For the first time, I feel time like a heart beat. The seconds pumping in my
breast like a reckoning. The numerous mysteries, that once seemed so distant
and unreal, threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not
in youth, but only in its passage. I feel these words as if their meaning
were weight lifted from me knowing that you will read them and share my
burden as I have come to trust no other. That you should know my heart, look
into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that
are you, is a comfort to me now as I feel the tethers loose and the
prospects darken for the continuance of a journey that began not so long
ago. And which began again with a faith shaken and strengthened by your
convictions. If not for which I should not have been so strong now as I
cross to face you and look at you, in complete, hoping that you will forgive
me for not making the rest of the journey with you.
       					~ Memento Mori
Holy Cross Memorial Hospital
Washington D.C.
I clutched the X-ray in my hand. It would make no sense to someone
unschooled in medicine. But it made perfect sense to me. I could clearly see
the blotch. Worse. I could identify it. I had suspected it for so long now.
Confirmation did not bring relief. My throat tightened. Tears. I could not
allow them to fall. He could not be allowed to see just how much this was
affecting me inside. I knew what I had to do, although it would be far from
easy. 'Act normal'. A contradiction in terms, I had always felt, but which
for me meant a repression of too much emotion,   and being in complete
control of myself and my feelings. It meant not allowing myself to get too
close to anyone. Especially him. Not at this point in time.
"Scully?" He entered the room, clutching a bouquet of flowers. For me? I
wanted to laugh. A cynical laugh. How could they help me now? But I kept
quiet, kept the fear from showing on my face. " I uh...stole these from some
guy with a broken leg down the hall. He uh.. won't be able to catch me.  How
ya doing? " Jokes. I had expected them. I knew he was trying to put me at
ease, to defuse some of the tension in the room. Unfortunately, that was not
going to work today. I was certain he could sense the apprehension within
me, which could not be dispelled at a moment's notice. Despite my attempt to
appear unaffected, I knew that he knew.
I kept up the charade anyway. "I guess that's the question. Actually, I feel
fine." His eyes were searching my face, trying to detect any sign of
weakness. It was hard, but I forced myself to stare right back into them,
unflinchingly. It must have unnerved him - he looked away first.
"What uh...what exactly are we looking at here?" The question was tentative,
as if he were afraid of offending me. I was not thrown off my guard. I had
rehearsed all my answers to his questions umpteen times, to make sure there
was no way I could slip up and reveal what I was trying my hardest to keep a
secret. There were only so many questions he could ask anyway. This one I
was more than prepared for. I cleared my throat.
"It's what's called a nasopharengeal mass. It's a small growth between the
superior conchea and the sinoidal sinus." There was a distinct quaver in my
voice, the kind that preceded a flood of tears. No matter how hard I tried,
no matter how tightly I clenched my fists at my sides, I was still a victim
of my body's natural impulses. This was a fact that became more frightening
every day, and which was increasingly driving its way relentlessly into my
subconscious. I took a deep breath, swallowing some air. I could feel my
lungs expand, the tight ache in my chest diminishing somewhat. I relaxed a
little. The tears would not come just now.
"A growth?" He looked afraid, almost vulnerable, as he spoke those two
words. Of what exactly, I wondered? Of what he might find out? Or of the
explosive reaction he had been anticipating from me, but which I had denied
him at every turn of the way?
"A tumour." I stated it in as matter-of-fact a way as was possible. He
looked worried now. No doubt he was wondering whether I had gone into some
kind of deep psychological shock and/or denial from learning the truth. My
aim in all this was to protect him. At the very most, I had to set his mind
at rest. " You're the only one I've called. "
"Is it operable?" The question hung in the air between us.
"No." It was the only word I could bring myself to say. And as I did so, I
realised that whatever slim hopes I had previously cherished had been
virtually extinguished with that very word.
"But it's treatable." It was a statement, this time. As if he wanted
affirmation from me, as if he needed it. I needed it too, more than anything
else in the world. But regardless of how much I wanted to protect him and
save myself, I could not lie to him. Not consciously. It would only cause
more pain down the line. And that was what I had committed myself to
preventing.
