The Pull of Destiny (10 page)

He glared at
me, running a hand through his short cropped hair. “Coz-man, shut up!”

Wendy rolled
her eyes. “Both of you shut up,” she said authoritatively and we all shut up.
Wendy was scary like that. When she told you to do something, you did it or you
got hurt. She held me tighter and batted her eyelashes at me.  “Luke, baby, we
haven’t had a chance to hang all week!” She pouted her thin lips at me. “You’re
starting to get annoying.”

I shrugged, the
simple movement causing a pounding to start in my temples. “I have to go to
this stupid seminar,” I lied. “That’ll make my dad happy and then I’ll be all
yours.” I hugged her, then looked over at Ahmed, who was slouching against the
wall. “That’s if Ahmed doesn’t mind.”

He smirked.
“You are so welcome to have her,” he said, shoving up the sleeve of his college
shirt. “Look at this bruise! She was practicing her kick boxing moves on me.”

I laughed. “I
might just take you up on that offer,” I joked.

“How many days
is the seminar on for, anyway?” Ahmed demanded to know. I flushed slightly. I
hated lying to my friends but I didn’t want to tell them about the headaches
and my fears. They would label me a wimp, and I could do without that.

“It’s done
today,” I said.

Ahmed snorted.
“You must really want to make the old man happy,” he said.

I shook my
head. “Nothing I could ever do would make him happy. So why try?” I said
bitterly.

“You should
just piss him off with everything you do,” Wendy suggested. “Get DUI’s,
speeding tickets, you know, typical rich kid shit.” She gave a loud, malicious
cackle. “He’ll go bananas.”

“Tried that,” I
said, running a hand over my burning forehead and trying not to wince. Damn, it
hurt. “It’s the reason
this
is happening.”

Shazia came up,
her nose buried in a book. Seeing her reminded me that I still hadn’t
apologized to Celsi. Maybe after I apologized, I’d feel better. Maybe I was a
total moron for thinking that, but just thinking it made me feel a little bit
better.

Ahmed cocked
his head at her. “She’s the reason we have a bodyguard,” he said snidely. “My
dad’s scared someone’s gonna kidnap her.”

“Hey Shazia,” I
said.

She looked up
at me, her eyes widened in surprise which quickly turned into distrust. Still,
that didn’t stop her from mumbling, “Hi,” back to me.

Ahmed looked
from me to her to me again, and then hit my shoulder again, not gently this
time. “Dude. I told you not to hit on my sister,” he said. I didn’t know if he
was being serious or not.

“What? I’m just
being nice,” I protested. Wendy laughed, examining her neon yellow nails.

“You, nice?”
She snorted. “Yeah right.”

“Well, none of
you jerks said hi to her,” I said. Shazia shot me an inscrutable look.

“I don’t say
hi,” Wendy said loftily.

“And I see her
every day,” Ahmed said.

I rolled my
eyes. “You guys are tools,” I muttered.

“And you’re
going soft on us, Astor,” Ahmed crowed.

“Please,” I
said, spotting my dad’s white limo pull up, blocking the school entrance, and
not a moment too soon. “My rides here.” I held out my closed fist to Ahmed.
“Pound it.” A teasing smirk on his face, he hit his fist against mine. “Later.”

Wendy gave me a
kiss on the cheek.

“Say hi to
Daddy Dearest for me!” Ahmed shouted after me.

I flipped him
off as I walked down the stairs to the limo, wondering again why I wasn’t just
coming clean with my friends and telling them the truth- that I was heading to
the hospital for an array of neurological tests because I was sure I had
cancer. Even for me, seminar was a lame excuse. But I knew that they wouldn’t
understand what I was going through, pain wise, and how scared I was that the
tests would show something serious going on in my brain.

Wendy and
Ahmed, while good friends, weren’t known for their sensitivity or sympathetic
natures. We were typical rich kids, self-absorbed and really bad at dealing
with ‘regular’ business. Like terminal illnesses, accidents, deaths. We didn’t
think stuff like that could touch us.

