Blood Will Out- final

<<if $randomiser is 1>>\nA seventh day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nHe sleeps. He sleeps. He is [[very still|verystill2]].<<else>> \n\nA seventh day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nYou decide. You're going to make him call the [[GP]].<<endif>>\n\n\n<<set $randomiser to either(1,2,3)>>

He is so angry with you, lately. He's waking up early to do extra work, to pay off a tax bill, and he's exhausted all the time, and cranky, like a baby. You're fighting constantly. You nag. He snipes. Things are miserable. \nAnd under it all, you have this dull sense of something coming. Maybe you think this because of the fighting, or maybe it's something else: something else that you recognise. You recognise it, and you try so hard to push it down. It's the old sickness, anxiety, rising again. And you know it's nonsense. You KNOW it's nonsense. Don't you? There's nothing to worry about. \n\nThere can't be anything to worry about. You think about [[taking a Valium]], or you think about talking to someone. You think about [[talking to your best friend]], or [[talking to your mother]], or even [[to him]], about how, suddenly, how scared you are. Again. It's probably nothing, right? What would you even say to your mother? Your friend?\n\n<<if visited ("sleep")>>\nThere is always nothing to worry about. Oh God, help me. Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. You are not religious. You wish suddenly you were. Oh, my God. You know there is nothing to worry about. \n\nThere can't be. No. Get a grip. What can you do? It's you, not him, isn't it? Isn't it? You have to do something, say something. You have to try and convince someone of this nightmare. What nightmare? What IS this? (You know, deep down. But still, you [[Google]].)\n<<endif>>\n\n\n\n\n\n

You wish you hadn't left. You try to imagine what might have happened if you had stayed. You are so very afraid, and there is now [[nowhere to go|BASTARD]]. \n

You wish you hadn't waited. You try to imagine. You are so very afraid, and there is now [[nowhere to go|BASTARD]].

"I think he has cancer", you tell her, and she laughs, really laughs. \n\n"You mad fuck," she says, and tousles your hair. "Why would he have fucking cancer? You really are mad as fuck, aren't you?" You look at her: she is beautiful, grinning, and you want to trust her. But you don't. Not about this.\n\n"Does he think he has cancer?"\n\n"No," you admit.\n\n"Well, then," she says, like that's [[the end of the matter]]. And you wish it was.

Another day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nThen you sleep, too, and when you wake up, it's the [[same old story.|He's sick 3]]

A third day. \n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nThen you sleep, too, and when you wake up, it's the [[same old story.|He's sick 4]]

A fourth day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nThen you sleep, too, and when you wake up, it's the [[same old story.|He's sick 5]]

A fifth day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nThen you sleep, too, and when you wake up, it's the same old story.\n\nYou think, tomorrow, I'm going to make him see the [[doctor|doctor]]. \n\nThen you wonder if you've got the right to make him do anything. Maybe you don't. Maybe you should just let him [[sleep|he's sick 6]]. You'll wait, and he'll see the doctor when he gets round to it.

You are so lucky, because here he is. In the hospital. Getting the right treatment at last. And you feel the deep shiver of all the paths you might have taken. If you hadn't seen a doctor. If that doctor had got it wrong and sent you home. If you'd ignored it. If you'd kept ignoring it. \n\nYou have, more by [[luck]] than judgment, taken the right path. And now you're here, in the one place that might- MIGHT- get you through this nightmare safely. \n\n\n

Who are you going to tell?\n\n[[Your mum?]] \n\n[[Your friends?|really on your mind]]\n\n[[Him?]]

Before we begin:\n\n-This is not a nice game. It's not a fun game. I'm not even sure it's a game at all. \n\n-It is about anxiety. It is also about dying. \n\n-There are descriptions of bodies, of blood, of skin and bone and Valium. \n\n-It is probably not suitable for children. \n\n-It might not be suitable for you.\n\n-Please consider this a trigger warning. You don't have to do this. I am giving you the option I never had: you do not have to do this. \n\n-No, really. You can go now, and I won't mind. I'll just be glad you got out. \n\n-Are you sure you wish to continue? [[Y]]/[[N]] \n

You wish you hadn't let him go alone. You try to imagine what might have happened if you had gone with him. You try to imagine where he is. You go out, and look for him. You call him. No answer. After a while, the phone ceases even to ring when you call him. You are so very afraid, and there is now [[nowhere to go|BASTARD]]. \n