"The truth is that the type and placement of the tumor make it difficult to
the extreme." I turned slightly away from him so that he could not see my
face clearly. He would be able to read the loneliness and fear that was
doubtlessly imprinted on it now. Every time I reminded myself of this truth,
my grasp on reality and, as I sometimes feared, my humanity, loosened that
much more. His feeble protests served no purpose any longer. But for some
reason, this time, I had to keep talking. As long as I did not stop, as long
as I did not stop long enough to think, I would be fine. "I have cancer. It
is a mass on the wall between my sinus and cerebrum. If it pushes into my
brain... statistically, there is about zero chance of survival." I said it
quietly, firmly. My voice remained devoid of emotion, although my heart was
trembling with fear.
"I don't accept that. Th..there must be some people who have received
treatment for this, we..can...." Mulder's voice rose in volume, the ferocity
in his tone alarming me slightly. I looked back at him, and saw a new
determination on his face. It was a determination to save me, I realised.
And it offered me some comfort. Whatever little could affect me these days.
"Yes." I conceded. I did not want to raise his hopes. I knew that I could
not afford to raise my own either.  Scientifically, there was no way I would
come out of any operation alive. Emotionally, there was nothing I prayed for
more. "There are."
@@@
Apartment 234
Kurt Crawford's residence
Night-time
Mulder and I were chasing a lead. I had insisted when meeting with Skinner
earlier today. I was not going to let anyone or anything keep me from my
work at his side any longer than necessary. Besides, this time, I had more
than a slightly personal stake in the matter. An earlier case had seen my
identification with a group of women, purported 'abductees', all of whom had
had implants removed from their necks, just as I had. All of whom were, or
had been, undergoing treatment for nasopharengeal tumours. Just as I was.
Our biggest clue to my illness at present was Betsy Hagopian. She had died
two and a half weeks ago.
This seemed futile to me. I was showing no ill effects from the cancer just
yet. With little effort, I could make myself believe that I was in perfect
health. That I could still work with Mulder, could still be at his side,
where I belonged. This was just like old times. The two of us, on a case
together. I could almost forget the objective of our chase. It was a
refreshing change from the fear that had been gnawing at me for the past few
weeks. It felt good. Delusional. But good.
He went around back, calling out to me to look for the manager. I was about
to obey when a man dashed out from the front, obviously attempting to make
an escape. Instinctively, I drew my gun and directed it at him. "Stop!" I
yelled, and felt the long-absent adrenaline coursing through my tired veins,
rejuvenating them. "Federal agent! Hold it! Put your hands where we can see
them! ...Is your name Kurt Crawford?" A heady rush, not quite like the ones
I had experienced before. This one left me feeling drained. I must have been
more pumped-up than I had initally thought. I felt weak now, my arm seeming
to go limp.
"Scully..." Mulder had tackled the fugitive in a matter of seconds, and had
successfully apprehended him. Now he looked at me, his face contorting into
a mixture of fear and worry, sadness and desolation. He was staring at me,
his eyes fixated on nothing but my face.
I frowned. This was not standard procedure. Confused, I reached up and drew
my hand across my face tiredly. "What?" I asked, momentarily afraid to hear
his answer. But I didn't have to. I saw it for myself. There were
bloodstains all over my hand. My nose was bleeding. Again. Just moments
before, I had half-managed to convince myself that I was fine. This threw me
right back into a very stark, very disturbing reality . This was not my
first nosebleed. I could stop each one. I could wash the blood off my face.
But I could not stop it from coming back. I could not prevent it from
reminding me that I was.... I nearly choked. I could barely bring myself to
say the word, even in my thoughts. Dying. I could not ignore it forever.
This was made more evident than ever that night. I was in my own world now,
looking around at everything that had come to mean so much to me throughout
my life, remembering....remembering...
Suddenly, I remembered. Mulder was still staring at me, his concern written
all over his face. I could not let him see what I was thinking. I could not
burden him any further. This was one obstacle I was going to have to deal
with alone. And that meant dismissing his fears.
