Chapter Ten:
"Dr. Blake," I plead, walking behind him at a brisk pace as he picks up speed.
"Chambers, 911 is specifically for emergencies. Tell me, does whatever mediocre phenomenon you dreamt of classify as an emergency?!"
"No sir—but please, doesn't she deserve the best care we can offer!"
"And I've checked every routine option available," He argues, turning the corner and pressing the elevator button. I stand in front of him right before the doors open.
"Not this one," I promise him. He says nothing, just stares blankly and pushes past me into the elevator. I turn around, putting my hand over the door before it closes. "Please, just listen to me." He looks sorry. He really does. "Please." He sighs.
"It's a no, Chambers," He says. My eyes sink, and my jaw slacks. There's a heaviness in my chest. "End of discussion."
I step back, and the elevator closes.
Oligodendrogliomas are primary tumors, which means that they originate within the brain. They develop from a type of glial cell known as an oligodendrocyte. They're the third most common glioma and are mostly found in adults, aged anywhere from twenty-five to forty. There are numerous symptoms, including but not limited to seizures, headaches, mental status change, vision loss, vertigo, nausea, muscular weakness, loss of bodily movement, and altered sensations such as anxiety and hallucinations. Any direct causes aren't exactly known; and often the worst part of it is the acceptance that they're dying.
Symptoms vary in accordance to the severity and location of the tumor. Tumors in the frontal lobe strongly affect alterations in mood and personality, and weakness or numbness in one partial area of the body. This is where oligodendrogliomas are most commonly found. Third grade oligodendrogliomas are malignant, and grow faster, they're more common in ages sixty to eighty, and are found more in men than women. Often with these tumors, the life expectancy is two years post diagnosis.
Stacy's already defied those odds.
I've been tracking her vitals and noting her averages throughout the past two days. She's been getting increasingly worse without the surgery, which is why I need Dr. Blake to listen.
I think there's a moment when someone realizes they're dying. I see it all the time. Not when they get their diagnosis, or when they're told there's no other option; like in Stacy's case. I mean when they really, really know. They're prompted by exhaustion, they're withdrawn sociably. Their breathing becomes more irregular, and cancer patients tend to become more fatigued due to influxes of carbon monoxide levels in their blood.
They develop a suppressive appetite from a chemical called catecholamine, which doctors see an increase in towards the end of a life. Sometimes someone's body physically refuses to eat. Often, physicians look for a cardiac death rather brain death, which is the eventual stopping of the heart. The last sense to go is believed to be hearing, which is compensation for everyone involved. You're given the chance to say your last goodbye, or whatever you wanted to say but never did.
When someone actually dies, there's a thirty second period where brain death is divided into ten second intervals where the brain gives out. People who've had near death experiences describe an out of body experience. This is the loss of all your human characteristics as you brain dies. It takes your sense of humor, sense of self, our ability to think ahead—everything that makes up anyone. Our memories, language, intuition, emotion, and soul. Everything disappears.
Then there's the thing about the light.
At the end of the tunnel.
It's an actual thing. It's called tunnel vision, ironically. It happens when you lose blood to your brain, followed by immediate blackness.
It makes me wonder actually, about the consequences of everything.
Besides, we're all left in the dark eventually.
Dr. Blake still has me assigned on Stacy's case. I wonder if he knows he's breaking my heart. It's been about two weeks since the surgery was cancelled and she's been getting even worse. I have her first on my rounds this morning. I smooth out my coat when I step out of the elevator and make my way down the hall.
I turn the corner into her room and smile. She smiles weakly. She's laying down against her pillow. The heart monitor is a bit slow, and she looks exhausted.
"Dr. Chambers," She says with a fatigued smiles.
"Hi Stacy, how are you feeling?" She shrugs feebly, a distatsement coming over her features. Her brow knits in a frustrated crease when she answers.
"How do you expect me to feel?" She snaps, then sighs, guilt retaliating quickly. "I'm sorry, the tumour is getting more aggressive." I shake my head, suppressing my guilt the same.
"I can try and give you some morphine for the headaches," I offer, but she shakes her head, sinking further into the pillow.
"Don't bother," She murmurs, shifting to lay on her side.
"I'm sorry." She lifts her head, looking over her shoulder at me.
"Do you have a family, Eleonora?" She asks me. I nod.
"My Grandfather," Stacy's head turns back to look out the window and her body sinks again..
"You're like me then," She says. "An orphan." I look down, silent. She speaks again after a few moments. "I have a sister, three nephews, and a daughter." When I look up, she's looking at me again. "No husband though. He died too."
"I'm sorry," I say, wishing I had something else to say. Anything else.
"You say that too much," Stacy tells me then. "Remember what I told you before honey, you can't save everyone." Her eyes are kind. I smile meekly.
"I can try," I tell her. She chuckles light-heartedly, turning so she's looking back at the ceiling.
"I wish that were true," She mutters. I grin sideways.
"Don't we all?" I joke. She says nothing for a while, just taps her fingers against the bed rail.
"Dr. Chambers," She says, and I look up. She's looking at me. "Why am I still here?" She asks. My brow furrows.
"I don't understand," I tell her, taking a cautious step towards her bedside. Stacy sighs breathlessly.
"I'm dying Honey," She says flatly, a monotonous plea. "You've already told me there's nothing you can do. Why not give up my bed to someone who can live?"
"Because you're still an inpatient," I explain. "And Dr. Blake hasn't discharged you to go home yet." Stacy shakes her head.
"He'll discharge me when I'm dead," She says, eyes staring into mine. "Why not let me die on my own terms?" She croaks and my gaze fixes. Her arm begins to twitch and her eyes roll back.
"Stacy," I say cautiously, and she begins seizing. I drop my chart and run to the bedside, turning her on her side. "Help!" I'm shouting. The heart monitor is erratic. "Get me a crash cart!" I turn Stacy back on her side as the seizure stops, she's already begun flatlining. "Paddles." I say to the nurse beside me.
"Charging to one hundred," She says. I watch the monitor.
"Clear." No change.
"Charging to one fifty,"
"Clear!"
Chapter Eleven:
My heart is racing. I'm staring at the thin line on the monitor.
OhGodOhGodOhGod.
I'm holding my breath.
The heartbeat picks back up. I close my eyes and let my shoulders drop. I pass the paddles back to the nurse who'd placed them in my hands, and when I do, my knuckles are sore from holding tension. Cara straps on oxygen mask onto Stacy's face. Her eyelids are flickering in and out of consciousness.
"Eleonora," She croaks hoarsely. I nod and press the mask closer onto her face, grabbing onto her hand and squeezing it.
"Breathe." I demand, and watch her as she does, matching her breaths in time with mine.
"Stacy, you listen to me," I say. Her gaze flicks up to mine just before she drifts off. My voice cracks. "I'm not letting you die." I swear, and shake my head as if to prove it. "Not like this." She nods weakly, and I let myself breathe as her eyes shutter close. I wait, still clutching her hand, and watch the monitor fall into a slow and steady rhythm. I look to Cara, who still lingers in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, her arm tattoo of a bible verse staring back at me. Galatians 6:2, 'Bear one another's burdens, and fulfill the law of Christ'. Give me your strength, so that I may live to conquer another day.
"Dr. Chambers?" Cara asks after a moment.
"Page Dr. Blake," I tell her, finally meeting her eyes, and turn back to glance at Stacy before I leave the room. "Now." I walk out past Cara and hear her follow me into the hall.
"And if he doesn't answer?" I look over my shoulder at her.
"Then page him until he does."
He meets me in the hall outside Stacy's room ten minutes later. He's jogging as he comes down the hall.
"What happened?" He asks, stopping with his hands on his hips as he looks through the doorway. Stacy is still sleeping. He looks back to me.
"She coded again," I tell him, putting my hands on my hips and mirroring his posture. He lets his head hang for a moment.
"Chambers, you don't have to page me every time she codes," He sighs, eyes sunken, and appearing somewhat defeated. I feel my face get hot.
"You're my attending," I sputter. "I'm supposed to."
