Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Five Of Us Are Dying
The Five Of Us Are Dying
Chapter One: The End.
I sit in the lavishly furnished doctor's office, that is far too comfortable for its intended purposes. I look at the walls around me, which are covered in framed certificates and other, official looking papers.
I bit my nails nervously, wondering why he hasn't come yet.
It's his office, isn't it? Why wouldn't he be here?
I wait for a bit longer, and I pull the newest iPhone out of my jeans pocket. I mindlessly select apps, trying to pay attention to whatever I open, but closing each one every five seconds. Open. Close. Repeat. I wish I could listen to music badly, but I anticipate the doc's arrival any minute now.
The footsteps outside tease me. The sound of them come nearer and nearer the door, and my heart jumps into my throat. But then they just began to fade away, and with them, my anxiety...
It's fine. I try to tell myself. Why are you freaking out so much? What are the chances that anything is even going to happen? You know it will probably turn out to be nothing at all.
Yet I know it can't really be completely nothing. I can't deny the vomit that has been spilling out of me for the past few weeks, or the crushing pains that I've been experiencing in my lower abdomen. With all the symptoms that have plagued me as of lately, nothing would be a really bad case of the stomach flu at best.
When I notice that I have been violently shaking my leg is when the turning of the doorknob finally catches my attention. As my heart rate increases, the nausea begins to rise in me again. Suddenly I feel very, very sick.
He comes in in his white coat, a black and blue vest underneath it. Before he even has time to sit down at his desk, I am using every bit of my analytical mind to evaluate his expression.
Did he look like the bearer of bad news, or someone who was there to announce something pleasant?
His expression is, I conclude, one of exhaustion and weariness. At first, this makes me worry, but I remember that doctors are often overworked and stressed out. That tired expression could be nothing more than the result of a stressful day.
The room is dead silent as I wait for him to get settled in. He had come in with more than one chart, and he takes away some and puts them aside. Then he opens one --- presumably mine -- and proceeds to observe it's contents.
I am impatient, but I refrain from saying anything. I think this is partly due to the fact that I'm afraid what any sort of further advancement into this little meeting is going to lead to.
I hate how slow the time is going, how every second seems frozen in place for hours until it passes. And at the same time, I feel so afraid of the future events of the next thirty or so minutes. I can't tell if I want to stop time or hit some sort of super fast forward button.
The doctor takes a long time to look at my file. It is after around twenty eternities that he finally looks up at me for the first time since he came in.
I am suddenly aware of the sweat drenching my palms.
Calm down, will you?!? You're fine.
I smile at him slightly, despite the fact that it could in no way help determine my outcome. But I was always told I had an adorable smile, and it's helped me persuade others before. Maybe God might feel the same way.
My doctor certainly does not. At the very least, he does not return the sentiment. He puts down the file, and joins his hands together, letting them rest on top of the folder. His wrinkled face is clearly in a frown, and I can feel my heart already plunging.
His serious expression says it all, but I still feel like I've been hit with a train when I hear the words come out of his mouth.
"Well Gerard, we have your results." he said gruffly, "The CT scan has confirmed to us that the masses we found in your liver originates from a pancreatic carcinoma. This means the cancer has already metastasized, or spread to the surrounding areas. This is actually very common with pancreatic cancer --- most of the time, symptoms aren't felt until the cancer is already very advanced. Unfortunately, this also means that the outcome of these cases are not typically good. Your test results, for example, show us that you are already in a very advanced stage. We've determined you to be at stage three. Too advanced for surgery, I'm afraid."
I nod, trying to seem calm and collected when my stomach feels like it's doing summer salts. I had been trained to handle bad news professionally, being the lead of a famous rock band. Yet I feel unprepared for this, entirely.
A hurricane of thoughts are on the border of my mind, but first I bring myself to calm down and take one step at a time. I ask the doctor about the elephant in the room.
"So, how long do I have left?"
My wishful thinking allows me to hope that my doctor would smile at me now, telling me I'm being silly and that I shouldn't jump to conclusions. That it isn't what I'm sure it is.
But instead his expression holds the same graveness, and if anything now includes a hint of pity.
"I would say about three months, Gerard." he cocks his head slightly, the pity now overwhelming his face. "I'm so sorry."
The hurricane has hit me, and I hardly pay attention to anything the doctor says. Suddenly, I just want to leave and go back to sleep. Maybe then I'll wake up, and this will all have been some fucked up dream.
I nod at that sentences I do catch, still trying to keep my expression blank.
"...those who have less than six months to live are considered terminal, and so this makes you eligible to stay at a hospice if you like. There you can receive care that would help relieve your symptoms, as pancreatic cancer is known to be very painful in it's final stage..."