"I'm fine, Mulder," I managed, trying to soak up the blood as I spoke. I
couldn't quite meet his eyes. He was suffering already. I did not want to
look into a pair of eyes that indicated as much pain as I felt inside. I had
to get him to stop. "Quit staring at me. I'm fine."
***

"I'm fine." How many times have I told you that? I know you are willing to
share my pain, to allay my fears. It is of no use pretending there is no
fear. There is, one I am resigned to and one I have learned to live with.
Overcoming it is too much to ask of me. I can only hope to understand it.
But this is a load I cannot possibly inflict upon you; it is a pain so
intense and a fear so profound that I worry it might claim me and destroy
me, prematurely. It is all I can do to resist it.
***
"What makes you think this is a conspiracy, that the government's involved?"
We were inside the apartment now, and I had cleaned myself off as best I
could. I was getting increasingly annoyed by what I considered to be a
ridiculous exchange between the two most paranoid people on the face of this
Earth : Mulder, and Crawford. All the latter had had to do was claim
knowledge of some Mutual UFO Network group that Betsy Hagopian had belonged
to, and the two of them had suddenly become best friends. Not only that,
Mulder had removed his cuffs. I was not feeling very well at the moment, the
stress of the situation having taken its toll on me. The blood had unnerved
me in a way I was not accustomed to. Worse : Crawford lumping me together
with a whole group of other women I had met in his house, talking about me
as if I were a lab rat. My frustration and skepticism exploded in that one
sentence.
"What makes you think it isn't?" Crawford studied my face intently, as if
looking for signs that I might break down. "Eleven women are abducted, all
with similar recollections of the experience, all developing identical brain
tumors, and all refuse state or federal health care because of their
insistence on the facts. And all dying within the space of a year." I had
known all this. But it had never before been stated so directly for me. I
turned away from him, knowing that my face could not hide anything any
longer. I made no reply.
Suddenly, Mulder pulled me roughly to the side, with an intensity which was
startling. He placed his hands on my shoulders, and stared right into my
eyes. It was such an awkward position that I could not look away. " I want
you to listen to me. " His voice was commanding.
"About what?" I asked, in a vain attempt to keep up the bravado of the
Scully he was used to.
"About what you won't to admit to yourself, what you're denying." His answer
was abrupt. And brutal. I didn't need this. I didn't need him telling me
things I didn't want to hear.
"What am I denying?" I snapped in retaliation, the feelings I had barely
managed to keep under lock and key struggling to break free of their prison.
I wrested my shoulders out of his grasp, crossing my arms tightly around me.
A defense mechanism?
"Where your cancer came from." His words stole my breath away. I could feel
the air rushing out of my lungs, the fear constricting in a tight fist
around my heart. I recognised the symptoms right away. Hyperventilation.
Virtually uncontrollable. But I was not going to surrender to it simply
because it seemed impossible. A deep breath. Two. Three.
"Mulder," I managed calmly. "It doesn't matter." It didn't. I did not want
to know why I had brain cancer. I did not need to know where it came from. I
was afraid of the questions, just as much as I was of the answers. But he
wasn't going to let it pass quite so easily.
"It does matter." He looked shocked, amazed that I could be so nonchalant
about something I had never experienced, something that might mean the end
of all future experiences. I could tell he was trying to convince me to see
his side of things. "If what you have is a result of your abduction...and
that abduction is something the government knows about - then those are
facts that should be brought to light." He was pretending too, I realised.
He was telling me, through his actions and the unmistakeable tone lying
beneath his words, that I had to find the origin of this cancer if I was to
discover its cure. It was a thinly-disguised concern, hidden behind words
that meant nothing to me, or to him. At this very moment, it was not the
government conspiracy that mattered the most to Mulder. It was me. But I
couldn't appreciate his efforts.
It took too much out of me. "I don't know what happened to me." Even when my
own beliefs were shaken, I was not going to admit that to Mulder. If I did,
if I agreed that it was the 'abduction' that had given me this disease...it
would mean my having to accept the reality I didn't want to face up to. "I
have no clear recollection and I don't think these abductions are even
abductions." This was classic. Classic denial.
