"You have a tumor in your brain."
I knew I shouldn't have gone to the doctor that day. Now I have a tumor. If I had just stayed home and watched Family Feud, I'd be fine right now. Ignorant, but fine. Now I'm going to die.
"You're not necessarily going to die."
False hope. Great. Just what I needed.
"You have several options. We've found it early. We can attempt to remove it."
Cutting open my head? I might rather be dead. That's one of those things where you have to be awake to make sure they don't futz up your central nervous system. When I was a kid and I fell off my bike and scraped my knee, I couldn't even bear to look at it. I would close my eyes and wait for my mom to bust out the rubbing alcohol and bandage it up for me. I don't think brain surgery would be the best option for me.
"Many patients are averse to the surgical route, I realize. We also have an experimental radiation treatment that's underway with some of the researchers in the hospital. But allow me to recommend the surgical route."
Radiation it is.
It's the funniest thing when you think about it. Yesterday I watched Letterman; today I have a brain tumor. It happens like that, too. I had a headache, didn't think much of it. Yesterday I had a turkey sandwich for lunch; today I have a brain tumor. Funny, eh?
My first radiation session was scheduled for tomorrow. Today I have a brain tumor; tomorrow I may just have radiation poisoning.
"Put this on."
It was a lead jacket. Just like the ones they had at my dentist's office.
"Sit in the chair, Mr. McCormick."
I sat in the chair.
"Don't be afraid, Mr. McCormick. This will only take a minute."
I wasn't afraid. Not of this, at least.
A minute passed. I heard some noise coming from the machine that was pointed at me.
"You're all done for today, Mr. McCormick. We'll see you in four days."
That wasn't so bad. Didn't even have my skull cut open, that was for sure. I feel a little nauseous, but they gave me pills for that. My headache wasn't so bad anymore. They had caught it early, and now it was against the ropes.
"So the radiation thing went okay, yeah?" asked my mother as she cleaned her glasses. "I know you don't like hospitals and doctors and whatnot. It's a good thing you had that x-ray like I told ya to. God forbid if you hadn't. Like your father. Refused to see the doctor when he had that scurvy."
We walked into Tollman's Deli on 6th.
"What're you going to have?" asked my mother from behind her menu. "I think I'm gonna have the pastrami. On rye. What're you going to have? Did the doctor give you a diet or anything?"
Ma ordered the pastrami on rye. I ordered potato soup.
"So did you hear about your brother? He and Sheila are having a fight. He wants kids; she doesn't! Can you believe that? Who wouldn't want to have kids with your brother?"
I could think of a few people. My brother had once pushed me off of our treehouse and I broke my arm. The bone was coming out of the skin. I went into shock. It was my worst memory. Little bastard.
"So how are you feeling, David? Are you taking your medicine? How long is the treatment going to last? Are you going to lose your hair? Oh God, you have such beautiful hair. Don't worry, I know a wonderful wig-man. He got your father his toupee. If you didn't know him, you couldn't even tell."
Everyone could tell. Strangers would snicker at him from behind his back. Poor dad.
"Oh, our food's ready. Thank God, I'm starving to death."
The waiter put down Ma's sandwich. A little kid bumped into him and he spilled the soup on my face. It all happened so quickly, I didn't even realize what had happened for a few seconds.
"Oh God! David! Oh my God! Are you alright?"
I was not alright. The soup was boiling. My face was burned. The pain was searing. I couldn't even find the energy to scream. My eyes and fists were clenched shut. Tears were streaming down my face. It was the worst pain I had ever felt.
"Oh my God! Do something! Help him! Someone!"
The waiter apologized profusely as he got a wet towel for me to put over my face. It wasn't his fault. But my face was going to be burnt pretty badly when the towel came off, that was for sure. It was just as much my fault as it was the waiter's or the kid's. Maybe I shouldn't have ordered the soup.
An hour later, we were in the office of a dermatologist at the hospital. My mother convinced me to take the towel off. If she hadn't been there, I probably would have left the towel over my face forever. I hadn't opened my eyes since the incident. I didn't even want to catch a slight glimpse of my burnt face from my peripheral vision.
"Here, I'll take it off, David. Here. Don't worry, I'll go slowly. You're gonna be just fine. The doctor is right here."
She started taking the towel off. It was still damp, but no longer cold. I bit my lower lip and didn't open my eyes. I didn't want to hear my mother or the doctor's horrified reaction to the burnt remains of my face. I knew it was coming, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
"Almost there..."
Ma finished taking the towel off. I heard my mother take a long breath. No one had said anything yet. I didn't like silence. I opened my right eyelid ever-so-slowly to gauge their reactions.
"Oh my goodness, David..."
I was a freak. Deformed forever. I knew it.
"You look absolutely fine."
Funny. I felt absolutely fine.
"I don't see any evidence of any burn at all on your face."
The doctor let us go, free of charge. I hadn't been burned at all. That was strange. I was under the impression that boiling hot soup spilled on the skin tended to burn. At least a little.
"It's a miracle. A miracle from God. You make sure to thank God tonight for not letting my precious baby's face burn."
Um, I still had a brain tumor, Ma. That would be like thanking someone for not stepping on your toes while they saw off your arms.
I felt strange walking up the stairwell of my apartment building, as if something in my body wasn't quite right.
"Brain tumor."
Oh...right. I had briefly forgotten.