It was when he starts going on about emotional counseling that I manage to gather my senses enough to stop him.
"You know, this is kind of a lot at once doc." I interrupt, "I think... um... I think I should just go talk this over with my wife, and see what she wants to do."
The doctor pauses for a second before nodding, smiling at me slightly. "Of course, Gerard. If that's what you like. But may I advise you to make your decision quickly -- seeing as we don't have a whole lot of time. I'm going to give you the business cards to a few places you can look into, that might help you to manage this."
He proceeds to look in his drawers and retrieve some cards from some large stacks of them. He hands them over to me. I put them in my pocket.
"Thanks." I say, still trying to mind my manners. "I do have to go, unfortunately."
"I understand." says the doctor, "But don't ignore this Gerard, I'm sorry to say it's not something to be avoided."
"Yeah, I get it." I tell him, getting up from the leather chair. I realize that the only reason his office is so damn cozy is because it's a place where people are told they're about to die. Should make them comfortable at least, right?
The doctor says something else, but I leave his office without hearing it clearly.
In an hour, I'm parking my car in front of our recording studio. I barely remember the drive here, and I'm shocked I managed to not crash into anything.
When I step inside, Frank is making some coffee at the little coffee station by the doorway. Behind him, I can hear the sounds of the other two messing around with their guitars.
"Hey." Frank smiles at me, now making a second cup, which I presume is mine. The idea of coffee is just amazing right now. It's the first thing that makes me feel normal again. Like the last hour never happened.
"Hey." I return his greeting, aware it took me an oddly long time to.
"You're a bit late." Frank comments, handing me the Styrofoam cup filled with liquid heaven.
"I had a doctor's appointment." I inform him as I accept it.
"Oh yeah, how'd that go?"
Fuck. Should I tell them?
Why didn't I think of this before now?
My mind has a very intense and very short argument with itself. Then I hear either Mikey or Ray play a snippet of one of the songs we have been working on, one of my favorites. I give Frank a small smile and tell him, "It went fine. Just a check up."
Frank nods and walks past me to join the other two.
I take that first sip of coffee for the day, the liquid embraces me in warmth. As it fills me, I feel it cleanse my body of disease, at least for now.
I am afraid of nothing at all.
Next chapter: Gerard is backed into a corner until finally, he has no choice.
Chapter One: The End.
I sit in the lavishly furnished doctor's office, that is far too comfortable for its intended purposes. I look at the walls around me, which are covered in framed certificates and other, official looking papers.
I bit my nails nervously, wondering why he hasn't come yet.
It's his office, isn't it? Why wouldn't he be here?
I wait for a bit longer, and I pull the newest iPhone out of my jeans pocket. I mindlessly select apps, trying to pay attention to whatever I open, but closing each one every five seconds. Open. Close. Repeat. I wish I could listen to music badly, but I anticipate the doc's arrival any minute now.
The footsteps outside tease me. The sound of them come nearer and nearer the door, and my heart jumps into my throat. But then they just began to fade away, and with them, my anxiety...
It's fine. I try to tell myself. Why are you freaking out so much? What are the chances that anything is even going to happen? You know it will probably turn out to be nothing at all.
Yet I know it can't really be completely nothing. I can't deny the vomit that has been spilling out of me for the past few weeks, or the crushing pains that I've been experiencing in my lower abdomen. With all the symptoms that have plagued me as of lately, nothing would be a really bad case of the stomach flu at best.
When I notice that I have been violently shaking my leg is when the turning of the doorknob finally catches my attention. As my heart rate increases, the nausea begins to rise in me again. Suddenly I feel very, very sick.
He comes in in his white coat, a black and blue vest underneath it. Before he even has time to sit down at his desk, I am using every bit of my analytical mind to evaluate his expression.
Did he look like the bearer of bad news, or someone who was there to announce something pleasant?
His expression is, I conclude, one of exhaustion and weariness. At first, this makes me worry, but I remember that doctors are often overworked and stressed out. That tired expression could be nothing more than the result of a stressful day.
The room is dead silent as I wait for him to get settled in. He had come in with more than one chart, and he takes away some and puts them aside. Then he opens one --- presumably mine -- and proceeds to observe it's contents.
I am impatient, but I refrain from saying anything. I think this is partly due to the fact that I'm afraid what any sort of further advancement into this little meeting is going to lead to.
I hate how slow the time is going, how every second seems frozen in place for hours until it passes. And at the same time, I feel so afraid of the future events of the next thirty or so minutes. I can't tell if I want to stop time or hit some sort of super fast forward button.