"But these women are dead." His arguments were getting stronger, and
affecting me more and more. He was causing me more pain than he knew. It was
true. All the women who had shared what scant memories I still possessed of
the so-called 'abduction', who had had the same computer chip implanted in
the backs of their necks... they were all dead. It was too coincidental to
be explained by science. I was desperate to prove him wrong. In whatever way
I could find.
I grasped at straws. "No they are not. One woman isn't. There's Penny
Northern." I almost allowed a sigh of relief to escape from between my lips.
But that would have been too telling.
"If you won't listen to me, then I think you should go talk to her."
I resented the calmness in Mulder's voice, the control he seemed to have
over himself and his emotions. Not only was he right, it was a complacent
rightness. It grated against my raw nerves, which had already been strained
to the limit. "About what?" My voice got incessantly louder, the anger
threatening to break whatever self-restraint I had left. "What it feels like
to be dying of cancer? What it's like to know that there's absolutely
nothing you can do about it?" In its own bizarre fashion, this explosion was
a welcome release . Even though I had undone with a few choice words the
very intent of my self-control up to this point. Still, it was satisfying to
let him know how hopeless it was. What purpose could harping on it possibly
serve?
I don't think I have ever known a more stubborn man. He simply refused to
give in. I suppose I should have been touched. If I hadn't been so keyed-up
and annoyed already, I would have admired him for sticking by me no matter
how irritating I allowed myself to get. "If that's too hard for you," he
intoned carefully, "... then I think you should call an investigator. You
have one remaining witness, Agent Scully. I'd think you'd want to know what
her story is."
He turned and left the room. Mulder had never called me by my first name,
and I myself had grown accustomed to addressing him by his surname. Had even
become comfortable with his using mine so easily, as if it were some kind of
a special inside joke between us. For the first time since we had met, he
had called me 'Agent Scully'. It was so formal, so final, that for once, the
fear lodged in my throat and I could not dispel it. Even by lying to myself.
He was right. As always. I had no choice. I had to save myself. And that
meant facing the truth.
My blood ran cold.
***
I feel the blood chill, can sense it freezing within me. The passages
through which it has passed all my life, closing up and drying out. Empty
passages, well worn by years gone by, through which my life had once
travelled innumerable times. Only one thing occupies my body now; it is a
plague I cannot dismiss, it inhabits my every vein, my every nerve. My every
thought. I have entertained the prospect of surrendering both my body and my
soul to that which is far beyond my control. It is only your hand on mine,
the pain in your eyes, that make me try vainly to defy the inevitable.
***
Allentown Bethlehem Medical Center
Penny Northern's Floor
The halls were empty, and seemed to stretch endlessly in every conceivable
direction. Doors, all painted the same sickly green colour, all tightly shut
to the world outside, lined the corridor I walked down. I was trained as a
doctor, and had never felt as out of place in any hospital as I did now. I
was not there to save someone's life. I was there to discover the
possibility of having mine saved.  The thought did not prove to be
comforting. After my confrontation with Mulder, I had decided he was right.
If I was not planning to give up the fight, I could not allow myself to lose
hope so early on in the battle. So I had come to see Penny Northern. If for
nothing else, I needed to know what would happen to me. Even if there was no
hope for the future, I had to know what that future would be.
My steps slowed almost to a snail's pace as I reached the end of seemed to
be an interminably long hallway. Now, it seemed too short. The door to her
room was, strangely enough, slightly ajar. So different from its
counterparts. It beckoned to me, like a welcoming force that I could not
deny. And yet, my fear kept me from rushing into the room as my initial
instincts would have had me do. Beyond that door lay the answers, the truth,
I was looking for. I knew that, no matter what they were, I would need an
enormous amount of strength to keep me alive through the days ahead. I had
no idea whether I had enough.
I reached out, and took the metal doorknob in my hand. It was an icy cold
jolt, and I stood stock still for some time. Did I really want to find out?
