Filed to story: Sedona Preston and Logan Hayes Book PDF Free
Everything after that came in broken pieces as I wasn’t able to keep track of time any longer. My eyes barely open could only take in flashes of what was going on, the buzzing noise in my ears getting louder drowning noises from her surroundings.
Cameron’s voice, urgent and commanding, on the phone with 911. The hotel carpet against my cheek- when had I fallen down to the ground? I could taste the copper taste of blood in my mouth. Sirens, growing louder. Strangers in uniforms, asking questions I couldn’t answer.
And pain. God, the pain was everywhere now, radiating from my stomach down to every part of my body like someone had set my internal organs on fire.
“Excuse me miss, can you hear me?” A paramedic’s face hovered over my face looking calm as he took control of the situation. “We’re going to get you to the hospital. You’re going to be okay.”
But I wasn’t okay. I was dying. Right here on the hotel room floor, I was dying, and I hadn’t even made it home. Hadn’t seen my parents. I hadn’t even told them goodbye properly. I had wasted too much time.
“Cam?” My voice came out barely audible, my hand reaching out blindly.
“I’m here.” His hand found mine, gripping tight. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”
The ambulance ride was a blur to me, as I could only feel pain, hear the engine noise and Cameron’s voice, which remained steady and constant, telling me to hang on, to keep fighting, that we were almost there.
Northwestern Memorial Hospital’s emergency room was chaos once we arrived and I was pushed into the ER-doctors shouting orders, nurses running, machines beeping frantically. Someone started an IV in my arm. Someone else was asking Cameron questions about my medical history.
“Stage three gastric cancer,” I heard him say. “Diagnosed three days ago. She hasn’t started treatment yet. We were supposed to fly to Seattle today to see specialists there.”
“We need to get her stabilized first,” a doctor said. “Looks like a bleeding ulcer, possibly a perforation. Get me a CT scan and prep her for emergency endoscopy.
I was so tired of fighting, of hurting, of pretending was okay when nothing was okay.
“Sedona.” Cameron’s face was above mine again.
“They’re going to take you back for some tests. I’ll be right here when you get out. Do you understand? I’m not going anywhere.”
I tried to nod, but the movement only succeeded in sending me more pain through my abdomen. A whimper escaped my lips, and I hated myself for it, hated being this weak, this pathetic.
“Give her something for the pain,” Cameron demanded. “Can’t you see she’s in agony?”
“We will, sir, but we need to assess-“
“Now. Give her something now, or I swear to God-“
A cool sensation flooded my arm from the IV, and suddenly the pain began to recede, replaced by a fuzzy feeling.
“Am I dying?” I heard myself ask, my voice slurred and distant. “Cam, am I dying?”
“No.” His voice was fierce, absolute. “No, you’re not dying. Do you hear me? You’re going to be fine. We’re going to get you home just like we talked about, you are going to meet mum and dad and then we will get you the best treatment available. You’re going to fight this, and you’re going to win.”
“Tired,” I mumbled my eyes closing on its own, too heavy for me to keep open. “So tired of fighting.”
“I know. I know you are.” His hand brushed hair back from my forehead, letting cool air touch my forehead. “But you’re a Preston, Sedona, We don’t give up. Ever. You’re going to fight because I’m going to fight with you. Mom and Dad are going to fight with you. You’re not alone anymore.”
“Promise?” The word came out vulnerable almost childlike, like I needed to believe in his words.
“I promise. On everything I have, everything 1 am-1 promise.”
Sedona’s POV
They wheeled me away then, and I managed to catch one last glimpse of cameron’s face, which was filled with both worry and fear, before my eyes drifted close.
The endoscopy was invasive and humiliating, even though I was dizzy and not all in for the most of the test. Afterward, they admitted me, hooking me up to what felt like dozens of machines, all designed to perform a particular job in my body.
A new doctor came in, she looked like she was in her fifties, with grey hair pulled back in a bun and she had kind eyes that seemed to make me feel less scared as she smiled at me.
“Ms. Preston, I’m Dr. Okafor. I’m an oncologist here at Northwestern. Your brother has been filling me in on your diagnosis.”
“Sedona,” Cameron said from his position in the chair beside my bed He had come in as soon as I had been wheeled in here after my test and he hadn’t left since. He looked exhausted, his usually pristine appearance rumpled and worried.
“Dr. Okafor thinks we should start treatment now. Not wait until we get to Seattle.”
“The bleeding we saw today is likely due to tumor erosion,” Dr. Okafor explained gently letting me know what was happening to my body. She was explaining it in simpler terms that would be able for me to understand. “Your cancer is advanced, and it’s aggressive. Every day we wait gives it more time to spread. I’d like to start you on chemotherapy immediately-today, if you’re willing.”
“But the doctors in Seattle-” I started.
“Will be excellent, I’m sure,” Dr. Okafor interrupted smoothly. “But right now, you need immediate intervention. We can stabilize you here, start your treatment, and then you can continue care in Seattle under their supervision. But Ms. Preston, I have to be honest with you, this episode was really bad and it shouldn’t have happened, and I do not want to scare you but if you get another episode like you did this morning, and you might not survive the flight to Seattle.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous as I turned to look at Cameroon who was squeezing my hand tightly and his face was etched with fear.
“What do you think?” I asked him.
“I think we start treatment now.” His voice was steady, but I could see his hands shaking. “I think we do whatever gives you the best chance of survival. Seattle can wait. Right now, you need to focus on staying alive.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the decision being pressed down on me. I know all about chemotherapy, knew what it would do to my body and the side effects that came with it, ranging from nausea down to loss of hair. Did I want to spend my last days being sick from the treatment rather than sick from cancer.
But then I thought of Cameron’s face when he’d found me bleeding on the hotel room floor. The sheer fear Thinking he was going to lose me and he wouldn’t be able to prevent it. I also thought of my parents, who were waiting patiently in Seattle. Trusting on Cameron to bring me home safely, so they could see the daughter they’d lost five years ago. I thought of Grandma Brooke’s words: Someday he’s going to look for you, and you won’t be there.
Maybe I owed it to them to fight. Maybe I owed it to myself.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s do it.”
Dr. Okafor nodded approvingly, happy with my decision as she clasped her hands together.
“Good. We’ll start with a platinum-based regimen-cisplatin and fluorouracil. I won’t lie to you, Ms. Preston. The side effects can be rough. But this gives us the best chance of shrinking the tumor and preventing further bleeding.”
“When do we start?”
“Within the hour. We’ll pre-medicate you with anti-nausea drugs and steroids to help minimize the side effects to help give your body a boost so you won’t tire so easily.” She paused, her expression sympathetic. “Do you have any questions?”
A thousand questions crowded my mind at the same time, each fighting to be the most important one. Would it hurt? Would it work? Would I survive long enough to make it home? But I asked none of them, just shook my head.
“I’ll be back shortly to get everything started.” Dr. Okafor gave my arm a gentle squeeze before leaving.