The doctor takes a long time to look at my file. It is after around twenty eternities that he finally looks up at me for the first time since he came in.
I am suddenly aware of the sweat drenching my palms.
Calm down, will you?!? You're fine.
I smile at him slightly, despite the fact that it could in no way help determine my outcome. But I was always told I had an adorable smile, and it's helped me persuade others before. Maybe God might feel the same way.
My doctor certainly does not. At the very least, he does not return the sentiment. He puts down the file, and joins his hands together, letting them rest on top of the folder. His wrinkled face is clearly in a frown, and I can feel my heart already plunging.
His serious expression says it all, but I still feel like I've been hit with a train when I hear the words come out of his mouth.
"Well Gerard, we have your results." he said gruffly, "The CT scan has confirmed to us that the masses we found in your liver originates from a pancreatic carcinoma. This means the cancer has already metastasized, or spread to the surrounding areas. This is actually very common with pancreatic cancer --- most of the time, symptoms aren't felt until the cancer is already very advanced. Unfortunately, this also means that the outcome of these cases are not typically good. Your test results, for example, show us that you are already in a very advanced stage. We've determined you to be at stage three. Too advanced for surgery, I'm afraid."
I nod, trying to seem calm and collected when my stomach feels like it's doing summer salts. I had been trained to handle bad news professionally, being the lead of a famous rock band. Yet I feel unprepared for this, entirely.
A hurricane of thoughts are on the border of my mind, but first I bring myself to calm down and take one step at a time. I ask the doctor about the elephant in the room.
"So, how long do I have left?"
My wishful thinking allows me to hope that my doctor would smile at me now, telling me I'm being silly and that I shouldn't jump to conclusions. That it isn't what I'm sure it is.
But instead his expression holds the same graveness, and if anything now includes a hint of pity.
"I would say about three months, Gerard." he cocks his head slightly, the pity now overwhelming his face. "I'm so sorry."
The hurricane has hit me, and I hardly pay attention to anything the doctor says. Suddenly, I just want to leave and go back to sleep. Maybe then I'll wake up, and this will all have been some fucked up dream.
I nod at that sentences I do catch, still trying to keep my expression blank.
"...those who have less than six months to live are considered terminal, and so this makes you eligible to stay at a hospice if you like. There you can receive care that would help relieve your symptoms, as pancreatic cancer is known to be very painful in it's final stage..."
It was when he starts going on about emotional counseling that I manage to gather my senses enough to stop him.
"You know, this is kind of a lot at once doc." I interrupt, "I think... um... I think I should just go talk this over with my wife, and see what she wants to do."
The doctor pauses for a second before nodding, smiling at me slightly. "Of course, Gerard. If that's what you like. But may I advise you to make your decision quickly -- seeing as we don't have a whole lot of time. I'm going to give you the business cards to a few places you can look into, that might help you to manage this."
He proceeds to look in his drawers and retrieve some cards from some large stacks of them. He hands them over to me. I put them in my pocket.
"Thanks." I say, still trying to mind my manners. "I do have to go, unfortunately."
"I understand." says the doctor, "But don't ignore this Gerard, I'm sorry to say it's not something to be avoided."
"Yeah, I get it." I tell him, getting up from the leather chair. I realize that the only reason his office is so damn cozy is because it's a place where people are told they're about to die. Should make them comfortable at least, right?
The doctor says something else, but I leave his office without hearing it clearly.
In an hour, I'm parking my car in front of our recording studio. I barely remember the drive here, and I'm shocked I managed to not crash into anything.
When I step inside, Frank is making some coffee at the little coffee station by the doorway. Behind him, I can hear the sounds of the other two messing around with their guitars.
"Hey." Frank smiles at me, now making a second cup, which I presume is mine. The idea of coffee is just amazing right now. It's the first thing that makes me feel normal again. Like the last hour never happened.
"Hey." I return his greeting, aware it took me an oddly long time to.
"You're a bit late." Frank comments, handing me the Styrofoam cup filled with liquid heaven.
"I had a doctor's appointment." I inform him as I accept it.
"Oh yeah, how'd that go?"
Fuck. Should I tell them?
Why didn't I think of this before now?
My mind has a very intense and very short argument with itself. Then I hear either Mikey or Ray play a snippet of one of the songs we have been working on, one of my favorites. I give Frank a small smile and tell him, "It went fine. Just a check up."
Frank nods and walks past me to join the other two.
I take that first sip of coffee for the day, the liquid embraces me in warmth. As it fills me, I feel it cleanse my body of disease, at least for now.
I am afraid of nothing at all.
Next chapter: Gerard is backed into a corner until finally, he has no choice.
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