Most importantly : did I have the ability to deal with the consequences? My
thoughts drifted to Mulder of their own accord. He was one of the most
resilient, reticent people I knew. But he had a courage that had touched me
more than once in the course of our four years together in the F.B.I, a pool
of strength I remembered and drew on now. I knocked softly, and turned the
doorknob the entire way. Pushing the door into the room, I stepped in
tentatively, anxious about what I might or might not see.
Penny was tucked into the bed, somehow looking both comfortable and pained.
She was pale, so white it appeared that the colours in her face had been
completely sucked dry. She was thin too, small and fragile -- looking as if
she might break at any moment. Her breathing was quick and shallow, but not
laboured.
She welcomed me, smiling. "Dana, hello."
I was taken aback. I hadn't expected her to remember me, or even to be awake
at this hour. "I'm... I'm sorry. Did someone tell you I was coming here to
see you?"
"No." The answer was short, simple. As if she expected me to understand
immediately. As if she believed we shared a connection.
"Then how did you know it was me?" I challenged her conviction, holding on
desperately to my own. I hadn't seen this woman in a year. By the same
token, she hadn't seen me in a year. It was hard to believe she remembered,
so easily or so quickly.
She smiled warmly. In that instant, she reminded me of my mother. "I
recognized you. I told you when we met last year; I held you and comforted
you in the place, after the tests."
I swallowed, uncertain of what to say. This woman seemed to know me so
intimately, but she was talking about a part of my life I had no
recollection of. There was no logical way she could be speaking the truth.
If she was, it meant that I really had been 'abducted', something I was
doing my best to remain skeptical about. "I'm sorry." I managed. "I don't
mean to be insensitive...but..." I paused. "I don't share those memories."
Don't? Or 'won't'?
"It's alright," Penny replied, her eyes intent on my face, telling a story
her mouth wasn't relaying. I looked back into them, and for a startling
moment, saw myself reflected there - scared, whimpering, begging for
protection. And then I saw Penny, holding me, whispering to me, giving me
her strength.
Unconsciously, I took a step back, my heart lodging itself in my throat.
This had to be a hallucination, caused by the stress of the situation. I
shut my eyes against the suddenly blinding glare of the fluorescent lights,
shutting out the hospital room, the bed, Penny. It was easier now, to
dismiss what I thought I had seen in her eyes as an optical illusion.
I managed to speak at last, after what seemed like years. "I've come to ask
you some questions." I was proud of my self-restraint. I knew I sounded
professional and detached, which was an amazing achievement given the fact
that I felt nauseous from fear and giddy with uncertainty. I tried, and
almost succeeded, to push my heart back to where it belonged.
"About Dr. Scanlon?" She always spoke briefly, and yet whatever she said
always had the greatest impact on me. I never knew what to expect.
"No. Who's Dr. Scanlon?" I asked tentatively, almost afraid to know the
answer.
Her eyes, though still friendly, now homed in on mine, and held them
powerfully. She seemed to know that what she was going to say next would
affect me more than anything she had said so far. I had a gut feeling that
she was right. "He's treating the cancer. He treated Betsy too. He thinks he
might have isolated the cause, and if he'd caught it earlier he might have
been able to do more for her, and for me."
My heart leaped straight back into my throat, and for the first time in
days, I felt a vague suggestion of hope trying to push its way into my mind.
She was suggesting that there was a chance for me. That this doctor could
give me back the life I was convinced I had lost. She was telling me that I
could hope to live now, instead of only hoping to live longer.
Almost immediately, my heart sank down into my feet. I could not afford to
get my hopes up, no matter what Penny said. It would only hurt me all the
more if I discovered that she was wrong. It would quickly do the job the
cancer was doing so slowly - it would kill me.
But I still needed confirmation, affirmation, however small. "His name's
Scanlon?"
"Yes." Penny hesitated, watching me. I hoped I looked unaffected. "What did
you want to ask me?"
I couldn't remember. I could only pray.