And this is all there is, all that matters now. In his arms, and you think: I must remember exactly what this is like, in case..in case..you don't articulate it. Not yet. But you remember it exactly, just in case.\n\nThe weight of his skin. The damp curls of his hair. The sound, ragged and uneven, of his breath. You love him more than anything. You have always loved him more than anything.\n\nAre you still in love? You're always in love with him. You were in love with him before either of you existed. You will be in love with him long after you're gone. You love him so much, and you are so afraid, and you must remember exactly what it is to sleep in his arms. \n\nYou seem to have been going in circles for hours, days, weeks, months. You can't go on like this. Perhaps if you try and remember this, it might stay. Imperfect, bloodied, slick with sweat- but home, and yours, and together. If you only keep going- pretending it isn't happening- maybe it won't happen. \n\nIn the morning, you wake, and you decide: [[today everything is going to be okay]]. \n\n

A sixth day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nThen you sleep, too, and when you wake up, it's the [[same old story|wait]].

She touches his stomach, looks in his yellow eyes, and at his black belly, and pale skin, and calls a taxi for him herself. \n\n"You are very, very sick," she tells him. She has seen this kind of thing before. "There's no time to waste," she says. "You need to be in [[A&E]]. Now. Now. Yesterday. Weeks ago."\n\nShe is kind, deft, and very afraid.

You've never been able to refuse him. He stands to leave, and you go together, holding hands, and you cannot shake the feeling that you have made a [[terrible mistake]].

"Don't let him bring you down," your mother says. "You're a bright go-getting young lady. If he's making you sad, you're not married to him." \n\nYou turn this over in your mind, for a long time. \n\nSomehow you don't think this is the answer. \n\nPerhaps it is. Perhaps. You need a second opinion, and so you ask your best friend to come for a walk with you. To talk with you. [[To listen|talking to your best friend]]. \n\n<<if visited ("sleep")>> You take a deep breath, and you tell her all the symptoms you've seen. "What if he's sick?" you ask her, and she tells you not to be so utterly ridiculous. "He's fine," she tells you, and you try to trust your mother, as you have always tried to do. <<endif>> \n\n

And that is the first time you realise: whatever happens, you are so lucky. \n\nIt makes you want to laugh. Lucky! Right now! It seems mad. Yes, mad. But that's what you [[feel]]. \n

His phone goes to voicemail, and then stops ringing. But you know he's in good hands now. You know that. That's the only thing that stops you going [[mad]].

<<if visited ("sleep")>> You nudge your boyfriend in the ribs, and tug the duvet off him. He blinks, and stretches, reluctantly. \n\n"I'll make you breakfast," you offer, because you're working from home, and he's got to go to the office. So you do. Bacon and eggs, two of each, while he's in the shower. \n\nHis ironed shirt hangs on the corner of the door, waiting. He has started eating before he finishes getting dressed, lately: jeans held up by braces over the T-shirt he insists on wearing underneath, like boys used to at school. This strikes you suddenly as- well- kind of weird. \n\nDeja vu. You always have deja vu these days. Like you're stuck in a dream, or a maze. Or a nightmare. Strange- why would you think that? The sun is streaming through the window. The bacon sizzles in the pan. Why would this be a nightmare? It echoes in your brain. Something is about to happen. This sunshine day is the beginning. You're coming back to it, over and over. The ironed shirt. The bacon. The sun. Oh, God, help me. Help me. \n\nYou can't breathe. Somehow you know exactly what you're about to do, and you do it anyway. You know everything. Alpha and omega: you are the beginning, and the end. You know everything, and you can't help yourself. You try not to. But you do. So you hold up a finger, playfully. "Question. Why are you wearing two shirts today?"\n\n"I always wear a T-shirt," he says.\n\n"But it's pretty warm today?"\n\n"I'll sweat," he says, shortly. "I don't want to look sweaty in the office."\n\n"Wouldn't you be less sweaty if you weren't...wearing two shirts?" \n\n"Nope," he tells you, and you know to stop asking. It still strikes you as kind of weird, but you know what? His body, his choice. You suppose, anyway. Things are good. If he wants to wear two shirts, that's up to him. \n\nThat's up to him. You make a small resolution to [[mind your own business in future]].<<else>> \n\nYou nudge your boyfriend in the ribs, and tug the duvet off him. He blinks, and stretches, reluctantly. \n\n"I'll make you breakfast," you offer, because you're working from home, and he's got to go to the office. So you do. Bacon and eggs, two of each, while he's in the shower. \n\nHis ironed shirt hangs on the corner of the door, waiting. He has started eating before he finishes getting dressed, lately: jeans held up by braces over the T-shirt he insists on wearing underneath, like boys used to at school. This strikes you suddenly as- well- kind of weird. \n\nYou hold up a finger, playfully. "Question. Why are you wearing two shirts today?"\n\n"I always wear a T-shirt," he says.\n\n"But it's pretty warm today?"\n\n"I'll sweat," he says, shortly. "I don't want to look sweaty in the office."\n\n"Wouldn't you be less sweaty if you weren't...wearing two shirts?" \n\n"Nope," he tells you, and you know to stop asking. It still strikes you as kind of weird, but you know what? His body, his choice. You suppose, anyway. Things are good. If he wants to wear two shirts, that's up to him. \n\nThat's up to him. You make a small resolution to [[mind your own business in future]].\n<<endif>>\n\n\n\n\n

