As I linked my arms with my mama’s and daddy’s, I felt it: I felt the good news coming my way. I could see the orange glow of attending UT in the distance. A dream I had thought would never occur was now in my grasp again.
My daddy dropped a kiss on my head, and I knew he was silently sharing my excitement. We walked into Dr. Duncan’s office, and Dr. Duncan avoided our eyes as he looked at his computer. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, June, but our initial findings are showing that the treatment is not working as well as we’d hoped for you.”
His words were a bucket of ice-cold water poured over my head. My heart stuttered from shock, and I heard my daddy whisper, “What?”
My hands began to shake, and my mama reached over and gripped them tightly.
“You’ve only had treatment for one phase, but this new form of monoclonal antibodies are intense and you should already show improvements. Our results tell us that your AML has progressed.”
I was still, like my body was locked in a cage I couldn’t climb out of.
“Phase one has not been successful for you, but we still have phase two. And we have hope that this may still work with another round of treatment.”
My mama seemed to be just as shocked as I was, silent and trying to digest this unexpected news.
“What are the chances?” my daddy asked. “What are you predicting the chances will be of recovery in phase two?”
“When this was tested in a lab, it was never more than ten percent,” Dr. Duncan said, straight to the point. “But that was not in humans, so we don’t have conclusive evidence. It could be more or less. We don’t know until we trial the next phase.”
I swallowed.
“And if there’s no improvement by the end of the second phase?” Daddy asked, and I braced myself.
“Then the trial’s treatment would be deemed unsuccessful for June,” Dr. Duncan explained. “And June’s cancer will keep progressing. After this next phase, if there is no improvement, June will be moved on to palliative treatment. We will do all we can to make her pain free, but there would be no need for more chemotherapy or immunotherapy.”
All I could hear was the slamming of my heart against my ribs. One more phase. I had one more phase for this treatment to make a difference—which seemed unlikely—and maybe only a few more months left to live if it failed.
Nausea swirled in my stomach, and I jumped up from my seat. I stared Dr. Duncan right in the eyes and said, “Am I going to die?”
“As I said, I don’t have that data yet,” he replied.
I shook my head. That wasn’t enough of an answer for me. I could feel myself unraveling with panic. “In your opinion, do you think the treatment will begin to work in the next phase?” I knewI was being direct, making him repeat himself, but I just…I just needed to be told again. I needed it to sink in.
“As I said, lab results show around ten percent. It’s not great odds, but we must continue, as humans may take to the treatment better. We will increase the dosage of the immunotherapy and monitor you to be sure your body can withstand it. There is hope, June. It’s small, but it is there. We mustn’t give up yet.”
Ninety percent. There was a ninety percent chance that this treatment would fail.
Mama moved before me. “June?” She had tears streaming down her face.
My daddy stood too; his face looked stricken. Then I thought of Jesse—of his smiling face, of how excited he would be that his treatment was working, that I would hopefully be receiving the same news as everyone else.
My dream of us being at UT together evaporated. The idea of walking out of this ranch cancer free seemed like a fool’s dream now rather than a likelihood.
I left the office and stood in the hallway. I could hear laughter coming from the rec room. I couldn’t face it. My feet were planted into the ground.
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go to your room,” Mama said, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to go to my room. I didn’t knowwhatI wanted.
And I couldn’t face Jesse who would be back in the rec room by now—couldn’t face Emma and Chris and everyone else. Oh God, Jesse… My treatment had failed. His was working; he was going to be okay, but he was going to be moving on without me.
“I need to be alone,” I blurted out, and backed away from the office and toward the door that led outside. My daddy tried to follow, but I held out my hands. “Please,” I said, my bottom lip trembling. “I just need to… Please don’t follow me. Just give mespace.” I fled the building and was met with a warm breeze. Still, I was freezing.
Shock, I thought. I pulled my sweater from around my waist and put it on, walking as fast as I could, ignoring the pain in my leg. It suddenly seemed more pronounced somehow.
I sped up, Dr. Duncan’s words swirling around my brain like a tornado.
Ten percent. I might only have a 10 percent chance that the treatment would work from here on out. I slowed, tasting salt on my lips, and I realized tears were falling from my eyes.
It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t my body just accept this new treatment? Or the old treatment for that matter? What was it about me that rejected any kind of cure?