***
I pray, for the people I will leave behind, for the things I will never do,
the words I will never say, for the world I am to be denied. But most of
all, I pray for you, that you can carry on without me, the strength I lack
fuelling yours. I pray you will find the truth you believe in, the truth we
searched for, that all your doubts and worries might be laid to rest with,
and within, me. And sometimes, I even pray for hope. I pray for the ability
to hope, and then I remember that God has already given that to you, so that
you can care enough for the both of us.
***
I left the room on unsteady legs, torn between hope and fear and
resignation. I did not dare to let myself hope, and yet I was not ready to
resign myself completely to the fear. I needed some form of distraction,
some kind of comfort... both of which I knew only Mulder could give me.
Without hesitation, I retrieved my mobile phone and pressed the code for
speed-dial. I didn't know what I was going to do now; I only wanted to hear
his voice. Pressing the receiver to my ear, I waited for the click of a
connection, waited for the formation of a link.
"Mulder." His voice resounded within my mind, and I tried my best to
memorise it. It always managed to remind me that I was sharing this battle
with someone else, and that most of the time, we were only physically apart.
I would need it for the days ahead.
"Mulder, it's me."
I could almost feel him come to life on the other end of the line, could
almost sense the way his hand was now tightening its hold around his phone.
It was the subconscious manifestation of a reluctance to let each other go,
something which I usually took for granted but now cherished beyond the
realms of rationality.
"Where are you, Scully?"
There was no harm in letting him know where I was. After all, he had
suggested it in the first place. But it still seemed surprisingly final when
I told him the truth. "I'm at the hospital with Penny Northern. Where are
you?"
If he was surprised, he didn't show it. I should have known by now that
Mulder had always expected me to come to see Penny, regardless of what I
said or did, and no matter how much I pretended to protest. He knew me too
well.
"I'm at Betsy Hagopian's going through some of those hard files before stuff
starts disappearing. And call me an early bird, but I think I've found
something." He sounded so enthusiastic, so pleased with himself that I was
almost insulted. It seemed to me as if he could get on perfectly well on his
own, even without me around. Even when I was dying. But I forced myself to
be reasonable. He was doing all this for me. I knew that.
He continued excitedly, behaving as if he had made the biggest discovery
since gravity. "Now... some of these women who have died, they're childless,
and they've been treated for infertility at the clinic about 30 miles from
here. Penny Northern and Betsy Hagopian are among them." His voice was
brimming with barely-suppressed pride, and I rubbed my hand across my tired
eyes. I didn't know how all this fit in. I just wanted to tell him what I
had found out.
"Mulder, that's..."
He cut me off, his mind still concentrated on what he had just found. "I've
made some phone calls and I've tried to get some information but nobody is
talking to me, so..."
"Mulder, I need you to come up here." I blurted out. In a split second, I
made my decision. He was doing so much for me. The least I could do was do
something for myself.
"Why? Did you find something there?" The hope in his voice was
unmistakeable.
I decided to neither confirm nor deny the real question hidden in his words.
Instead, I tried to speak calmly and efficiently. "I need you to bring the
overnight bag from the trunk of the car. And I need you to call my mother
and ask her to bring up some things to the hospital."
An uncomfortable pause followed, and then I heard him swallow. I knew he was
swallowing his fears and worries, trying his best to present his strongest
side to me. "Is there... something I should know?"
I opened my mouth to respond. "Yes, Mulder," I wanted to say. "Yes. There's
something you should know. There's a chance I might be saved." And then we
could laugh about it together, could share the joy and hope just as we had
shared the pain and fear.
But I clamped my mouth shut just as automatically. There was no necessity to
raise his hopes, or my own, for that matter. Mulder was already functioning
on blind faith, almost delusionally certain that I would pull through this.
I couldn't be so sure. Although I sure as hell wanted to be.
"Mulder, whatever you found or whatever you might find, I think that we both
know that right now the truth is in me, and that's where I need to pursue
it, as soon as possible."
There. That was the most non-committal way in which I could possibly express
something so important. I waited for his reply. "I'll be right there."