You know you can't wait. Mustn't wait. You call 111, and the NHS Direct people tell you to go, now, to the [[Out Of Hours]] doctor. Don't wait, they say, don't wait, and you feel the chill of a road not taken creeping up your spine.

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He insists on going alone. \n\nYou sit at home, frantic, and resolve next time you'll go with him. \n\nYou look at your phone. You hope he's got [[an appointment]].\n\n<<set $randomiser to either(1,2,3)>> \n\n

Hello.\n\nCongratulations, and thanks, for making it this far. It's actually sort of important. \n\nI'm so sorry if you didn't make it. Or, I suppose what I really mean is: I'm so sorry if "your boyfriend" died. These things happen, especially in the world of blood cancer. And especially if you don't get an early diagnosis.\n\nThis game is meant to mimic the crazy-making, circular, stressful events leading up to my partner's diagnosis with hepatosplenic T-cell lymphoma, a rare and aggressive kind of blood cancer. (That's why it's not much fun.)\n\nThe events in this game all happened, almost exactly as I have written down- and my partner got help, eventually. He's doing really well now. \n\nThe Out Of Hours nurse DID send us away. \nThe GP did NOT have any appointments.\nShe did, however, give him a telephone appointment, which turned into a real appointment, which turned into A&E, where he got the treatment he so desperately needed.\n\nBlood cancer can be curable. Blood cancer can be treatable. Don't let it get too late. \n\n[[Don't wait]]. \n

You take a deep breath, and you tell her all the symptoms you've seen. What you've Googled. What you know.\n\n"What if he's sick?" you ask her, and she tells you not to be so utterly ridiculous. "He's fine," she tells you, and you try to trust your mother, as you have always tried to do, and you [[take a Valium|taking a Valium]].

[[And you wait some more.]]

There are so many people at the Out of Hours. It's Sunday morning, and Tower Hamlets is sick. You sit and wait, for hours. You write. He doesn't speak. His hair and shirt are sodden with sweat. His eyes are golden, right to the edges. There is blood under his nose. He is white: you have never seen anyone whiter. The queue is so long.\n\n"Shall we just go home?" he says. Should you [[stay]]? Or should you [[go]]?

And it might just be [[ok|BASTARD]].

[[Why did you wait?]]

He doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nThen you sleep, too, and when you wake up, it's the [[same old story.|He's sick 2]]

<<if $randomiser is 1>>He comes out, grinning. He looks like death. The smile only makes it worse. \n\n"She says I'm totally fine! Should see my GP a bit later, though." You [[go home]].<<else>>He comes out in the company of a nurse. 'So, we're going to [[A&E]]', she tells you, and you feel deeply, primally relieved, as if you've been somehow vindicated: as if this is the only way the nightmare might somehow end.<<endif>>\n\n<<set $randomiser to either(1,2)>>

You're lying in bed together, not touching. You are trying to [[say it]], or [[not say it]].

And then your phone rings. You don't recognise the number. \n\nIt's him. \n\n"They're keeping me in," he tells you, his voice ragged. "Call Mum. Call the right people. This is the phone at the nurses' station in Ward F."\n\nHe hesitates. \n\n"I trust you," he says. "And I love you."\n\n"I love you too," you say, but the line is [[already dead]].