I slouched into
the limo, said hi to my dad and was rewarded with a grunt.

Obviously, he’d
rather read the Wall Street Journal than engage his only son in conversation.
Can’t say I blamed him, I didn’t feel too eloquent at the moment. Leaning my
burning head against the cool leather seats, I dozed off and was woken by my
dad poking me. The limo had rolled to a stop in front of Mount Sinai Medical
Centre. I’d been out of it the whole drive.

I opened one
eye, feeling fuzzy. “We there already?” I croaked groggily.

Dad snorted.
“Obviously. Let’s move. I have a meeting in 10 minutes.”

Wishing he had
just let me sleep, I got out of the car and followed him into the hospital to a
reserved room, where he was treated like royalty, as usual. And me? I was
treated like a prince.

“Coffee, Master
Astor? Tea? Muffins? Crumpets? Salad?” A pretty nurse hovered over me, ready to
take any order I cared to give her. Too bad I didn’t feel like giving orders. I
couldn’t even think straight. Damn leather seats, making me sleep better than I
had in days.

I declined all
offers of snacks, waiting as dad had an intense discussion with Doctor Khan,
the neurologist, before turning to me.

“See you
later,” he said gruffly. “Don’t leave before I get here.”

I shrugged in
response. I didn’t feel like talking. The fear had kicked in anew and my skin
crawled.

Doctor Khan
waited for me to dress in a hospital gown in the bathroom, then motioned for me
to follow him.

“We have one
last test for you to take, after which your results will be ready,” he said
over his shoulder, leading me into an examination room.

The test didn’t
take long and I was soon back in my reserved room, still dressed in my gown as
my pretty nurse fussed around me. I finally took her up on her coffee offer
just as Doctor Khan stepped back into the room, his usual smile on his genial
face as he rustled some papers in his hands. My stomach tensed.

“I have the
results of your neurological workup here,” he started, kinda unnecessarily, I
thought. “If you like, we could wait for your father to be present before I
tell you our findings.”

I shook my head
before the doctor even finished talking. Dad wouldn’t care about missing the
diagnosis, just about how much it would cost. For a millionaire, he was rather
stingy.

“It’s okay, you
can tell me. I promise I won’t cry,” I joked, even though my heart wasn’t in
it.

The moment of
reckoning was here at long last and I was scared out of my mind, but I needed
to know what was wrong with me. Just simple migraines like dad had claimed? I
doubted it.

Doctor Khan
smiled wider. “Bravery, I like that. Well, Lucas, you were referred to me by
your family doctor because he spotted a mass in your brain that worried him.
After perusing the scans and x-rays, we have come to the root of your problem.”

I sat stock
still on the edge of the bed, my fingers digging into the mattress. It was
serious, I could sense it. My heart thudded as I waited for him to tell me.

“You have a
giant aneurysm.”

I stared
blankly.

“A- a what?” I
asked, confused.

“An aneurysm,”
Doctor Khan repeated calmly. “A bulge in the artery walls of your brain,
essentially.”

I bit my lip.
“Is it cancer?” I asked slowly.

See how single
minded I can get?

“No, Lucas,
it’s not cancer. It’s a cerebrovascular disorder and it’s been causing your
headaches, we believe. It’s all here in these reports; I’ll just give you a
copy for you to look over.” He handed me the papers. “The aneurysm itself, it
really is very large. But not to worry, as soon as we operate, everything will
be fine.”

I shook my head
slightly, trying to process the information. “So- it’s not life threatening? I
don’t need chemo or anything, just an operation and I’ll be good as new?” I
asked. I could hardly believe it. All that worry and a simple operation could
heal me?

Maybe not.

Doctor Khan
looked nervously at me. “Well, not exactly,” he said, clearing his throat. My
heart sank. What now? “Aneurysm surgery is very risky at times and it is always
tricky. The good thing is I have a very good track record when it comes to
surgery. You’re in good hands. But the problem is that your aneurysm isn’t big enough
to operate on just yet.”