"Not in a situation like this," He explains, taking his hands and gesturing towards Stacy. "In a situation where there's nothing more we can do, there's nothing left to do until she dies" I look down, Dr. Blake's voice rises "Until then we can monitor her and try and make this transition the easiest that we can for her."
"But if you would just listen to me," I weave.
"Jesus, Chambers," He mutters.
"If you just listen to me then there would be something we can try and do at least!"
"Chambers."
"She's already dying." I snap, my face heated and my tone challenged. "And she knows it." His face is strewn with guilt. "Don't you think she deserves a chance?"
My expression is stone, and his wavers under my stare.
"Chambers," He says this time, almost pleading. For a moment I'm surprised, then I blink.
"Carboplatin," I say with a softened tone. He blinks.
"What?"
"Carboplatin and Bevacizumab." I say, then turn on my heel, and walk away.
I'm sitting with my Grandfather for dinner. I use my fork to pick around the greens on my plate. We sit across from each other. I pretend not to notice his worried glances to me every few moments, and he pretends he's not.
"I just wish I could do more," I say, giving in. I glance at him, he sets his fork on the table.
"Amata," My Grandfather says. "You're already doing more than most others would." He tells me. "Think of that doctor. He's just scared. He doesn't want to kill a dying woman. It's for his own moral." He tries to explain.
"Still—"
"No," My Grandfather interrupts. "No buts. You're doing so much already. Good people do the best they can. Remember; etsi deum non in æternum vive." I almost grin.
"Even Gods can't live forever," I translate. He nods.
"Your Mother taught me that one," He says. I perk. He meets my eyes. "I always admired her. Her intelligence." I nod, shifting closer to the table edge. My Mother was a Latin historian. She analyzed religious texts and had fascinations with dead languages. "And I'm proud that in my raising you, you still inherited her intelligence, and that's something no one can take away from you." I gnaw on my bottom lip before glancing up again.
"Is that why you raised me bilingual?" I ask. He nods.
"Yes. I wanted you to have some part of her," He says, and purses his lips. He licks his lips and swallows. "There was another thing she taught me, soon after you were born." I don't bother in masking my eagerness, and my Grandfather chuckles easily.
"Miserere mei, ut matres moribus ducant me ad terminos," He says, the ancient language rolling from his tongue. His eyes twinkle as he looks to me. "May my Mother's morals lead me to merciful endings."
"That's beautiful," I murmur. My Grandfather nods, quipping a small smile.
"It is," He agrees. "And even though she never got to raise you herself, that part of her carried on through you as well." I furrow my brow.
"What do you mean?" I ask, and my Grandfather smiles warmly.
"Amata, do you know what mercy is?" He asks. I nod.
"Asking for forgiveness."
"The offering of a lesser punishment," My Grandfather rephrases. "You're here doing your best to save this woman's life though you've been told repeatedly there's no other option. Because to you, it's not about trying to save her, it's about trying to remind her someone cares. Even when there's no chance." He says. I'm reserved, having gone back to pushing my greens around my plate.
What is it that makes us human?
Not knowing what makes us human is probably the most humane thing we can identify. We don't think about what it is to be or do something. We don't think about being a person because we're so intent on what we're not. We strive for greatness and look to assert our dominance in every attempt to protect our own selves. We're often defined as human through our own morals, rights and wrongs. No one is completely good because we all have a fantasial sense of good outcomes. We choose to act on our own intentions because we believe we're the 'good'. We formulate beliefs because we need guidance, otherwise we're left lost and wandering anxiously with no drive or purpose. We seek advisement and look to authorial make-ups for our own comfortive acceptance and reconciliation. We strive to be the heroes but find ourselves sympathising with the villains.
"Eleonora," My Grandfather says again. "You are a good person. You're doing more, and one day you'll save millions." I chuckle a bit.
"I think you're exaggerating," I say. My Grandfather shakes his head.
"No," He says. "You're going to be revolutionary."
It sounds odd, but I think people are scared of their own achievements more than their failures.
Because with failure, you learn from your mistakes, you do more, you do it better, and you find a solution.
But once you find that solution, the idea is that you've done it. You've found your answer. All your tests are positive. All your data is constant. It's seems perfect.
But even perfect can malfunction, with just the smallest twinge of a variable, your entire operation could be blown in mere seconds.
Nothing's perfect. It's scientifically proven that no machine can be 100% effective.
We only dream of perfection. I think it's a fantasy.
Most people have a perfect vision of their perfect body, a perfect house, perfect boyfriend, perfect voice.
A perfect life.
But we've already established nothing is perfect.
Even Gods can't live forever.
Chapter Twelve:
I have my interns for rounds today; Hamlet, Green, Thornby, and Montgomery. Green is small, she's quiet.
We walk into Stacy's room and I smile brightly when I see her. She smiles back at me. She's been given a new IV since the last time I've seen her, I glance at the chart—it's an oxygen distributor. I meet her eyes again quickly, more examinatory than just my smile. She looks strained, though she's still working to smile back to me.
"Stacy, these are my interns," I tell her, and then turn to them. "Who's presenting?" I hold out the chart. Green takes it.
"Stacy Warner, forty-three year old African American woman. Third grade oligodendroglioma. Surgery was cancelled due to increased risk," She says. I nod.
"How are we proceeding?" I ask her.
"Monitor vitals,"
"And what else?" I ask, my eyes flashing. Green frowns.
"There's nothing else," She hesitates, glancing over her shoulders to the other interns, who look just as lost.
"Wrong," I say, and watch as Stacy perks.
"But Dr. Blake said—"
"We can try a double invasive chemotherapy," I interrupt. Stacy props herself up on her elbows.
"What?" She asks. I sit on the edge of her bed.
"I'm trying to work with Dr. Blake to start a clinical trial," I say, noting the way Greens eyes light up.
"What does that mean?" Stacy asks.
"That means we would start a collaborative project to distribute a specific, chemically balanced chemotherapy regimens in patients with inoperable frontal lobe oligodendrogliomas."
"But Dr. Blake said there was no other option," Stacy says, tilting her head slightly. I wink at her with a grin.
"I'll handle Dr. Blake," I say, then take my interns and leave.
Later, Green flags me down in the hall. She has a curly bun of blonde hair knotted on the top of her head, and it bounces loosely as she walks. Her blue eyes are sparkling.
"Dr. Chambers, are you really starting a clinical trial?" She asks, falling into step beside me as I continue walking. I've just printed off records of Bevacizumab and I'm heading back to one of the labs.
"Trying to," I tell her and turn the corner, pushing into the lab. "Why? Aren't you supposed to be in neuro?"
"Technically this could classify as neuro," She says. I glance over my shoulder with a raised brow. She follows me into the lab, and I hear her stop for a moment. I slide into my chair, pulling the microscope towards me and dropping the synthetic cancer cells onto a petri dish. She stands behind me.
"What is it you want, Green?" I ask her. I hear her take in a deep breath.
"I want to work with you." I slide back from the desk and swing my legs around, facing her as she sits across from me.
"Green," I say. "I don't even know if this is going to work. I have no permission. My career could be at risk doing this."
"But I want to help," She insists. I tilt my head. Her eyes are serious. She looks a bit anxious, but she still wants to help. I consider.
"You really want to?" I ask. She nods eagerly.
"Yes." She says. I squint.
"Okay," I say. Her eyes widen.
"Wait really?"
"Yes," I stand from my chair. "Follow me."
"Where are we going?"
"To properly introduce you to Ms. Warner."
When we walk into her room, there's another woman. She stands at the foot of Stacy's bed. She holds a small, chubby baby in her arms, another toddler wrapped around her calf. A three year old sits on the bed by Stacy's leg, and an older girl in standing beside the bed, holding one of Stacy's hands and talking to her. I clear my throat as we walk in, directing their attention to us. I smile.
"Hi Stacy, you remember Dr. Green?" I ask, politely nodding to the other woman. Stacy nods.
"Yes, and this is my sister I told you about, Melanie," Stacy gestures. I smile to Melanie and shake her hand.
"Hi," I say, and she nods with a smile, shifting her hold on the baby.
"And this is my daughter, Kelly," Stacy tells me, smiling fondly to the girl who stands beside her bed. I smile at her. She can't be much older than twelve, maybe thirteen. She's hopeful.