You call 111, NHS Direct as was. They tell you: you should go to A&E, right now. \n\nYou tell him, we need to go to A&E, right now. \n\nHe says no. \n\nHe says he's not going. \n\nHe says you're going mad again. \n\nShould you [[force him?]] Or [[try to persuade him?]] Or just [[take another Valium|taking a Valium]], and hope, soon, the bleeding stops? \n\n\n<<set $randomiser to either(1,2,3,4,5)>>

He turns to you. He looks concerned.\n\nYou're trying to gather courage to say it, and then- what? <i>that</i> wasn't in the script- he speaks.\n\n"Will you please tell me what's wrong?"\n\nYou are speechless. He knows, you know he knows.\n\n"Are you...are you feeling like you need to see a therapist again?"\n\nHe is so tender, and so gentle, that you feel you might cry. \n\nYou nod, and you love him so much your heart hurts, and you fall together to [[sleep]]. One more day. Just one more day of not saying it. Let him have one more day.

But he is. He doesn't eat. At the ceilidh, while your family whirls to the piper, he vomits so hard his face turns the same mottled purple as his legs, the same mottled black as his belly. \n\nAnd your mother says- your mother who told you not to be silly, your mother who laughed like everyone else- she says "Get that boy to a doctor when you're home." \n\n[[He's sick]]. And everyone knows it. Including him.

Well. There it is. \n\nYou're not a doctor, but this looks pretty bad. \n\nWhat are you going to do with this information?\n\n[[Tell someone?]] \n\n(Yeah, like that's going to go well for you. [[Take another damn Valium|taking a Valium]], madwoman.)

That night in bed, you try to hold him, and he winces. \n\n"Not there, for Christ's sake!" \n\nAnd you pull your arm back, in a hurry.\n\n"What's wrong?!"\n\nHe softens his tone. "I'm sorry, lovely. I didn't mean it. It's just.." \n\nHe seems about to show you something, and then he stops, and rolls away from you. \n\n"What is it?!" \n\n"Don't push it," he says. "Not now. Please. Let me cuddle you,and we'll sleep well, yeah?" \n\nYou hesitate. Should you [[push it?|ask him about it]] Or should you just let it go for now? Just for tonight? [[Take another Valium|taking a Valium]], and let it go? It's probably just you, after all. You know what you're like.

You have a little stash of Valium from when you were sick, yourself. Are you getting sick again? Are you going mad again? \n\n <<if visited ("sleep")>> You must be. Normal people don't live the same handful of days over and over again. Normal people get on with their lives. This must be madness. This is what madness is. Isn't it? Isn't it? Somehow, you have no idea. Is this madness? Are you going mad again? \nYou can't tell, and so you gulp down double the stated dose, with a little glass of wine, and just before it kicks in and you fall asleep, you think: I [[really don't think I'm going mad again]]. <<else>> You can't tell, and so you gulp down double the stated dose, with a little glass of wine, and just before it kicks in and you fall asleep, you think: I [[really don't think I'm going mad again]].<<endif>>\n\n

"I think you have cancer."\n\nIt hangs between you, a third person in your bed. He pulls away. \n\n"Fucking hell."\n\nYou nod. "Leukaemia, maybe...blood cancer. I looked it up."\n\nAnd you try to read the expression on his face.\n\nAnd it dawns on you, suddenly, that he's laughing.\n\n"Darling girl," he says to you, really laughing, "You are such a precious idiot. Of course I don't have cancer. Something's up. But it's not cancer. The odds are way against it, aren't they?"\n\nHe reads you the relevant statistics, which do help, just a little, and then he reads to you from the novel he's reading, which helps more, and then he reads you to [[sleep]].

<<if $randomiser is 1>>It rings. It's him. The doctor is sending him to [[A&E]], right now.<<else if $randomiser is 2>>It rings. It's him. The doctor was too busy. He says he can't walk; he's somewhere on the Mile End Road, and he can see nothing. He can see a flock of sparrows in his right eye, clustering, and blurring his vision. 'I almost couldn't call you,' he says. You are horrified. What if he hadn't rung? You feel those creeping fingers of a deja vu that doesn't belong to this version of you. You run, and you find him, thinking all the time of that other you, and you insist: if the doctor won't see you, we're going to the [[OOH]].<<else>>It doesn't ring. It doesn't ring, it doesn't ring, and he [[does not come back]].<<endif>>

