TREATMENT BEGINS
598 Words
_CHAPTER 9
London. 8:03 AM.
The hospital smelled like bleach and fear and something else I couldn’t name. Hope, maybe.
Chidi was already in the recliner when I got there with two paper cups of tea.
He was drowning in the hospital blanket. Too big. Too white.
The IV pole stood next to him like a guard. Cartoons played on the TV with no sound.
“Assumpta,” he said when he saw me. His voice was thin. Smaller than last week.
“Is it going to hurt?”
I set the tea down. My hands were shaking so bad I almost spilled it.
I sat on the edge of the chair and took his hand. It was ice cold.
“Not really, baby,” I said. I forced a smile. “It’s medicine. Cold medicine. To kill the bad cells.”
“Will I lose my hair?”
“Maybe.”
“Will you stay the whole time?”
“Every second,” I promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Nurse Eliza came in at 8:15. Young. Kind eyes. Name tag crooked.
“Morning, Chidi. Ready to start day 1?”
He nodded. His grip on my hand tightened.
They taped the cannula into his arm. He flinched but didn’t cry.
The first drip started. Clear. Cold.
“It feels weird,” Chidi whispered.
“Three hours,” Nurse Eliza said to me softly. “You can stay the whole time.”
I wasn’t leaving.
The first 30 minutes were silent. Just the beep of the machine and the cartoons.
Then Chidi squeezed my hand.
“Tell me a story.”
So I did.
I told him about our house in Port Harcourt. About mama’s pepper soup on Sundays. About the mango tree in the backyard and how he tried to climb it when he was 6 and fell and I carried him all the way home with his knee bleeding.
He laughed once. Weak, but real. It cracked something in my chest.
At 10:30 he threw up.
I grabbed the bowl fast and held his hair back.
“I’m here,” I whispered over and over. “I’m here, I’m here.”
Nurse Eliza came in with meds. “Side effects,” she said gently. “It’s normal. The medicine is working.”
My phone buzzed in my hoodie pocket.
Unknown number.
_How did it go?_
Stephen.
I never told him what time it was starting.
My throat closed.
_It started. He’s brave. He threw up once but he’s okay._
Three dots appeared.
_Stay with him._
_Eat something._
_I will._
_Good._
I put the phone away and wiped my eyes.
By 11:15 the bag was empty. Nurse Eliza flushed the line and taped it down.
Chidi was pale and sweaty, but he looked at me and smiled.
“We did it,” he said. “Day 1.”
I carried him back to the ward room. He weighed nothing. Too light.
I tucked him into bed and sat in the chair beside him.
He slept for 9 hours straight.
I didn’t.
I watched his chest rise and fall. I counted his breaths.
Every time the machine beeped I jolted awake.
At 11:47 PM my phone lit up on the small table.
_You ate?_
I smiled in the dark.
_Hospital sandwich._
_That’s not food._
_I’ll eat tomorrow, I promise._
_You better._
_Yes sir._
_Don’t call me sir._
_...okay Stephen._
No reply after that.
But somehow, with his last text on my screen, I finally closed my eyes.
Day 1 was done.
And he was still here.
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