"Dr. Green is joining me on your case," I tell Stacy.
"The trial?"
"Yes, as soon as Dr. Blake approves," I tell her. "I promise."
I bombard Dr. Blake again as he gets off the elevator. He laughs and shakes his head as soon as he sees me.
"You brought an intern into this?" He asks me with a raised brow. He steps out of the elevator and moves around me. I spin on my heel and follow him down the hall.
"To be fair, she came to me," I tell him. He sighs.
"Look, I tried looking into it but the mixing of these cheMotherapies without an additional stabilizer is dangerous,"
"Which is why I've experimented with Temodar." He stops in the hall, turning slightly.
"Really?" He asks. I nod.
"Yes." He makes a face of mock surprisement. We continue to walk.
"Any positive results?"
"Yeah, a few, but only with synthetic cancer cells,"
"A few isn't enough Chambers," Dr. Blake says.
"But my research is." I argue back and take a step forward, turning, and stopping in front of him. "She has a kid." I say. He stops as I have and crosses his arms over his chest.
"I haven't seen your research, Chambers,"
"Yeah, 'cause you haven't been listening to me," I say.
"Well I'm listening now." He says. I cross my arms, mirroring him.
"My lab is number 1064, second floor." I tell him. "My intern knows everything about the lab, if you need any help then page her, I'm going home for the night."
I wake when my pager goes off. I check the clock half-heartedly before I check it. Who the hell is paging me at midnight? I roll over and grab my pager, brushing my hair out of my face as I read it. My eyes widen.
"Stercore!"
"Language!" My Grandfather calls from his room. I run out of my room, throw on a sweatshirt, and start running.
I'm out of breath by the time I get to Stacy's room. Dr. Blake is waiting, pacing in front of the door. He looks up as he sees me. He holds a hand out across the open doorway before I get there.
"What's happened? What's wrong?" I ask, trying to push through his arm.
"No, no, she's fine." He assures me. "She's been asleep for about an hour, her vitals are still stable." He lists. I step back, looking to him quizzically. I put my hands on my hips, still panting. He chuckles.
"Wow you really ran," He says.
"You paged 911!"
"You paged first!" He retorts, and I stop. Then my jaw drops.
"The clinical trial," I murmur, realizing. He grins.
"There you go," He says. My face splits into a grin.
"Really?" I ask, exhilaration on my face. "Really, really?" He nods, smiling.
"Really." My smile turns into a beam and I refrain from throwing myself around him.
"Oh my God!" I exclaim, looking in at Stacy's sleeping form. I look back to meet his eyes.
"We start tomorrow." He grins, and walks away.
Chapter Thirteen:
The girls eyes don't move from mine. They're cloudy and grey. They narrow and she pulls on her staff, pulling me with it and I gag slightly.
"I'm not going to ask again," She murmurs.
"Okay, okay, my name is Oscar," I say, hands shaking a bit as I bring them up to the side of my head as if I've been caught in the act. Her gaze doesn't falter.
"Where did you come from?" She asks.
"The Bunker," Something in her eyes flashes. She unhooks her hook from around my neck and steps back. I stumble forward onto my hands. Gray's arm hooks under mine, pulling me back towards them, though I'm still slacking on the ground. I'm watching the girl. She glances to the blonde girl on the left and nods. At once, the other three girls calm, loosening their stiff postures. She looks back to me.
"Get up," She says to me, and looks to Gray, Melissa, and my sisters individually. From Grays hold on my arm, he pulls me to my feet. "We're leaving." She turns and starts walking, the three girls following her. I look back at Gray and the others. Gray exhales a low whistle.
"Dude, she just saved your life, and then literally kicked your ass," Gray says. I roll my eyes.
"Yeah, thanks for the help," I mutter sarcastically.
"So, should we follow them?" Juliette asks. No one answers.
"Well, logically, who do we have a better chance of surviving with?" Kate asks. "Her, or Oscar?"
"Hey!"
"Okay—no offence but it took you like four months to learn how to make a decent lasagna." Kate says. Melissa giggles and the tips of my ears flush red.
I sigh and look to the entrance of the store, the girl is standing in front of the automatic doors. Her black hair is billowed around her, and she's pulled her scarf over her head like a hood, the rest of it falls around her upper body like a shawl, and still blocks off her face. I look back to my sisters, then to Gray, who nods to me. I exhale.
"Okay, let's go." I say, and turn, walking towards the girl. She tips her head up when I stand in front of her. She's short. About the same height as Artemis—5 '5.
"Well?" She asks me. I look down at her with a nod.
"Okay, where are we going?" I ask. Her eyes sparkle and crinkle at the corners, signifying a smile beneath her mask.
"Eaden."
We rested once that night, when one of the brunettes said it was eight, and then we were up again before the sun had risen the next morning. The girl walked in the front the entire time. She took us through the Ruined City, walking at every chance we got. We stopped again the next night, and again the next, sharing water from the girls canteens and snacking on packs on nuts and fruits the girls had tucked inside their pockets.
On the third night, I stayed up. I was anxious, and kept looking back, just in case anybody else made it out, including the others that were in that store with us. I haven't seen them since we left, if they made it out at all. I shudder at the memory of the little girl with the bloodied leg between her jaws.
I'm sitting a few feet away from where everyone is sleeping. I'm leaning against a faded taxi-cab with it's windows busted in. I'm watching the stars again. It's different, if I can even explain it. You spend your whole life only experiencing things second hand. It's a whole different world, you read about things like trees, and cars, and winter, and spring, and stars but you never actually know what any of that is like until you're actually experiencing it for yourself, and not because it's all you're limited to. Actually getting it, being able to have it, is like finding a new way to breathe.
I jump and plant my hands on the pavement as I hear something hit the top of the taxi. I look up to see the girl peering down at me from the roof of the car.
"What are you doing?" She asks me. I nod towards the sky.
"Looking at the stars," I say. She follows my gaze. Her scarf is still tied around her face, but her eyes chart across the sky as she looks up. She looks back down at me and I freeze. Then she slides down the side of the car and sits beside me, drawing her knees into her chest. The ends of her hair brush the ground when she sits. We watch the stars, and my heart skips a beat when I see one shoot across the sky.
"What was it like?" She asks quietly after a few moments of silence. My brow furrows and I turn my head, seeing her eyes meeting mine. For the first time since I've looked into them, they look innocent, childlike, and wonderous. Everything I was, and still am. "In the Bunker." I shrug.
We tend not to notice things as we're doing them, I realize, as a part of natural instinct to what we've grown accustomed to. Even in the past few days, I can't even remember what the temperature was, or how light the walls were.
"I don't know," I admit. "What was it like out here?" She turns away from me, gaze faltering, and looks back up at the sky.
"I don't know," She echoes.
We near Eaden as we reach the edge of the city. I can see it along the horizon. Surrounding it is farmland, growing fields of wheat. I can see clumps of huts, homes, broken vehicles that have been renovated. It's blocked in perimeter by a chain link fence strung around the outside of the fields.
The fence is a few feet tall (taller than me), about seven feet at least, almost like a baseball diamond. There's a half-leaning, meek well on the other side of the fence. Large wooden doors are open to each side in the fences only entry, and allow us to walk in freely alongside the girls. Straight in the middle of the seeming town is a round fenced patch of dirt standing out from the rest of the grass. As we walk in, I notice how the fields are only a portion of the village, and to the side of the fence is an additional smokestack building and a collection of farm animals fenced in near a folding wooden barn.
A few feet away from that is a square market, holding at least a dozen tents, and there are people all around it who stop to turn and look at us as we walk behind the girl with the black hair. We stop when she does and turns around, nodding to the three girls accompanying her, and they nod in response before walking away to the far corner of the what the girl called 'Eaden', where a tall, long tent stands. I only get a few glimpses, and see multiples of other women sparring with each other, each resembling the black haired girl with their long hair.
The girl with the black hair waves me towards her as she turns, walking through rows of small homes and forts.