<<if visited ("GOOGLE2")>> \n"[[Do you think you're still in love?|to him]]" she asks you, and you're blown away by how simple the question is, and, worse, that you don't know how to answer. And because you don't know how to answer, you take a deep breath, and you say what's [[really on your mind]]. <<else>>\n\n"He won't do anything," you tell her. "He just does...fuck all. All the time. He works, and he's shitty to me, and I'm so fucking sick of it."\n\nYour best friend tells you that her boyfriend is sometimes like this. \n\nYou try to tell her that this feels different, but you can't explain why, so you don't. \n\n"He doesn't want anything, or to do anything. We barely talk. He just sleeps, and works, and snaps at me."\n\nShe gives you a hug. You're walking along the canal together. She's taken a day off work to walk with you, and to listen to you. The sun is bright bright bright. \n\n"He just has no ambition, nothing. It's like he doesn't care. He doesn't care about me, or our relationship, or doing anything."\n\n"[[Do you think you're both still in love?|to him]]" she asks you, and you're blown away by how simple the question is, and, worse, that you don't know how to answer.\n<<endif>>\n\n\n\n

"We need to talk," you tell him. \n\n"Ominous," he says, with a flash of the old him. "What's wrong?" He stops, and turns to you, and sighs. "Right now?"\n\n"Yes. Now." You've made up your mind. \n\n"I...I think something is wrong," you tell him. \n\n"No." Flat denial. That's the end of the story. Just "no". \n\n"I think it is."\n\n"You always think something is wrong."\n\nThis is true. "But this time it is," you say, and he laughs, but not in a nice way. \n\nHe's holding down his t-shirt, and some instict inside you makes you lean over and yank it up. His belly is black. Mottled black, bruised black. You want to scream, or recoil in horror. It is one of the worst things you have ever seen.\n\n"What the fuck is that?"\n\n"A bruise," he tells you, coldly. "A fucking bruise. Just a bruise. Can we please go to fucking sleep?"\n\n"That is not a bruise", you tell him. "That is not a normal bruise. I've seen bruises, and that does not look like a bruise to me." \n\n"That's because *you* are a paranoid bitch," he says, conversationally. \n\nHe has never spoken to you like this before- never treated you like this before- and you don't know what to say. \n\nThe sweat is pooling around his temples, and you wonder as if looking at a painting that it doesn't fall into his eyes. "You're a paranoid bitch," he says, "And you're trying to make me sick."\n\nYou have no idea what to say to him. What can you say? What can you do? \n\nSo you [[take another Valium|taking a Valium]], of course. What else can you do?\n\n\n\n

<<if $randomiser is 1>>The GP is still too busy. You [[give up]]. Probably it's nothing.<<else if $randomiser is 2>>The GP can give him a [[telephone]] appointment only. It's better than nothing.<<else>>The GP has a cancellation, and calls him in [[at once]].<<endif>>

You nod, and he kisses you gently and tells you it's going to be okay, and together you fall back to [[sleep]].

You stack up the evidence in your mind. You can't stop. You run it through constantly. Over and over again. \n\nThere's [[the anger|keep on minding your own business]]. And then there's the [[legs|to him]]. <<if visited ("to him")>>And then there's [[the bruise]].<<endif>> <<if visited ("the bruise")>>The [[blood|blood laundry]]. So much blood.<<endif>> \n\nYou feel, every day, as if you're going round in circles. Endless circles. The same conversations, over and over. It feels like going mad. It feels just like going mad, but worse because this time, you don't even know it's madness. It feels real. <<if visited ("the bruise","blood laundry","to him")>>It feels true. It feels like this time, it's [[going to happen]]. <<endif>>\n\n<<if visited("going to happen")>> There's blood everywhere. Even the pills can't shake your conviction now. There is blood everywhere. So much blood. How can he live with so little blood? He's trying to smile, stroking your hair with his bloody hand. \n\n"It's ok," he tells you, but for the first time you hear not anger in his voice, not denial, but real fear. Something is wrong, and both of you know it. Eventually, with blood drying on his face and yours, his hands and yours, you [[sleep]].<<endif>>

