday, for the first time in these two bouts of cancer we heard a doctor say to us I believe it is feasible to do a biopsy on the tumor.
Instead of testing Dana, they want to test the tumor. The technology exists now that they believe they can enter the sinus cavity and take a small swipe of the material that is threatening to push into her brain. Yes, it has grown. Not substantially, but the threat grows and if the little tendrils that have emerged on the tumor lace into her brain, there will be nothing to do but hold her hand and pray more than I already do. Marshall took the chip back to New Mexico with him before we left for Romania. There are people there he trusts to examine it and not ask questions.
So here we are again. In an oncology ward, staring at X Rays. She was checked in this morning. They will go in Friday, after determining her strength. She is pale and scared and I write this now only because she finally dropped off to sleep. They have taken her off her meds because they thin the blood and they cannot risk her bleeding out. Her mother paces. Skinner glowers. The dog is allowed to be with her because she is, technically, a service animal.
And I feel guilty because I wonder what miracles still might have been worked if we hadn't trusted that sonofabitch twelve years ago and placed that replacement chip in her neck. But I couldn't lose her then and in the end, it was Dana's decision.
All of this might be for naught. But this morning as she stared at food she had no desire to eat, before they brought her a protein shake in order to get something into her system, she cried. She is scared. With the cessation of her meds, meds we had already cut back due to the damage they were wreaking on her system, the headaches are returning. Blinding. Terrifying.
She thinks she is going to die this time.
I refuse to let that happen.
We trust her doctor. The biopsy will reveal some magical treatment. She is going to live.
Forever.
I knew then. I knew from her first migraine what was coming for her. And when the Devil gave her back to me, chip and all, I cherished every second I was given. I still cherish. Any other woman would have walked away a long time ago. She'd have stood there at my execution with her head held high and then walked away. But Dana Scully is no ordinary woman. And instead she risked everything and ran with me. And over time, we learned to forget about the chip in her neck. She was healthy. She stood to live forever.
And two years ago, those migraines came back. Two years ago, the blood returned. Two years ago, I held her hand while her doctor told her about the truths of cancer. We removed the chip, believing it was breaking down. We went through radical radiation treatments, three oncologists - including two we believe were tied to experiments - and now she takes a daily dose of anti-virals. Her doctor has had limited success treating this form of cancer as a virus that is attacking the immune system. She has lived two years with this lump in her head.
Last week we made love in the basement of the library in Bucharest. This week, we stare at X Rays.
Yesterday, they subjected her to more of the tests still wake her, gasping for breath. It seems we have spent so much of our lives in oncology wards. Yesterday, for the first time in these two bouts of cancer we heard a doctor say to us I believe it is feasible to do a biopsy on the tumor.
Instead of testing Dana, they want to test the tumor. The technology exists now that they believe they can enter the sinus cavity and take a small swipe of the material that is threatening to push into her brain. Yes, it has grown. Not substantially, but the threat grows and if the little tendrils that have emerged on the tumor lace into her brain, there will be nothing to do but hold her hand and pray more than I already do. Marshall took the chip back to New Mexico with him before we left for Romania. There are people there he trusts to examine it and not ask questions.
So here we are again. In an oncology ward, staring at X Rays. She was checked in this morning. They will go in Friday, after determining her strength. She is pale and scared and I write this now only because she finally dropped off to sleep. They have taken her off her meds because they thin the blood and they cannot risk her bleeding out. Her mother paces. Skinner glowers. The dog is allowed to be with her because she is, technically, a service animal.
And I feel guilty because I wonder what miracles still might have been worked if we hadn't trusted that sonofabitch twelve years ago and placed that replacement chip in her neck. But I couldn't lose her then and in the end, it was Dana's decision.
All of this might be for naught. But this morning as she stared at food she had no desire to eat, before they brought her a protein shake in order to get something into her system, she cried. She is scared. With the cessation of her meds, meds we had already cut back due to the damage they were wreaking on her system, the headaches are returning. Blinding. Terrifying.
She thinks she is going to die this time.
I refuse to let that happen.
We trust her doctor. The biopsy will reveal some magical treatment. She is going to live.
Forever.