Patrick held the door open for me and I smiled at him. Mary, the nurse, was waiting for us inside. "Heyo, Mary!" I greeted cheerfully.

Mary turned towards me, a tight smile on her face. Her eyes were slightly watery. "I'll get D-Doctor Schwartz." She said, voice shaky.

"Mary?" I wondered, but she scurried away.

This did not seem good.

"I'm guessing she's not normally like that?" Patrick sighed, helping me onto the paper covered table.

"Not at all." I agreed, "She's usually one of the most cheerful nurses, always thinking up games for the little ones in hospice." I sighed, "She takes me with her sometimes. It's so sad to see them there, so young. Maybe one of them, you know..."

"Died." Patrick finished.

"Yeah. She always gets upset about that. Mary isn't like other nurses, not as desensitized to the deaths."

"Or not as good at hiding her feelings." Doctor Schwartz said from the doorway. "Nurses aren't heartless, Bailey. They're just used to it."

"Most of them aren't." I agreed, rubbing the spot were an especially sour nurse had jabbed me during bone marrow transplant.

"Some of them are a little difficult." She shook her head, "But most are dealing with things of their own."

"That makes me feel like a good person." I turned to Patrick, "This is Patrick. I, you know, told him."

She nodded in approval. "Bailey." She flipped through paper on her clipboard. "This is hard for me to say, but I must. I think you should consider chemotherapy."

"Chemo?" Patrick and I both blanched. Chemotherapy was either pills or injections, even though most people thought it to be radiation in a machine-that would be radiation therapy. I had been doing biological therapy, working with my doctor to help my cells recognize and attack the cancer. It was slowing the disease down some, but not really working for me. I had accepted that fact. Chemo caused some important cells-like ones that fight off diseases-to die. Any simple flu and I'd be screwed.

"Yes," She took a deep breath, "I know there are a lot of horror stories about chemotherapy, but
there are also a lot of good recovery ones, if you care to look. Side effects go away the same time cancer does. It should be fine."

"Should be?" Patrick's voice was a steely whisper, "that's not good enough."

"Mr. Stump," Dr. Schwartz said weakly, "there's no other option. Biological therapy isn't working, Bailey needs chemo. It's certain death or a chance of it."

Patrick opened his mouth angrily to say more but I stopped him. "I'll do the chemo." I decided.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but it was my choice and that was that.

A few weeks into chemo, my cancer was going away. My hair was gone, but no one seemed to care about that. Even Patrick still called me beautiful, protesting when I even tried to cover my scalp with a hat. Even a fedora.

We were all confident that I would make a full recovery. Mary had stopped tearing up to see me and Dr. Schwartz was talking about recovery plans.

I woke up at night, not knowing why. I did that a lot, since I was a child. My body warned me that something was going to happen this way-a nose bleed, vomiting, I had no idea how I knew, my brain just did automatically. I didn't know if it happened to other people or just me, but no matter what happened I was always up and out of bed before it did, just in case.

Rushing to the bathroom, I found that it was the latter thing. The entire contents of my stomach threw itself into the toilet, leaving me shaking and panting on the floor. I felt like when I was in the wave pool, my stomach rolling and sloshing around.

Immediately, I cursed myself. Siera had called me last week about Jenny's birthday, and I couldn't miss it. The thing was, Jenny had come down with the stomach flu a day later, contracted from one of her guests.

Now it seemed the disease had found its way to me.

I pulled my phone from my vanity, "Patrick," I wheezed, "Stomach bug, Hospital. Now."

He didn't answer, and all I heard was the click of the phone being turned off.

Patrick appeared a few minutes later in the bathroom doorway. He scooped me up, holding me as though I might shatter.

"Stay with me." He pleaded, helping me into the front seat of his car. He rushed to the hospital, ignoring the speed limit completely. "Please, Bailey."

"Forrest." I murmured deliriously. "You're...Forrest...now..."

"BAILEY!" He screamed, the white hospital looming in front of us. He pulled me out of the car, lifting me onto the paramedic's stretcher. "Make her better, please. Make her better."

The last thing I saw was his worried face before the simple, tiny stomach bug overtook me.