Return to Sender
“He was too sick to get out of bed. He’d vomited nonstop the entire afternoon. Only in the past hour had the waves of nausea subsided. Nick wasn’t sure how much more of the chemotherapy treatments he could stand. Dr. Reeves had explained to him that his treatment would be very aggressive, almost deadly in its side effects.
He’d heard a few of the other patients complaining, saying that sometimes they’d prefer death to the horror of the treatments. At the time he’d laughed at them. At the moment,... however, he agreed with them completely. He’d lost twelve more pounds according to the doctor. Nick couldn’t remember the last meal he’d kept down; hell, he couldn’t remember his last real meal. He’d been reduced to green and yellow Jell-O and weak chicken broth. He craved a shot of good whiskey, but alcohol wasn’t allowed during the treatments.
In his weakened state, he felt like less of a man, and he hated the feeling. Depending on others to do the very basic tasks he’d never given much thought to was demeaning.MoreLess
He’d heard a few of the other patients complaining, saying that sometimes they’d prefer death to the horror of the treatments. At the time he’d laughed at them. At the moment,... however, he agreed with them completely. He’d lost twelve more pounds according to the doctor. Nick couldn’t remember the last meal he’d kept down; hell, he couldn’t remember his last real meal. He’d been reduced to green and yellow Jell-O and weak chicken broth. He craved a shot of good whiskey, but alcohol wasn’t allowed during the treatments.
In his weakened state, he felt like less of a man, and he hated the feeling. Depending on others to do the very basic tasks he’d never given much thought to was demeaning.MoreLess
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