"I'm taking you to meet our Commander, Defendere," She explains from beneath her scarf. I'm looking among the society of the village. Most, if not all, of the women I've seen have long hair, some even down to their knees. I see most of the men inside their homes, washing dishes and such, and a group of young girls runs past us, their hair braided and holding small wooden staffs, only not holding a spear or hook like the black haired girls.
We approach one of the tents, with colorful scarves draped in front of it. The black haired girl uses her staff to lift the corner of the scarf and passes underneath it, nodding us inside. I follow behind her, lifting the scarf for Gray to hold up next. It's darker, illuminated by candlelight, and coloured shadows from the light passing through the scarves in the entry. We pass a room with a light curtain drawn across it, and I wonder for a minute what's on the other side.
The black haired girl takes us around a corner, and we see five other girls standing over a table. They're talking in the same language the black haired girl had first spoken in. The girl at the head of the table closely resembles the black haired girl. Her hair is dark, hanging to her hips, but she holds striking blue eyes. On her forehead is a black tattooed marking; a cross between her eyes. She wears the same as the black haired girl and the others, but these four don't wear the scarves. She looks up as we walk in.
"Amara," She says, and the conversation stops. The black haired girl—Amara—nods.
"Defendere," She says and bows her head. "We found them in the Ruined City, they escaped from the Bunker." The Commanders eyes widen, as do some of the others. Her gaze flickers to Amara.
"Is there anyone else?" She asks. Amara shakes her head, shifting her weight to her one leg, leaning against her staff.
"None that we found on the way back. We'll organize search parties, send some to the Bunker," She says. The Commander nods.
"You're dismissed," She says to Amara, and then to the other four girls. I meet eyes with Amara as she turns as passes us, the four girls trailing behind her. The Commander walks around the table until she stands in front of us, she's shorter than me too, about the same height as Amara. "Welcome to Eaden, I trust you were taken care of?" Gray snickers and the tips of my ears burn. I nod.
"Yeah," I respond. The Commander glances quickly to Gray, and I hear him clear his throat. The Commander looks back to me.
"Who are you?"
"Oscar," I say. "These are my sisters, and my friends Gray, and Melissa." The Commander nods and offers her hand to me.
"Sloane," She introduces. I shake her hand. "What do you know about the populations current state?" I raise a brow, looking down when she drops my hand.
"You mean half the world getting zombified like thirty years ago?" Sloane nods, crossing her arms over her chest. "We don't know much really, only old stories and magazine articles; some guy making a crackhead drug that made everyone start rotting." I say. The corner of Sloanes lip twitches and she nods.
"Fair enough," She says. "Now, getting back to the Bunker. Can you tell me what it was like? When you got out?" She asks, reminding me of Amara. I put my hands in my pockets, and shrug slightly.
"Crazy, I guess," I say. "The world looked like it was falling apart." Sloane chuckles slightly, putting her hands on her hips with a sly grin and a raised brow.
"When's the last time the world wasn't falling apart?"
Chapter Fourteen:
She takes us back out into the village.
"We can arrange shelter for you, if you'll agree to follow our customs," Sloane says over her shoulder as we walk, weaving through children as they pass by. We come out to the round pit in the middle of Eaden.
"What are those? Exactly?" Melissa asks, stumbling beside me as a young girl runs in front of her. She glances up at me as she steadies herself.
"We really just have one," Sloane says then, turning around with her hands on her hips, her hair billows around her hands. She's grinning. "Follow the word of the Commander." Out of the corner of my eye I can see Artemis smiling. Sloane jerks her head towards the largest tent before she begins striding towards it, leaving us scrambling to follow.
"Oscar, you and your sisters can stay with my family, I'll have my General escort you there momentarily," She says to me as she leads us inside. "The rest of you can stay with the family beside us, a veteran couple." She explains and we stop, she turns to face us again. She nods to me and points further within the tent. "My General is right over there, training with our younger recruits. I'll escort your friends." She leaves, taking Gray and Melissa with her.
"See you," Gray says and I mutter a reply. Melissa smiles before she turns and follows Sloane, and when I turn again, my sisters are already making their way through the tent.
"Hey! Jules!" I call, ducking through a group of girls who begin walking in front of me. I see her turn her head quickly before she disappears again. "Excuse me." I murmur as I push my way through the tent.
"What's your name?" I hear Artemis ask, and I spot them talking to the black haired girl. She's shed the scarf she wore outside the village, her hair is loose around her hips and she's smiling kindly as Artemis speaks with her. Her hands on her hips, and I see she's exchanged her black top for a white one instead, and tape is wrapped around her hands. She still wears her black pants and boots though. Her eyes flicker to me as I move to stand beside Kate.
"Amara," I supply, remembering how Sloane had addressed her in the other tent. She smiles and nods.
"Oscar," She replies and holds out her hand. I shake it. Her eyes are sparked when she moves her head to the side, looking quickly to dismiss a small girl behind her.
"The uh, Commander said you could take us to her house," I say, feeling unexpectedly flushed. Amara grins, cocking a brow as she does.
"So you're staying with us?" She asks, stepping past me and beckoning us to follow.
"Us?" Juliette echoes. Amara looks back over her shoulder.
"The Commander is my sister," She tells us, taking us out of the tent. Go figure, I think with a slight smirk.
"So what is this place?" Kate asks.
"Eaden," Amara supplies, taking us around the village. Right next to the big tent is a smaller one, where I see a woman getting stitches put into her arm. "It was founded forty-two years ago, about a year after the initial outbreak of the Wanderers."
"What are 'Wanderers'?"
"The zombies."
"Oh. We call them Zeros."
"Why?"
"They're not human anymore? We don't really know," I offer. "Our Mom told us it was because they lost their soul, but who knows." Amara appears pleased enough with my answer, and continues leading us among the huts and tents. "Anyways; back to Eaden?"
"The First Amazon, Primus, found it, she created our society," Amara continues.
"Amazons? Like the female heroes in Greece mythology?" I ask. Amara nods and we turn.
"Yes. We're a spiritual community."
"How did you know that?" Kate asks me and I raise a brow.
"You didn't?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder.
"Yeah Tink," Juliette chuckles. Amara stops then and I almost run into her. She turns around to face us, her arms out as if displaying something.
"This is my home," She says proudly. It's near the market, very close in fact. It looks like two huts actually; a bit lopsided on the one side and the ceiling looks a little caved, but it looks big enough to hold all of us. She ducks beneath a blue scarf blocking the entrance and we follow behind her, me holding it up for my sisters to pass through.
It's larger than it actually appears. To the right is a curtain drawn to the side revealing two cots, and on the left is what looks like a wooden couch with cushioning laid across it. There's another two rooms at the back, and I can see two people sitting around a table. It's lit with candlelight like the other tent, and it's getting more and more dim as the sun descends. Amara moves quickly to stand between the two people, her hands resting on their shoulders. It's a man and woman, the man's hand rubbing small circles on the back of the woman's hand.
"Mama, Papa, qui es in testudine munitum," She smooths and the man looks up at me. He has black hair like Amara's and Sloanes. He shares Amaras eyes. The woman's hair is silver in its roots, and blends with blonde hair. Her eyes are blue. Glassy, but blue.
"The Bunker, huh?" Her Father asks. I nod.
"Yes sir," I say. The corner of his lip twitches like he wants to smile.
"Is it just the four of you?" He asks. I shake my head.
"No, we came with two of our friends, Gray and Melissa," I explain.
"They're the ones you saw next door," Amara mutters, looking to her Father. He smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Thank you, Amata." Amara smiles and kisses his cheek before she turns back to us.
"These are my parents, Olive, and Dean," She introduces. "Mama, Papa; this is Oscar, and his three sisters Juliette, Kate, and Artemis." I nod to her parents with an oppressed smile.
"It's nice to meet you," I say, and nudge my sisters to do the same. Amara smiles to me. Her Father nods. Her Mother attempts a smile.
I glance to her Mother, she sits unresponsive. Dean clears his throat and stands from the table, placing his wife's hand on the table. Amara steps back as he stands.
"I assume Sloane has invited you to stay?" He asks, then smiles when we nod. "Very well, follow me." He says, then mutters something to Amara. She nods, giving me a small smile as we walk past she and her Mother.