"We need to talk," you tell him. \n\n"Ominous," he says, with a flash of the old him. "What's wrong?" He pushes his laptop half closed, and balances it on the chair next to him. \n\n"I...something is wrong," you tell him. \n\n"No." Flat denial. That's the end of the story. Just "no". \n\n"I think it is."\n\n"You always think something is wrong."\n\nThis is true. "But this time it is," you say, and he laughs, but not in a nice way. \n\nA bead of sweat is running down his forehead. Nonethless, he reaches for the purple blanket, and pulls it to cover him, tucking his knees up. As he does so, you see something on his leg. \n\n"What's that?"\n\nHe's defensive, and tucks the blanket over himself. \n\n"What's what?" he says, unconvincingly, and then, "It's nothing and you know it's nothing." \n\n"That on your leg," you say, and you feel like you might be sick. \n\n"It's heat rash," he says. \n\nIt looks like no heat rash you have ever seen. \n\n"It's fucking heat rash," he says again, angrily. "Fucking heat rash. You're paranoid. You're mad. You're fucking mad."\n\n"It doesn't look like heat rash," you say. You try to keep your tone even.\n\n"That's because *you* are a paranoid bitch," he says, conversationally. \n\nHe has never spoken to you like this before <<if visited ("sleep")>> (or has he? You're not sure, any more. You've done this so many times. You're dreaming, maybe. No. Nightmare. He's always speaking to you like this. Deja vu, again. Oh God help me.) <<endif>>, and you don't know what to say. \n\nThe sweat is pooling around his temples, and you wonder as if looking at a painting that it doesn't fall into his eyes. "You're a paranoid bitch," he says, "And you're trying to make me sick."\n\nYou have no idea what to say to him. The blanket slips from his legs. His legs are mottled purple and scarlet, and they look like the legs of a leper, or, no, worse: like an actor made up to look like a leper. The skin is so angry. [[And so is he.|taking a Valium]] \n\n\n\n\n\n

Ha ha. He's six foot six, a former rugby player. He is double your breadth.\n\n"I'm calling a cab to take us to hospital," you say, firmly. \n\n"And how are you going to get me in it?" \n\nYou have no answer. So often these days, you have no answer. \n\n"My darling, please, get in the cab" you say, and you're really pleading. But he only holds you, as you're holding him, and tells you he's fine, he promises he's fine, and he's so sorry for everything, and he'll be better next time, and it will all be okay in the end. But he's not going to hospital. Not now. Not ever. \n\nHe holds you, and after hours, the bleeding slows, and thickens, and sometime around two a.m., it stops, and you fall asleep in each other's arms, and you know then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is real, and [[worse than you ever imagined|really don't think I'm going mad again]].

Who do you call?\n\n[[Your mum]]? \n[[His mum]]? \n[[Your best friend|His mum]]?\n\nAnd what the hell do you say?

"We're fucking staying," you tell him, gripping his hand. And so you do, and eventually his name is called, and you sit on the hard pleather chair, and wait for him. You will wait for him, wherever he goes, for always, and you know this now. There is nowhere you will not [[go with him]], because you love him. You love him so much. \n\n<<set $randomiser to either(1,2)>>

[[And some more.]]

He turns to you. He looks concerned.\n\nYou're trying to gather courage to say it, and then- what? <i>that</i> wasn't in the script- he speaks.\n\n"Will you please tell me what's wrong?"\n\nYou are speechless. He knows, you know he knows.\n\n"Are you...are you feeling like you need to see a therapist again?"\n\nHe is so tender, and so gentle, that you feel you might cry.\n\nYou could just [[nod]] here, and fall asleep with him, and have one more quiet night before you say it. \n\nOr you could [[say it|say it 2]].\n\n

You feel, for the first time in a long time, like you're sane. Like you saw something. Like you knew, and you were [[not mistaken]].\n\n

You can never remember, afterwards, what you said to your mother. But she said "I'm coming", from wherever she was, hundreds and thousands of miles away, and then: she came, because you needed her, and she knew, then, that you had been telling the truth all along. \n\n<<if visited ("His mum")>> You hang up the phone in a blur. Press the [[next number down|Your best friend]].<<else>>You hang up the phone in a blur. Press the [[next number down|His mum]].<<endif>>\n\n\n

