Chapter 18

I was resting the whole day until hunger pangs compelled me to open my eyes. Yet, as I sat starving for something, my throat felt scratchy. As I sat clearing my throat, my mother asked, “Do you need some water?”

I nodded. She was already handing me the glass filled with clear fresh liquid. I drank a few sips. My throat was dry, I knew what the beginnings of an upper respiratory infection felt like for me.

It always started with a scratchy throat, then coughing, then a leaky nose, and the ridiculous sneezing fits.

“Maybe I need some orange juice or tea with honey and lemon and a shot of whiskey.”

She sighed, “You’re not sick,” my mother insisted, “I wiped down this entire room.”

We heard Warren from the main bedroom coughing and sneezing.

“I’ll go get the orange juice and make you some soup just in case,” she said before leaving the room.

Frustrated, I grunted. I heard my phone sound with a text message. I saw that it was from Diego, “Hola hermana, how are you?”

“Hermano, I’m hanging in there. I think I may be coming down with a cold and Warren is sick too.”

“Damn, Ro said she and little Diego were sick too. I hope you feel better.”

We sent a few more messages. By the time my mother returned with orange juice, I was fighting the urge to cough.

She handed me the glass. I drank it quickly as if it were a magic potion that would instantly cure my sickness.

By the end of the night, I was at a light cough and by midnight, it was horrible. My throat and chest hurt. Fuck! I thought. I was one more chemo treatment away from ringing the bell if my test results were negative.

My mom kept bringing me stuff to drink and mints to suck on for my throat. Once the coughing eased, I had the pleasure of sneezing until my abs were sore and my back ached. I was miserable. The only thing I could do was close my eyes. Sleep it off, I thought.

Sleep. I slept until the cough forcefully woke me up. My chest burned. I was coughing and sneezing at the same time.

I could see the worry on my mother’s face as she stood by the door talking to Warren. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just wondering why you weren’t more careful,” she scolded him.

“I was being careful. I washed my hands before I went into the bedroom with her.”

“Mom,” I called her to stop the bickering.

“Yes, baby,” she said as she came into the room.

“I don’t want you and Warren arguing,” I said to her.

She nodded as she touched my forehead, “It’s fine, baby. We’re fine.”

I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

Days later, I was lying in bed. I felt cold in my bones. I was shaking. I needed another blanket. As I was attempting to leave the bed, the bedroom door opened, and I saw my mother with my sister Silvia.

“Jackie,” she said as she hurried over to assist me, “what do you need?” my mother asked.

“I’m cold.”

My sister felt my forehead, “Where’s the thermometer?” she asked my mother with concern.

My mother called for Warren but my father appeared, “Warren just left,” he responded, “how is she?”

“Not good,” my sister replied, “her skin is on fire. I need some cold towels.”

Moments later, I lay in bed with minimal clothing, a sheet, and cold towels on my head and neck.

I heard my sister say, “If it doesn’t come down soon, we’ll have to take her to the hospital.”

“Thank you,” she said to Silvia.

My sister stayed nearby with my father as my mother attended to me.

“Mama,” I called for her in an almost childlike voice.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you ask God to let me live a little longer?”

Her voice cracked as she responded, “Yes, baby.” She held my hand and prayed, “God, I know you’re listening because you’re always present. We need you right now. My daughter, Jackie needs you. Please we’re asking that you spare her life and bless her.” She sobbed, “please don’t take my baby.”

We appreciate life more when the reality of death lurks near. I saw death staring me in the eyes but then I heard a voice say, “not yet.”

I woke up in a hospital room. I was relieved that I was still on the right side of the dirt.

When my fever didn’t break, I had to go to the hospital. I had body aches, chills, and headaches; my blood pressure dropped, and my organs were starting to fail.

Thank god my sister was there that day. She knew what was happening and because of her and the life-saving procedures of the medical staff, I was still alive.

As I lay in bed, several doctors entered the room, I saw my oncologist with the crew. He spoke first, “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Sorry.”

He smiled, “You’re going to be fine and the best news is ... you won’t need that final round of chemotherapy.”

It seemed as if time stood still, “Are you saying??”

He nodded, “We ran some premature tests and the cancer is gone. You’ll still need some time to recover from all this.”

I didn’t hear anything after, the cancer is gone.” I was overcome with joy.

After a few more days at the hospital and I was released. My father and mother had come to pick me up. As my mother helped me from the wheelchair into the car, I asked, “Where is Warren?”

My father remained silent and my mother hesitated before speaking, “Warren wasn’t feeling quite himself.”

My face scrunched as I took a seat, “Is he still sick?”

“Sweetheart, let’s just get you home.”

The whole ride home, I sent messages to Warren but they went unanswered.

When we got home, my mother had a place on the sofa set up for me to rest. I asked her again, “Where’s Warren?”