Dean leads us into the fourth room. He nods to my sisters.
"The three of you can stay in this room," He says, then looks to me. "There's an extra bed in Amara's room, we can pull it into the living room for you. The couch isn't very comfortable." He jokes delicately. I smile and nod.
"Thank you, sir," Dean smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder.
"Just Dean is fine, Oscar," He says and I nod again. He claps my back and looks back to my sisters. "I'll get Amara to grab you some clothes tomorrow."
When we go back out to where Amara's Mother, Olive, sits; Amara has left.
I barely sleep.
I wake up at one point, not knowing the time. I don't feel cold, but I'm shivering. I sit up and the house is plunged into complete darkness.
I consider creeping down the hall to where my sister's sleep. I look for a moment, down the hall, gnawing on my lip. But the house is quiet. There's no noise at all. No hum of air conditioning. Not the sound of my sisters easy breathing I've been listening to for the past few days. I climb out of my cot, my throat feeling tight, and I tip toe outside, pausing in the doorway to look up.
The stars are calm. I look around for a minute, and see a small lip sticking out on the side of the house. I look up to the slanted roof. Then I sigh with a small smile.
What the hell?
"What are you doing?" I hear behind me and jump, wincing at the moan of the wood beneath me. My head whips to look over my shoulder, and I let out a deep exhale as the tension in my shoulders diffuse.
"Jesus," I mutter, and Amara giggles. I look to her as she sits beside me on the roof, letting her legs dangle off the side. "You have to stop doing that." We sit in silence, looking at the stars.
"You're an astronomer," She guesses. I glance sideways at her with a raised brow.
"What makes you say that?" I ask, wondering for a moment just how obvious it is. After all; I'm sitting on a roof, in the middle of the night, watching the stars.
"You're gentle. People who like stars are often gentle," She says, and it surprises me. I look over to her, resting my head on my arms, drawing my knees in to sit cross legged.
"But you like the stars too," I say, then flush as she looks to me with a smirk. "I mean I'm just assuming." She laughs thinly again and tilts her head back towards the sky, smiling calmly.
"I do," She confirms.
"But you don't exactly seem gentle," I say and she giggles again.
"You mean because the first thing I did was spear a Wanderer when we met?"
"And threatened my own life,"
"I wasn't threatening."
"Sure you're weren't,"
"Fine, I'm not that threatening." I grin, tilting my gaze to peer at Gemini.
"But yeah. You don't seem gentle," I repeat. "You seem more…"
"Badass?" She wonders, and she's grinning. I flush again.
"Yeah." She's still smiling.
"Maybe," She wavers, nodding her head back and forth, and she looks sideways at me. "But remember, flowers still have thorns."
Chapter Fifteen:
When I wake up, Olive is sitting at the table like she was yesterday. My sisters and Amara are gone, but Dean is working at the stove. It's gaslit. He looks over his shoulder as I walk nearer.
"Good morning, Oscar," He smiles and goes back to working.
"Morning," I murmur, looking over to Olive carefully. She does nothing, just as yesterday. Her eyes are glassed over, her posture still, her body placid. Dean hands me a plate of eggs. I thank him, then wonder if it would be rude to sit.
"You can sit," Dean says then, and I feel embarrassed. I glance to Olive as I sit, expecting her to stir as my chair scrapes the floor, but she's quiet. I stare at her. I blink and look to Dean as he sits beside her, across from me.
"She's been like this for years," He says, placing his hand over hers delicately and looking to me. I say nothing in response. He looks back to his wife. "She was out with the other Amazons, she was Primus' lead general—how Amara is Sloanes—they were attacked by the Wanderers. Primus was blinded in one eye, but my Olive took most of the damage." He says, lifting Olives hand gingerly and pressing his lips against the back of her palm. I lean forward, crossing my arms on the table.
"She started to contract the virus after their return," Dean says then. "She left afterwards, so she didn't infect the girls or anyone else. We found her a year later, like this, outside the fence."
"Does she ever talk?" I ask. Dean shrugs.
"It depends. But when she does, it's all just crazy mumbo jumbo, almost like she's psychic," He mutters. I look down.
"Sorry," I say. He shakes his head, but his grip on Olive's hand tightens.
"It's fine," He says. "Wasn't anyone's fault. If anything, I guess it's kind of a miracle."
I've changed into a pair of Dean's clothes. A black shirt and combat pants matching Amara's.
Dean then points me outside. He says to check the Amazon tent for my sisters—apparently it's the large one we found Amara in yesterday. I nod and step outside into the village. Almost immediately the sun hits my face, and I squint, having to readjust after being in the darkened hut. After I blink, I can see again how life resumes in Eaden.
The square market is bustling with vendors, the crops are being tended to in the fields, and there's a man shepherding a herd of cows into the barn. I notice most of the women I see around the village are older, some young like Amara. I do see the occasional young girl run around with a group of other children, varying in ages. I walk past the med-bay again, this time seeing no one inside, and continue through to duck into the Amazons tent.
I grin when I see a familiar face, and Melissa smiles back at me. She actually jogs towards me, dressed in the same type of clothing I wear, and hugs me, going onto her tiptoes to get her arms around my neck, my chest heaving at the force of her body.
"Oscar!" She exclaims in my ear. I stop for a moment, and see Gray's slack jaw over her shoulder. I clear my throat, clothing my open mouth and hug her back, placing my hands oddly over her shoulders and back. Gray's face hangs with a look of disappointment, and he gestures for me to do something. I swallow and pat Melissa's shoulder, pulling back a bit.
"Melissa," I reply, and she lets go, still hanging on around my shoulders as she rests back on her heels. She's smiling, and her hair falls around her face in waves, just like it had in the Ruined City. It makes me smile. She turns, lifting her hands off my shoulders and putting her left one into my hand. I look down at our hands as she pulls me through the tent beside Gray. He raises an eyebrow above Melissa's head and I shrug. He's dressed as I am. I look in front of me, we're standing a few feet away from one of the round dirt pits where Amara stands sparring with Artemis. My jaw drops as I watch Artemis. She's holding a staff between her two hands, and using it to block Amara's arms as she strikes. Artemis has let her hair down, something I haven't seen her do in years, and it's flipping around her shoulders as she moves, ducking and blocking.
Amara looks like she's grinning as she spars with my sister, and eventually straightens her posture.
"Stop," She says, breathing evenly, and Artemis halts, panting, though she wears a bright smile.
"How was that?" She asks breathlessly, and Amara nods, grinning.
"Wonderful," Then she notices me. I see her smile widen, then drop slightly, and I follow her gaze to mine and Melissa's joined hands. I shake Melissa's hand out of mine and step forward. Artemis is beaming.
"Oscar, Amara said she'll train us to be Amazons," She says, and I raise my eyebrows with a small smile. Artemis looks back to Amara, who nods towards the back of the tent.
"Go clean up," She says, and Artemis nods, taking off with the staff at her side. I watch her leave, then glance back to Amara, who has come to stand beside me, her hands on her hips.
"Sorry," I say once she's out of earshot. "She's energetic." Amara shrugs, removing her hands from her hips.
"No problem," She smiles politely, and begins unwrapping tape from around her knuckles again. "She's a natural, does she do any sports?"
"She did competitive gymnastics in the Bunker."
"Competitive?" Amara echoes with a sly grin, glancing up at me foolishly. "How many times can the same teams go against each other?" She asks, and I feel my face heat up again. She chuckles airily, drawing her gaze away from mine.
"Yeah," I exhale. I look around. "Where are my other sisters?" I ask. Amara nods to the entrance.
"I think they went to the market," Amara says, "I can take you." I open my mouth for a minute, considering. I could just go myself, I'd found the tent easily enough, but on the other hand…
"Sure," I say. Amara nods and steps out of the pit. I look back at Gray and Melissa. "Can you watch for Artemis?" I ask. Gray nods, winking at me over Amara's head, but she still glances to me over her shoulder with a tipped brow. My ears burn and I make a fist over Amara's head when she turns again, this time she doesn't see, but Gray smirks all the same.