“You said it’s
giant,” I pointed out, not bothering to add that he had also quoted a line from
the Allstate commercials.

He nodded. “It
is. But in order for us to be able to operate, it has to be a specific size.
Yours isn’t yet.”

“So I’ll have
this clot in my brain for life?” I asked.

“No. When it’s
the right size, we’ll operate.”

I felt vaguely
sick. “You mean it’s still growing?”

“Yes. We’ll
take a watch and wait approach. I calculate that your surgery will take place
in two months. When its optimum size, we’ll operate.”

“Okay.” I took
a deep breath. I could handle this. It wasn’t cancer. I could deal with that.

“But there is a
problem with aneurysms, especially ones of that size.”

Of course.

I gazed at
Doctor Khan levelly, trying not to show any emotion. “What might that be?”

He looked
nervous. “They do have a tendency to rupture.”

That didn’t
sound good at all.

“Explain.”

“Several
factors can make them burst, causing severe bleeding in the brain. This happens
suddenly and without warning.”

I cringed.
“That-sounds bad.”

“It generally
is. Once an aneurysm ruptures, chances of survival are slim. 40 percent of
patients die before 24 hours elapse. 20 percent more die from complications
before 6 months. Rebleeding is also a worry and even if you do survive, brain
damage is a factor to deal with.”

It was way too
much for me to take in so I just settled for staring at Doctor Khan.

“Oh.”

He nodded
slowly. “That’s why it’s a very serious condition.”

I rubbed my
eyes. “And mine- what’s the risk of it rupturing?” I asked, grabbing onto
straws. I looked up at Doctor Khan hopefully. “If it’s too small to operate on,
it won’t rupture, will it?”

A sympathetic
look on his face, the doctor shook his head. I closed my eyes. “While your
aneurysm is too small to operate on, it is large enough to rupture.”

“So- I could
die?” I finally asked the question that was gnawing at me.

“I cannot
answer that,” Doctor Khan said, a scandalized look on his face. Of course he
can’t answer that, what was I thinking? Wouldn’t want to upset me, my aneurysm
might rupture. I bit back a laugh. How ironic was it that I could die because
of something I had never heard of? Continuing, Doctor Khan said, “You’re lucky.
You have your youth on your side. And the best healthcare money can buy.”

I almost
snorted as he walked closer to me and patted my shoulder.

“Funny, I don’t
feel lucky,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“We offer
counseling, a chance for you to discuss your fears with a qualified therapist
who has experience with dealing with aneurysm patients, before and after
surgery.” He sat down next to me. “I’m sure she’ll be a lot of help.”

“Has that
therapist had an aneurysm?” I asked.

“No, but-,”
Doctor Khan replied.

“Then I’m not
going,” I said decisively. Doctor Khan looked at me, his hand heavy on my
shoulder.

“Luke-,” he
started. I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, I’d
just- I’d rather talk to my own therapist if I have to talk to one at all,” I
said.

“Fine,” the
doctor nodded, obviously realizing that I wasn’t about to change my mind.

I put my head
in my hands, looking up at Doctor Khan through my hair. “Can I go now?” I asked
dully.

“Your father
has to sign you out, as you’re still a minor.”

“Can you call
him?”

Doctor Khan
stood up. “Of course. If there’s anything else-.”

“No thanks. I
just- I need to change,” I said, pointing down at the stupid gown I was dressed
in.

Doctor Khan
patted my shoulder once more, said “Good luck, Lucas,” and left me alone in the
room, feeling numb.

I grabbed my
clothes and headed to the bathroom to change. I felt empty inside, hollow, as I
stared at myself in the mirror. How was I meant to deal with the fact that, at
any given time, I could rupture my aneurysm and die? Two months suddenly seemed
so far off and I wondered if I would even make it. Was this how it was supposed
to end? I woke up today, sure that I had a tumor and instead found out that it
was much worse.