I had almost reached the top of the third floor when I began to feel dizzy and lightheaded. I stumbled back against the wall, trying to regain balance. Everything looked blurry. Blurrier than usual at least.
It was then that I tumbled down two flights of stairs.
I felt a gash on my right thigh.
This day was not going well, so I decided to pass out. Not consciously decided, but it was a sincere subconscious decision I believe.
I came to to the sight of one of my neighbors, Mrs. Fitzgerald, and her nine-year-old daughter, Emilia, looking over me.
"My God, David! Are you all right?"
My head hurt like hell. Ugh...what had happened to me? I fell down the stairs. That was the last thing I remembered...
"No."
My leg. I had a gash in my leg. I closed my eyes shut again and began breathing heavily.
"Is it bad?"
I felt Mrs. Fitzgerald put her hand on my shoulder.
"Is what bad, David?"
Still with eyes closed, I used my left thumb to gesture to my right thigh.
"What? Your jeans?"
Stupid bitch.
"The cut. Is there much blood? Call...the...doctor."
My breathing was growing heavier with each passing second.
"David, there is no blood. There's no cut. Your jeans are a little torn up, I guess."
I opened my eyes and gulped loudly. I looked down at my leg.
"Holy shit."
Mrs. Fitzgerald put her hands over Emilia's ears, looking at me with disgust.
"What is wrong with you, David?"
I was fine. My leg was fine. Everything was...fine.
"Nothing's wrong with me. I'm fine."
I was invincible.
"Let's see..."
I pulled out a steak knife. It was part of a set I had bought from an infomercial.
"Here goes nothin'..."
I closed my eyes and made a quick slit across my left wrist.
"OH SHIT!"
The pain was excruciating. What a goddamn dumbass I was.
"Oh...shit."
I had opened my eyes to survey the damage. But my wrists were fine. Not even a sign of a scar. Huh. I guess that was just fine with me.
It felt pretty good to be invincible.
"Hey, I'll bet you fifty bucks that I can jam this knife through my hand and not bleed a drop."
Especially when your friends didn't know it.
"Bullshit, Dave. You serious? You're on, man."
Too bad freak shows have sort've died out since the earlier parts of the 20th century.
"Heh, this'll be the easiest fifty bucks I ever made. Don't get my money wet with your blood, though."
Maybe I could at least get on Letterman.
"Jesus Christ, Dave! I didn't think you would actually do it! Oh Christ! Someone call an ambulance."
Sure, it still hurt like hell. But I finally had a talent, and I was going to be damned if I didn't show it off.
"Oh...Christ. Your hand...it...it just healed right up."
No one had ever really been impressed with me before.
"I guess I owe you fifty bucks."
It felt good.
I decided to tell the doc the good news.
"Doc, I got some good news."
The doc wasn't gonna believe this.
"Back so soon? How's the treatment going?"
Treatment went juuuust fine.
"Don't think I need it anymore."
It went finer than expected, actually.
"And why is that?"
Finer than anyone would believe.
"Watch this, doc."
I grabbed a pair of scissors on the doc's desk.
"OH JESUS!"
You can probably guess what happened next.
The doc finally caught his breath after about five minutes.
"Holy Jesus. How the hell did you do that?"
Wish I knew, doc. Wish I knew.
"That's...that's fucking insane. Let me see your hand again."
The doc grabbed my hand. It looked pristine.
"Well...fuck me. Nothing."
The doc stared silently for another 30 seconds.
"I guess the treatment worked better than expected, huh?"
You said it, doc.
"Well, let's take an x-ray and see if your new...ability or whatever is killing the tumor."
I smirked. Wasn't worried at all. And I am not a smirker.
"Um."
That wasn't exactly the reaction I was looking for.
"The x-ray..."
Yes, the x-ray...
"Your tumor appears to have grown...quite a bit since the last time you were here."
What the hell was he talking about?
"This is at least 20% larger than before. That is...pretty unprecedented growth for so short a period."
...
"I guess this would follow with the nature of cancer cells, though. They're essentially cells growing uncontrolably, so this ability you've acquired that allows for your skin and muscular cells to re-grow faster than normal...well, it makes sense. Relative to the circumstances."
Fuck. Me.
"Regardless, if it keeps growing at this rate, you'll be dead in a few weeks, if not sooner."
Great. Now I'm going to die. For sure.
"We need to get you into surgery as soon as possible. It's risky, but it's a hell of a lot more risky to not do it."
Good joke, God. I get it. Very funny.
They have to keep you awake for brain surgery. So they don't lobotomize you or something.
"Okay, we're going to make the incision..."
Goddammit. Sweat covered my body. Goddammit. I'd rather be dead. I'd rather be dead.
"Um."
Not what you want to hear a surgeon say during brain surgery.
"The incision already healed."
Oh shit.
"Let's...try that one again."
C'mon...c'mon...
"Dammit! There it goes again."
That was it. I was done for.
"What the hell is going on?"
Please let it stop. Just let it stop for a little while.
"No, John, if we can't make some clean cuts, there's no point in even trying. This is dangerous enough as it is without his skin healing all of our cuts instantly!"
Please do something. You're doctors! Do something!
"Dammit, you're right. There's nothing we can do. We'd just kill him if we tried to force our way in."
Please. Please. Please...do anything.
"Sorry bud, something's seriously wrong with you. Maybe we can try again later."
There won't be a later.
"Maybe you could try radiation or something?"
...
David McCormack was invincible...
Until it killed him.
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