"After, come back to our home, we'll arrange for lunch," Amara orders glancing to Gray and Melissa, who nods. Amara lingers for a moment after, then her head snaps back to look at me. "Shall we?"
After we leave the tent, Amara is quiet. I walk feverishly beside her.
"So…" I drag, trailing my feet in the dirt. Amara walks straightened, almost mocking my posture.
"So," She replies easily. I deadpan. I hadn't planned this far ahead. She glances up to me and giggles. "You have questions." She says, turning her head back to the path. I nod, tinges of embarrassment reddening on my cheeks.
"Yeah," I admit. "It's just, it's all new, y'know, and there's just a lot to take in all at once, and especially now that I have to take care of my sisters." I say. She nods.
"I understand," She says, even though I doubt she actually does. "So, what are your questions?" I swallow. I hadn't thought this far ahead either. I look down at Amara and say the first thing that comes to mind.
"Why is your hair so long?" She looks up at me almost incredulously.
"Really? That's the first thing you're going to ask?" She asks. "You just rant to me about how you're in this whole new environment and your first question is about my hair?" I cringe, something Amara notes. I can tell by the twinge in her brow.
"Yes?" I offer. She just shrugs and looks back to the front.
"Okay then. Long hair is a symbol of strength, and spiritually, it builds a stronger relationship with the Gods," She tells me.
"So it's a communal thing," I say, and she nods.
"Exactly. Any other top of mind questions?" She asks with a slight-tipped grin.
"Very funny," I comment. She giggles again and nods her head up to me.
"Come on," She says. "Ask away."
"Why Amazons?" I ask, and this one she considers briefly.
"Oscar." She says, her voice direct. "You have to understand we're our own society, after the outbreak we rebuilt ourselves under word of Primus. She came with a women's group, there were about twenty of them, including other survivors they found when they were leaving the city. When Primus was being diminished by the men, she took back her dominance," She stops, glancing up at me. "She fought, and she won."
"As for the Amazons," She continues. "Women are featured in historical religions as bearers of strength; enduring childbirth and all that. We fight because we're smaller, we're lighter on our feet, with natural agility. We're more able bodied because we're more sustainable to crammed situations." She explains, and looks to me quickly again. "You have more questions?" I nod, considering Artemis.
"Is it safe?" I ask in reference to my previous question. Amara looks up at me with a kind smile.
"You're asking about your sisters," She says. "Because you saw me sparring with Artemis." I nod. "We give all girls within our society a choice up until they're nine years old, then they can choose to continue training to become an Amazon, or they work within the village." She looks to me. "I swear I won't let them go out until they're ready, but it is a choice." She says. I nod.
"Yeah, and thank you, for being willing to teach them," She smiles.
"Of course," She says, her tone kind.
"I have one more question," I say afterwards.
"Only one?" She asks with a hinting smile.
"Give me a minute and there'll be more."
"Okay then," Amaras smile evolves into a grin, and she chuckles lightly.
"The language you speak, it's Latin, isn't it?" I ask. She nods.
"Yes," She says. "Primus taught it to us." I nod. She glances up at me. "Any more questions?" She asks. I shake my head.
"No it's not that; just, I don't know, don't you find it a little ironic," I say with a tipped grin, putting my hands in my pockets as we walk.
"What do you mean?" She asks.
"Dead languages in a new world," I say. She's silent, considering.
"Maybe, but have you considered it's the other way around?" She asks. My brow furrows.
"Like what?" I ask. She half-grins.
"Look around you Oscar," She says. "We live in a dead world, full of new beginnings."
Chapter Sixteen:
Green and I are sitting in the lab, staring at the positive results that litter the screens of each drug test I've run. It's been twenty days since we sent an application for our clinical trial. If we don't get a response within the next ten days, it'll be extinguished, and Stacy won't have another chance. Green is spinning slowly in her chair, eating a bag of chips.
"What if it doesn't get approved?" Green asks. I exhale sharply.
"Then we have two options," I respond dryly, staring at the positives across the screen until I'm seeing green. "We tell Stacy there's no more we can do, or we try again."
Green is monitoring Stacy's room when I get the call. Stacy's sister and nephews have gone to Stacy's home to keep an eye on her plants while she's an inpatient, but Stacy's daughter Kelly has been at her side in a cot for the past twenty-three days. I'm jogging, but stop in the doorway. Green stands at the side of Stacy's bed, checking her IV, and looks up at me as I enter the room. Stacy's is sitting up in her bed, and she looks nervous to see me. Kelly is balled up in the chair near the window, her knees to her chest and a hood over her head. She takes out her earbuds when she sees me.
"What?" She asks. I beam, my face warm and flushed.
"We got approved." I say, looking to Stacy, whose jaw has dropped.
Stacy looks as though she may cry. Kelly throws herself onto the side of the bed, hugging Stacy tightly. Stacy's grasp is weak, but she still holds onto Kelly as tight as she can, squeezing her eyes shut and whispering a prayer.
Green looks just as exhilerous.
"We get to do a clinical trial?" She asks breathlessly. I nod, feeling my own emotion as I answer.
"Yes. We get to do a clinical trial." Stacy looks at me, so hopeful, so willing, so trusting.
"Thank you, Eleonora," She says. I smile delicately.
"Come on, it's your tumor that started the whole thing," I say and she looks even more hopeful. "I swore to you, I'm not letting you die like this."
Carboplatin and Bevacizumab are both chemotherapies designed for brain tumors. Carboplatin stops cell division within intracranial tumors, and damages cancer RNA and DNA. Bevacizumab blocks cancer proteins within the cells, and stops the oxygen intake of the cells. Together, the two of them cover two of the most valuable things a cell needs to survive.
Without cancer DNA and RNA, the proteins within the cell stop circulating and cause them to lose function. Without any oxygen intake, the cell dies even faster, suffocating. Without oxygen, the cell stops circulating altogether, and inevitably dies.
We'll pair the chemo with an alkylating agent, an extra to block DNA and RNA proteins. Temodar interferes with cancer cells to cause a cease in proteins, similar to why we'd chosen Bevacizumab. Temodar is specified for brain tumors in adults, and is given by capsule, in doses 5–15 milligrams.
The three are being paired to tame the impossible. There have been many cases where Carboplatin and Bevacizumab have worked successfully together, and are quite useful in shrinking recurrent malignant gliomas, now working specifically for inoperable frontal and temporal found oligodendrogliomas. Before this, these patients had nothing. They were told there was nothing more we could do. Now we've even proven ourselves wrong. They've been waiting on forever, for something like this, thinking there was never a chance in hell. But they knew they couldn't wait long; forever is too long without anything to hope for.
Dr. Blake is in my lab. I open the door with a tupperware container of strawberries, and stop in the doorway.
"Dr. Blake?" I call, covering my mouth as I speak through my food, and he turns.
"Chambers," He smiles. "I was waiting for you."
"You were?" I ask, closing the door and moving to my chair, which Dr. Blake is standing beside. He puts his hand on the back of the chair as I sit.
"Of course," He says. "Chambers, this is your trial. I've gathered a group of patients that we'll keep in the far oncology ward as inpatients, which means we'll be moving Ms. Warner and her daughter there as well." He continues. "Meanwhile, before we can start any of that, we need to produce your drug." He says, and I grin.
"Finally," I sigh and place my tupperware on the desk, opening my computer. "I've been following a 2012 case study where these doctors used Carboplatin and Bevacizumab as a joint chemotherapy to cure recurrent malignant gliomas. However, the treatments are usually recorded with high failure rates, which is why I'd like to start with a low dosage of the chemo drip, and give an extra alkylating agent, Temodar, to speed the blockage of the cancer proteins." I explain, pulling up my articles. Dr. Blake nods, leaning forward at my screen.
"Have you considered acetylcholinesterase?" He asks.
"The enzyme?" I ask hesitantly, turning away from my research to stare at him dumbfounded. He nods, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Think about it. Everything in the brain is controlled by neurological responses," Dr. Blake says. I nod.
"Neurotransmitters," I follow.