Blood Will Out

Well, then. Here we are. Some advice:\n\n-It's still not too late to [[stop this|N]].\n\n-Please read everything available to you, try to avoid hitting the back button in your browser and make good choices, but none of these will make it any easier. Not necessarily. Sorry. \n\n-I really am very sorry. \n\n-I wish none of this had ever happened. \n\n-You cannot possibly know how much I wish this had never happened.\n\n-I wish I could hold your hand, because nobody held mine. \n\n-And if you find yourself going in circles, tough. That's just how it is sometimes. Keep going. Keep going. That's all there is to it. \n\n-Deep breath. [[Let's go|Spring]]. \n\n\n

If you have any of the following symptoms- or notice them in your partner, or loved one- call your doctor now. \n\n@@color:red;letter-spacing:8px;font-size:4em;B-ruising\n\nA-ching\n\nS-weating\n\nT-ired\n\nA-naemic\n\nR-ashes\n\nD-ying@@ \n\n\nSeptember is #BloodCancerAwarenessMonth.You might be going mad- or it might be something serious. Get checked out. Go. \n\nAnd thank you for playing. \n

An eighth day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nYou wish you hadn't left. You try to imagine what might have happened if you had stayed. You are so very afraid, and there is now [[nowhere to go|BASTARD]]. \n

You're sorting the laundry. All his shirts, and the bedsheets, are soaked with sweat, as if they have been in a storm. And then there's blood- a big, round drop, like the flag of Japan- on the collar of one white shirt. Should you [[ask him about it|ask him about it 2]]? Or should you just leave it? Leave it, and [[take another Valium?|taking a Valium]]

A seventh day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nHe sleeps. He sleeps. He is [[very still]]. \n\n

<<if $randomiser is 1>>"My darling, please," you say, and you're really pleading. But he only holds you, as you're holding him, and tells you he's fine, he promises he's fine, and he's so sorry for everything, and he'll be better next time, and it will all be okay in the end. \n\nHe holds you, and after hours, the bleeding slows, and thickens, and sometime around two a.m., it stops, and you fall asleep in each other's arms, and you know then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is real, and [[worse than you ever imagined|really don't think I'm going mad again]].<<else if $randomiser is 2>>"My darling, please," you say, and you're really pleading. But he only holds you, as you're holding him, and tells you he's fine, he promises he's fine, and he's so sorry for everything, and he'll be better next time, and it will all be okay in the end. \n\nHe holds you, and after hours, the bleeding slows, and thickens, and sometime around two a.m., it stops, and you fall asleep in each other's arms, and you know then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is real, and [[worse than you ever imagined|really don't think I'm going mad again]].<<else>><<else if $randomiser is 3>>"My darling, please," you say, and you're really pleading. But he only holds you, as you're holding him, and tells you he's fine, he promises he's fine, and he's so sorry for everything, and he'll be better next time, and it will all be okay in the end. \n\nHe holds you, and after hours, the bleeding slows, and thickens, and sometime around two a.m., it stops, and you fall asleep in each other's arms, and you know then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is real, and [[worse than you ever imagined|really don't think I'm going mad again]].<<else>><<else if $randomiser is 4>>"My darling, please," you say, and you're really pleading. But he only holds you, as you're holding him, and tells you he's fine, he promises he's fine, and he's so sorry for everything, and he'll be better next time, and it will all be okay in the end. \n\nHe holds you, and after hours, the bleeding slows, and thickens, and sometime around two a.m., it stops, and you fall asleep in each other's arms, and you know then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is real, and [[worse than you ever imagined|really don't think I'm going mad again]].<<else>>"My darling, please," you say, and you're really pleading. And something in your voice must get through to him. And you get in the cab, and you go. You go together to [[A&E]].<<endif>>\n

You type the symptoms into Google. You think really hard about pressing Search. I don't think you really want to know, do you? says the voice in your head. You don't want to know. Don't do this. [[Take a Valium|taking a Valium]] instead. Go back to bed. Try again. \n\nBut the other part of you needs to [[know now|GOOGLE2]].

It's late spring. The trees are heavy with blossom. The coots on the canal are building their nests. And you? You're feeling better. At last. It's been such a long winter, and now you're feeling better.\n\nYou're going outside again. You're talking to people again. You're smiling, and working, and walking again. You're- whisper it- almost happy. This is it. This is what you've waited for. This is why you meditated, and went to therapy, and took the little pills. You're doing so well, and now it's spring, and the long winter is over. \n\nYour partner has a new job at last. You've got a trial day somewhere you've always wanted to work. The sky is blue, and the sun is high, and things- finally- are looking up.\n\nYou wake up, and you think: [[today everything is going to be okay]]. \n\n(You could not be more wrong. But you don't know that yet.)\n

You're meant to be going on holiday, on the train, to Scotland, to see your whole family. \n\nYou've planned to take him to dinner somewhere special before you go. \n\nHe doesn't want to eat. He stands at Euston station, one hand on his bruised black belly, the other over his beautiful mouth.\n\n"I can't," he tells you. "But it doesn't mean [[I'm sick]]."