I heard the line disconnect, and knew instinctively that he was rushing here
to be with me now. I felt a mixture of relief and anticipation, even as I
turned my phone off and slid it into my pocket. Inadvertently, Mulder had
helped me to make my decision, and now I had to implement it.
Turning down the long and silent hallway of doors, I moved resolutely toward
the end. I was going to look for Dr. Scanlon, and to sign up for his
treatment. The sooner the better.
My footsteps echoed wistfully against the cavernous walls, weighed down by
fatigue as well as my inescapable fear of what the future might yet bring.
***
My fears for the future weigh heavily on my heart, which pumps still
strongly as yet. I have made an unspoken commitment to you which I fear I
will have no choice but to go against. The strings between us I must break
eventually, not because they suffocate me, but because I can no longer
remain within them. I cannot bear for these strings to tie you down, to
trouble you beyond my ability to alleviate. What you must know is that these
strings are not what pull me back, but what keep me from giving up this
losing battle entirely. I have no regrets. I can only hope you say the same.
***
Allentown Bethlehem Medical Center
Dana Scully's Room
A flash of blinding white light shot its way through the cobwebs of night,
and I felt my eyes opening to a distorted image of my surroundings.
Something... someone... stepped into my blurry field of vision, and I waited
for the scene to adjust itself.
Slowly, the world came back into sharp focus. I found myself staring at a
man dressed in a white doctor's coat, a stethoscope around his neck. The
oblivion of sleep encompassed me still, and I watched him quizzically,
unsure of what he was doing in my room.
"Dana?" How did he know my name? And why was he watching me sleep? I was
about to jump up and sound the alarm on him when I realised that everything
around me was white. The sheets, the walls, the chairs... even the flimsy
cotton gown I was wearing. Now I knew something had to be wrong. I never
wore white if I could help it... not even to sleep.
The unfamiliar man furrowed his brow, looking worried at my lack of
communication. "I'm Dr. Scanlon. We spoke last night on the phone."
Oh. Right. Pushing myself up, I tried to pull the thin blanket up to cover
myself even as I shoved my hair back off my face. I knew I looked something
of a fright, though this hardly seemed very relevant right now. This man was
probably going to see me at my worst at some stage anyway. I apologised
tritely, claiming sleep as an excuse.
"I noticed. How's your energy level generally?" I recognised the standard
medical procedure... the doctor's bedside manner in full force, his pen
poised over a clipboard. Making small talk before getting down to the
fundamental reason he was being paid.
"Oh you know. I don't, I don't feel sick at all." The words stuck in my dry
throat but I finally managed to force them out. It was the truth, I felt
perfectly healthy. It was never any good lying to doctors anyway. I know
because Mulder just never gets away with anything when he tries it on me.
His critical eye swept over my body, and I cringed slightly from the
inspection. It still felt strange to be examined, instead of doing the
examining myself. "Your MRI's and your charts aren't here yet but I have an
idea of what to expect," he continued, making some random notes to himself.
He looked up and smiled slightly. "You probably do too... from your medical
training."
I was glad he recognised me as a doctor, even if I hadn't practised in years
and had little practical experience. It was comforting to think that my
degree meant something after all, even if I couldn't use it to save myself.
Still, I wasn't sure what exactly was happening, so stuck to the safest
response. "I know that the chemotherapy is going to make me sick."
He picked up where I left off. "And the radiation. They're both part of a
high dose approach to knock your system down so we can attempt the gene
therapy on P53." I nodded, recognising the terms I had learned in college
and yet not believing that all this could be applicable to me.
Making a final note on his clipboard, he looked up and into my eyes. I think
he was trying to gauge, to measure the amount of strength there. He cleared
his throat. "You're going to feel like dying," he said at last.
I nodded mutely. Better to feel like I was dying than to actually die, I
told myself. But I never was very good at using persuasion as a tactic. So
it wasn't much comfort.
"Dana." The word fell unannounced into the quiet room, laden with tears and
sorrow, pain and fear. I knew who it was, and I turned toward the door.
"Hi, mom."
[that's all I've written so far!]