"And the span of the invasion of the frontal and temporal lobes is prohibiting neurotransmitters from sending messages about personality, morals, limbic systems, memory, emotions—the clinical workings of the brain are all directed by neurotransmitters," He says. "And right now, all those neurotransmitters are compromised by the cancer cells. They're restricting the movement between neurons, and I think, if we import just enough acetylcholinesterase, we could somehow try and be able to get back those aspects of personality." He says. I nod slowly, pursing my lips.
"I guess that could work," I say. He nods with a tipped grin.
"So?" He asks. I sigh.
"I'll do some research, we'll see if we can make it work—but I'm not making any promises," I say. He smiles.
"Fantastic."
My Grandfather and I are watching Wheel of Fortune. He's sitting with his glasses on the bridge of his nose, comfortably sunken into the armchair. I'm sitting across from the room, knees pulled up to my chest where I sit.
"Mr. Postman," My Grandfather mutters, and winks to me as they announce it right on the Tv screen. I grin and applaud him. We go back to watching the show, my Grandfather getting the next two puzzles right as well.
"I got my project approved," I say after a few moments.
"Oh that's great Amata," He tells me, smiling proudly. "Have you started yet?" He asks. I shake my head.
"No, we're working in production still," I say, and one of the contestants wins $1,000. "Dr. Blake wants me to put in acetylcholinesterase."
"I don't know what that is."
"It's a neurotransmitter inactivator," I say. My Grandfather's eyebrows knit together.
"Is that safe?" He asks. I try not to shrug.
"It's actually a natural drug, but I don't know what it would do if we added it to the chemotherapy. We have no idea what kind of results we could get." I explain.
"Isn't that the point of the trial?" My Grandfather asks. "To be able to experiment? To be able to save someone's life by doing what you'd deemed impossible?"
I look to him sideways, and see him peering at me from where he sits. He stares as though challenging me for a moment, then turns back to the Tv.
Wheel of Fortune is still playing, and the new category is 'Out of Place'. It's eleven letters. I almost smirk.
"Good luck with that one," I mutter to my Grandfather, whose eyes seem to twinkle. More letters are guessed, an 'M', two 'O's.
"Monachopsis," He says easily, and my jaw drops. It's about a minute later, and the word is revealed. I turn to my Grandfather.
"What does it mean?" I ask him.
"It's the subtlest feeling of being out of place," He tells me. "Not fitting in, not feeling as though any of your wrongs can be right." He says, and I look down after. He's speaking to me about my trial. About my doubts.
"I just don't want to ruin these people's lives," I say. My Grandfather smiles sympathetically.
"Amata, how can you ruin something that's already broken?"
Chapter Seventeen:
I have four trial patients. I'm taking Green through rounds with me, having placed my other interns in the ER.
Although these patients are all differing in size, age, and sex, they're all in the same boat as Stacy, who is my fourth patient. Each have the exact tumors, some more aggressive than others, and all determined inoperable by neurosurgeons. I turn to Green before we go into the first room.
"Remember," I say, attempting to soothe her eagerness. "These tumors are invasive, there can be inappropriate reactions, unusual outbursts." I tell her. She nods, holding each patient's chart.
"Got it," She says. "The tumor takes away who they are." She guesses, and I grimace, feeling a twinge of guilt.
"Worse," I say, and push into the first room. "The tumor becomes what they are."
The first patient is an elderly man with his wife. An oxygen mask is put over his face, and he's smiling contently as he sits. His wife is in the chair next to him, holding onto his hand as she shifts through a newspaper.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Garcia," I say with a bright smile. The couple looks to me as I enter their room, and Green lingers in the doorway behind me. "Have you already met Dr. Blake?" I ask. The man shakes his head.
"No," He says, and coughs into the oxygen mask. "We were told he would be meeting us later." He says. I nod.
"That's perfectly fine," I say. "I can just run you through the trial and what we hope to accomplish. We'll be starting as soon as the drug is developed to fit to each tumor." I explain. Mr. Garcia nods, and his wife clears her throat, drawing my gaze to her.
"Is it going to work?" She asks timidly, and she looks even smaller than she had when I walked in. Mr. Garcia looks to me as she asks, the pair watching me with a sad hopefulness. I nod.
"That's what we're here to find out."
I grin when I see Kelly in the hallway. She smiles as she sees me. She looks so much like Stacy.
"Dr. Chambers!" She says, jogging to meet me in the hall. I smile down at her as she falls into step beside Green and I.
"Good morning, Kelly. How's your Mom doing?" I ask. Kelly shrugs, her arms crossed to hug her chest.
"A bit irritable, but she seems to be mostly the same," She says, glancing up at me as we turn into Stacy's room. Stacy smiles when we do.
"Eleonora," She welcomes. I nod and smile.
"Stacy, how are you doing?" I ask. She exhales with a low smile.
"Anxious?" She offers. I nod.
"That's perfectly normal," I assure, glancing to Kelly, who moves to linger beside Stacy's bed. "I just want you to remember we aren't starting the chemotherapy yet." I say. "For now we're tracking and studying the behaviour of your tumor so that we can personalize the drug to give you the best possible outcome." I explain. Stacy nods.
"Yeah," She breathes, and my eyes soften. I place a hand on her calf and nod timidly.
"It's gonna be okay," I say, and she smiles tightly.
"Thank you." She says, and I smile.
"Of course," I respond, then I take Green and leave.
I'm in my lab for most the day. I have blood, urine, and tissue samples from each trial patient, and from those, I've synthesised the cancer cells that have developed in their brains. I'm testing the drugs with the personalized synthetic cells, and then I'll move on to extracting actual cancer cells from the patients for more accurate results before we try the real thing. Green has left me, she was pulled into an appendectomy with one of the general surgeons.
I sit, rolling back and forth in my chair, sipping on a smoothie I had one of my interns (Hamlet) pick up for me from the cafeteria. The radio is humming from the corner of the lab, where I've hooked my phone up to the speaker. All that's left for me to do is wait for the results, which truthfully, to get all four with the synthetic cells should take at least a half hour.
I've reached the bottom of my smoothie as I watch the petri dishes, waiting for the results. I sit higher on my chair, leaning above one of the dishes. These are the cells I fashioned from Stacy's information. From only a thirty minute test run, the cells have shrunken exponentially and have separated from each other. I decide to leave it, and when I check it again in twenty minutes, it's still unchanged. I grin.
The cells are unchanged.
They've stopped processing DNA, which means the chemo worked. I bite my lip, considering as I watch the abiding petri dishes.
Traditionally, acetylcholinesterase is a depolarizer of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine. It's a natural chemical. When it is released into the synaptic cleft, it bonds with a receptor molecule, causing the receptor to open and exchange ions, resulting in the depolarization of the postsynaptic neuron. After the depolarization the acetylcholine quickly dissociates and bonds with the acetylcholinesterase. The separation between the acetylcholine and the receptor molecule ceases the electric potential of the receptor. The breakdown is what inactivates the neurotransmitter, and can result in convulsions or even paralysis in drastic results.
Even still, it could have any number of wondrous effects on the cancer cells themselves. I get up from my chair and lower the volume on the radio, then I grab my keys for the lab and turn off the lights.
I'm rooting through all the medicine cabinets, labs, and supply closets I can find. Eventually, Harris, the Chief Resident, stops me in the hall.
"Woah, slow down, Chambers," She says, bringing me to a halt in front of the elevator. I nod, my attention snapping to her as she addresses me, buzzing to get back to my lab. "Why are you running all around the hospital like some kind of fool?" She asks. I show her the capsules I'm holding. Her eyes widen. "Is that?"
"Liquidized acetylcholinesterase," I supply with a nod. "Do you know I had to go all the way to radiology?" I say. Harris blinks, then shakes her head warily, placing her hands on her hips.
"Are you authorized to be testing with that?" She asks, glancing to my hands again as the elevator doors open. I nod.
"Ask Dr. Blake, neuro head," I tell her cheekily, flashing her the vials once before I step into the elevator and the doors cut out Harris' face. I get off and excuse myself to get by the doctors lined up to get into the elevator, probably on their way to CT. I fish my keys out of my pocket and step into my lab, locking the doors again behind me and flicking on the lights.