She picks up the phone, cross that you're calling her at work, and concerned, too. She's high-powered, has a proper job. It's the middle of the day.\n\n"What's up?" \n\nYou have not cried yet. Now you cry, because her voice is so familiar, and you don't want to shatter her world, too, because she loves him, too. And you say, through heaving great sobs,\n\n"Car, he's dying. He's dying. He's in the hospital. They won't let him home. He's dying."\n\nAnd she tells you: I'm coming. Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you. \n\nAnd Caroline walks out of her high-powered proper job, in the middle of the day, because [[you need her]].\n

It's Sunday, of course. \n\nShould you [[wait]]? Or [[what]]?

One night, late at night, he starts to bleed from the nose. \n\nYou don't want to call it a nosebleed, because it goes on for too long. It goes on for hours. <<if visited ("sleep")>> Oh God. You know this, too. Are you a witch? You might be a witch, but if you are you'll pay for it. You'll pay in blood, and that's the one thing you've got plenty of. It's everywhere. <<endif>> There is blood everywhere. Everywhere.\n\nHe is so pale. You hold him, and he lets you, and you know enough to know that you absolutely [[can't cry]].

Close the browser. \n\nHug the person you love best as tight as you can. \n\nTell them you love them. \n\nAnd thank your lucky stars you got out in time.\n\n[[BASTARD]]

That said, when you go to make the bed, after he has two-shirted left for work, you're kind of surprised at how...well, just how sweaty he is. The bed feels like it's been in a rainstorm. Try not to be disgusted. Try to be understanding. Try to mind your own business. \n<<set $temp += 1>>\n<<if $temp is 2>>Oh God, again. Again. You always try so hard, my God, again, and again. You've been here before, oh God.All day- all the good, long, spring day- you try to put it out of your mind, and mostly you succeed. And the next day, too. Every time he puts on his two shirts, you try to [[keep on minding your own business]]. <<else>>All day- all the good, long, spring day- you try to put it out of your mind, and mostly you succeed. And the next day, too. Every time he puts on his two shirts, you try to [[keep on minding your own business]].<<endif>>\n\n\n

A seventh day.\n\nHe doesn't eat.\n\nHe doesn't drink. \n\nHe doesn't talk.\n\nHe doesn't cry.\n\nYou do, when he is asleep.\n\nHe sleeps. He sleeps. He is [[very still|verystill2]].

At A&E there's no queue for him. He gets whirled away. You're lost. You wait. And you wait. [[And you wait]].

She hears him speak for less than a minute, and she tells him: you have to come in to see me. [[At once|at once]]. No time to waste. Now. Now. Now.

Ella Risbridger

[[You wait some more]].

You want to call your best friend, but you don't, not yet. You do what he would want. And you call his mum. \n\nWhat do you say to your mother-out-law when what you have to say is that her son is dying? \n\nYou say that you don't know anything yet.\n\nYou don't say "cancer".\n\nYou don't say "dying".\n\nNot yet. \n\nYou say "sick". You say "best possible place". You say "safe pair of hands". You keep your voice as steady as you can. \n<<if visited ("Your mum")>>You hang up the phone in a blur. Press the [[next number down|Your best friend]]. <<else>>You hang up the phone in a blur. Press the [[next number down|Your mum]]<<endif>>.

This building? It's full of doctors, and nurses, and everybody doing their best to fix the person you love most.\n\nAnd you love him, and you're so lucky to love him.\n\nYou have him. For...well, however long. But you will always love him. And that will always be the luckiest thing that could happen to a person.\n\nAnd you have your best friend, and your mother, and his mother. You have other friends, too, who you want to call. Just to hear their voices. And you do. You call them.\n\nAnd you feel surrounded, for the first time, not by fear and ever-decreasing concentric circles of deja vu, but by love. Just love. So much goddamn love. And, almost better, so much science.\n\nYou don't know what all these people can do to help him. But you know they'll do [[whatever they can]].