“Sick with what?” I manage quietly, my head spinning. “How long have you known?”
Staring at his feet, hands folded, elbows resting on his knees, he sighs. “I’ve been sick pretty much all my life. Type one diabetes. That’s why I met my best friend in the hospital. That’s why my parents kept me sheltered and wouldn’t ever take me anywhere. That’s why my brother was always the successful one in the family, even though he’s a spoiled jerk. That’s why I felt this need to go out and see things. That’s why I created the list.”
He finally looks up, his beautiful eyes reflecting with overwhelming hurt. “I spent nearly six solid years of my life in a hospital. I’ve had three transplants. Two pancreas and one kidney. My body rejected all of them. I don’t even have a pancreas anymore.
I’m what they call a ‘brittle diabetic’ because my blood sugar is particularly hard to control.
A couple weeks before I met you, I was told my remaining kidney isn’t working properly. Rather than go through the hell of another surgery and probable rejection, I chose to go on this trip with you. I’ve been crashing at my buddy’s to avoid my parents.
They said if I refused the surgery it’d be like walking out of their lives. But I’m tired of being in the fucking hospital, having feeding tubes and ports stuck into me, being incredibly weak and sick for months on end. I’m lucky I’ve made it this long without dying from an infection, or from the wrong mix of medications, or a thousand other complications I’ve faced over the years.”
He wipes at his face. I know it devastates him that I’m seeing him this way; weak and broken down. And it kills me to hear of the horrors he’s faced. I want to wrap him in my arms and cry with him, but I’m still struggling with the shock of it all.
“Damn it, Jewels. I don’t have much time left. I saw this trip as a chance to do one big thing before I go out. One real shot at being normal for as long as I can, without doctors and surgeons poking at me. It’s easier to pretend when I’m with you that nothing’s wrong. I didn’t purposely set out to break your heart. I didn’t know I’d fall in love with you.”
A million little holes pierce my heart.
He loves me and he doesn’t have much time left.
Angry and dejected, I bolt to my feet. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me. You could live if you had the surgery, but you’ve just decided to give up? You’re not even going to try to get another transplant?” Sobs wrench my throat, coming out in more of a pained wail. He reaches out to comfort me, but I fight back, swatting at him with my hands. “I knew your secret was monumental, but why would you hide something that your life depends on? How could you just refuse to do something that will save your life? We have to get you to a hospital!”
“You don’t understand what it’s like, going through the surgeries. The pain that comes after I’ve been sawed open, or having to get around in a wheelchair after because I’m too weak to even walk across a driveway. Waiting for my body to reject it, then getting sick from the drugs they pump into me trying to reverse it. It’s total hell. I wouldn’t wish this kind of life on anyone. Not even my worst enemy.”
He sits motionless on the couch, looking totally broken. I thought he was getting a bit thinner, but I was lying to myself and pretending I didn’t see all the other signs. Rimmed red eyes, pale skin, it’s almost as if he’s close to disappearing.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, seeming out of breath.
“Don’t be sorry! Being sorry won’t help anything! You can’t do this, Adam! You can’t just give up! We need to fly home and get you to a doctor!” I jump to his side, crashing into his arms. “I need you! Don’t you understand?”
His lips press to the side of my head. Do they feel more delicate, or is it my imagination kicking into overdrive? “I can’t go back. I spent most of my life in a hospital.
I don’t want to die there, too. I’m just ready for it to all be over.”
I lean away to look him in the eye, trying to understand how he can simply give up on something that could save his life. “You made me believe you wanted to do this because of your best friend’s dying wish.”
“That part is true,” he says with his lips against my ear. His hands trail up and down my back, filling me with a false sense of comfort. “We met two years after I was diagnosed and practically lived in each other’s hospital rooms. I used to think I could beat this because Zach had it even worse than me. He was two years older and had gone through three pancreas transplants before we even met. His mom had to home school him after third grade. A few weeks before his heart gave out, he went blind and he couldn’t eat food because his stomach nerves were shot from all the surgeries. We went through a lot together. He made me promise I’d live life to the fullest while I still could, and I swore I wouldn’t let him down. After he died I couldn’t make sense of it all. I decided it isn’t worth fighting this hard when eventually I’ll die from the disease anyway.”