Just as I had left it, the low hums from the radio still drift amongst the room, and the four petri dishes still lay untouched from the first testing. I turn the radio up, nodding along with the music as I secure seven capsules in a freezer container, keeping the eighth out and sliding into my chair. I push off and roll towards the end of the desk, where I have a test tube and microscope set up.
I place the capsule in a small holding dish and look next to me for a syringe. I sterilise the needle, and hold it into the acetylcholinesterase. Biting the inside of my lip, I pull up maybe two millilitres. I then tip the syringe and hover it above the test tube, I push on the syringe, and watch as the acetylcholinesterase pools at the bottom. I turn to the other end of my desk where I have my carboplatin and bevacizumab mixtures. I take one of the vials and pour it into the test tube.
There's no reaction from the acetylcholinesterase as I pour it in, but I then take another syringe and a sample copy of some of the synthetic cancer cells I hadn't used earlier, and I slowly drop the new chemical mixture onto the cell make-ups. Then I dispose of the syringe and slide the petri dish underneath the microscope slide. I hold my hair back as I peer in through the microscope, and it's amazing.
Not even ten minutes have passed, and I can already see the cells detaching from one another, moving to a new source, and dying. I almost can't believe it, but it works. I let out a breathy exhale as I grin.
I push back from my desk and slide over to the phone on the side of the wall. It sends me to voicemail.
"Dr. Blake, it's Eleonora—Chambers—and it works."
Chapter Eighteen:
The next morning, I spend my lunch break sharing salad and sandwiches with Stacy and Kelly.
"So you figured it out?" Stacy asks me as I explain my findings from the night before. I nod.
"I did. I'm meeting this afternoon with Dr. Blake to confirm, then I'll have one of the nurses go over your regimen with you, and we'll start the chemotherapy tomorrow morning at nine." I say. Kelly looks up.
"Not tonight?" She asks. I shake my head.
"No, there's still scheduling to set up, and I still need to approximate the doses with Dr. Blake," I say, and have another bite of my salad. "And I haven't had dinner with my Grandfather in three days so he might actually not let me come back unless I have a meal with him." I joke, and Stacy laughs, then coughs a bit. Instinctively, I hold out a small cup of water that I had placed on the bed tray. She nods and mutters a 'thank you' as she takes it. She tips it back, almost drinking the entirety before placing it on the table beside her.
"Thank you," She says. I smile with a nod. "You're very kind. You're Mother must be proud of all the work you do." Stacy mutters, then glances at Kelly. "I know I would." She teases; Kelly blushes. I force a smile.
"Thank you, but my parents both died when I was a baby, I never knew them," I say, trying to pretend she hadn't asked me about my parents when we first met, and Stacy looks apologetic.
"Oh I'm sorry," She retaliates, and I shake my head.
"No it's okay, and honestly," I tell her. "I hope she thinks the exact same thing." I admit. Stacy smiles after, and places her hand over mine.
"Of course she does," She says. I smile and go back to picking at my salad, taking another bite.
"You know, there's a thing my Grandfather told me," I swallow. "Ignis fouet nostras. The fire that fuels our daughters. It was something my Mother would say, and I like to think of it to remember her, that she fuels me, to do good, and to keep the fires lit. Otherwise, all the world will be is ash."
"How was your day?" I ask my Grandfather as we're seated for dinner that night.
"Very nice actually," He says. "I stopped by that flower shop on sixteenth."
"Oh yeah, flirting with the owner again."
"Eleonora!" My Grandfather scolds and I laugh.
"What?" I ask, still chuckling. "Go out and liiiiive." I drag, and laugh more as he shakes his head, the tips of his ears tinted red.
"Amata," He warns, and I can't help but laugh once more.
"Okay, I apologize," I yield, and the room elapses back into silence. "But seriously, why didn't you ever date while I was growing up?" I ask. He sighs and places his fork to the side of his plate.
"Amata, what do you know about love?" He asks me. I shrug.
"Not much," I admit, and he nods.
"I was married, right when I went into the war," He explains then, with a sorrowful smile etched on his face. It's small, but still noticeable. "It's kind of funny actually; we always thought she'd end up planning my funeral after a few months, but nope." He says, and nods to me. "I went to bury her a year later." I feel guilty.
"I'm sorry," I tell him quietly.
"Yes, but I didn't go back home," He says, and my eyes widen in surprise.
"You didn't?" I ask. He shakes his head.
"No, I couldn't go back to a home that didn't have her in it," He explains. "Anyhow, the only thing she ever wanted from me was to be a good man."
"Wouldn't that have been going back?" I ask. My Grandfather shakes his head again.
"No. Good men don't do what's brave, or honorable," He tells me, and places his hand over mine again. "They do what's right." He continues to stare at me. I blink, then pull my hand back with a smirk.
"You turned this back onto me doing the enzyme in my trial or not," I accuse, crossing my arms. He grins and winks.
"Amata, I'm dying here, just tell me." I chuckle and nod.
"I decided to go with the acetylcholinesterase," I say. "Because you're right." I admit. He smiles.
"I'm always right."
"I need to be able to give these people more than just a chance," I ignore his self-praising. "I want to be able to promise something that could save their lives, so they don't have to bear everything when they're already losing so much." I say. He nods with a smile.
"I'm proud of you, Amata," He says, and as if he knows, he says next: "And your Mother would be too." I smile.
"Thank you," I say. He nods, appearing satisfied and picks up his fork.
"Now eat your carrots."
I'm sitting across from Stacy in one of the hospital chairs. Kelly sits beside me in a chair identical to mine. Stacy is looking up at Green though, who's hanging her drip bag, which is connected to IV Green has previously inserted into the crook of her forearm. Her lips are pursed, and her eyes are wary.
"Have you done chemotherapy before?" I ask, noticing her discomfort.
"No," She admits, and glances to me. "I just don't know what to expect." She says. I nod.
"Well, in a lot of cases, the patient appears worse before they get better, much like any recovery pattern," I explain, and she nods. "Your mood and some hormone levels will probably shift as they adjust to work around the drug. You'll have increased fatigue, you'll be at higher risk for infection since we're exposing your body to these new chemicals. It's likely you'll develop headaches, and have some nausea." I say. Stacy nods.
"Okay," She breathes out. Green steps back.
"Okay, it's in," She says. Stacy smiles tightly and nods. Kelly is leaning forward as Stacy sinks into her chair in an attempt to relax.
"Does it feel weird?" She asks. Stacy shifts and shrugs.
"I don't really know," She admits, glancing to me for clarification. I nod.
"Everyone reacts differently," I assure, looking from Stacy to Kelly. "Some patients report anything from a mild warmth or a slight burning, but often it's painless." I explain.
"What does that mean?" Stacy asks. "If it burns."
"Just that we would need to readjust the drug so that your body can tolerate it," I say. "Why? Does it hurt?" Stacy shakes her head.
"No, well, not yet, if it's going to," She says, and I give her a small smile.
"That's good," I tell her, and look across the room where the Garcias sit. I nod to Green to continue monitoring Stacy and the others, and I stand. I smile to the two other patients and pull a chair beside Mrs. Garcia. I smile at her and Mr. Garcia.
"How is it feeling so far?" I ask. He nods, glancing half-heartedly to the IV drip in his arm.
"Same as always," He says, and from beside me, Mrs. Garcia smiles sadly. My brow knits as I look between the two.
"Does it hurt?" I ask, my gaze flickering to the chemo tag on the IV. The dose may have been too strong. He shakes his head.
"No, nothing like that," He says.
"He has peripheral neuropathy," Mrs. Garcia tells me. I glance to Mr. Garcia.
"From previous chemotherapy?" I ask. He shakes his head.
"No, I used to be a mountaineer," He tells me. I raise a brow.
"Really?" I ask. He nods.
"Up until I nearly died on Everest. I've had nerve damage ever since," He explains. I shake my head and look to the floor foolishly.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"There's no need for you to apologize." Mr. Garcia tells me. He catches Mrs. Garcia's eye and smiles, before he glances to the IV in his arm. I follow his gaze to the chemo bag. "I suppose it doesn't matter," He sighs after a moment. "Some fates are worse than death."