Where have you BEEN? - by DC
It's been more than a year now since it all began, and life's just been one rollercoaster after another since. Now, we all know that as supers, there are going to be some fights that just hurt a bit more than others, so when the pain first began in March, it wasn't that big of a deal to me. I had taken the night off after a day of fighting crime and saving cats, so I was a little annoyed to be awoken at 2:30 in the morning. Unfortunately, the phone hadn't rung, and as I stared at the ceiling it took awhile before I had CLARITY as to my true situation: a small twinge in my back that never seemed to go away. I figured that I had pulled something, or I had taken a HAYMAKER of a punch somewhere during the day. I may have a TOUGH HIDE, but bruises still can form, so I just ignored it and went back to sleep.
You know the old saying, "Once is happenstance. Twice is circumstance. The third time it's enemy action"? Well, I started to think that way after two more consecutive nights of back pain. By the third night, I couldn't ignore it as easily as before. I started walking around the city blocks, just trying to work out the pain. By the fifth night, my right hip had started in on the action. It would take a good hour or two before I was able to relax or sleep. However, all the action happened late at night, and even though it was certainly annoying, I still wasn't overly concerned about it. I figured it would eventually fade away, like most all the rest of the injuries we ever get dealing with the scum we deal with.
As time went on, however, 'fading away' seemed to be the last thing on my pain's mind. Instead, the pain was on a sort of BUILD UP chain as the nights went on. Days turned into weeks as every night, almost right around the same time like CLOCKWORK, the pain began. Walking no longer helped on its own, so I'd have to make stops off at the local stores every once in awhile for generic pain meds. There were certainly some odd stares at me at times, people wondering "Why would HE need pain meds?" I tended to ignore them and keep to myself, which worked perfectly well considering my reputation.
When the pain stopped being just at night and started happening in the middle of the day, I knew I was in some sort of trouble. At times it seemed like I was running a GAUNTLET of different times and locations of pain; right hip, left hip, lower right back, left hip, right hip again... When it would eventually subside I'd be back to normal, but for that hour or so crime-fighting was not at the forefront of my mind. It may have appeared to the gangs that I had more VIGILANCE than usual, but I wasn't really paying attention to them.
I think the turning point for me happened around late May or early June; by that time it was to the point where I would need to physically stop a contact's work for an hour or so and just work through the pain before I could come back and continue on. A couple of times, instead of charging headfirst into a warehouse, I'd actually volunteer for patrol duty outside. I'd be a WANDERER at times, just trying to ignore the pain. Folks thought that was strange, but didn't argue with me, thankfully. One night, I was with a group of supers and we were going through some multi-story lawyer building, and, as had become usual, the pain was in full force at the worst opportune time. I had to stop and get something to DULL the PAIN, so I ducked around the corner and took a couple of pills. Unfortunately, the pain was, right then, at its worst level I had ever experienced, and I was partially incapacitated. Of course, the gang's boss chose that moment to run right by me and head out the door. I knew at that moment that something had to be done and that I couldn't wait any longer.
Now, we've all been to the hospital at least once or twice since we first got to the city. Whether it was to visit a certain contact that hangs out in the Indy hospital or just passing through after a nasty defeat, we all generally know the layout and we've worked with the doctors before. The problem with that kind of familiarity is that when something's really wrong, it's hard to keep it a secret. If a super was found to have a weakness and it was discovered, every gang from the Skulls to the Carnies and their grandmothers would come gunning for him. So, I was left with going to a doctor out of the way, beyond the outskirts of the city.
When I told the doctor that there was a problem, I think he thought I was joking. "You are known to have INVULNERABILITY," he said. "What could possibly be a problem to you?" As I described the pain and the circumstances, he started to get the picture. Of course, like most doctors, he didn't have a clue as to what it was and wanted tests. The x-rays were perfectly fine, but the blood test was a bit difficult at first; UNYIELDING skin tends to stop most things: bullets, knives, and needles, unfortunately.
The test results didn't show any problems, so he prescribed some stronger pain meds and farmed me out to an orthopedist, thinking that perhaps it was a skeletal problem. The orthopedist seemed to think I had tweaked a nerve, and over time it would calm down; another doctor visit, another batch of drugs. They seemed to do perfectly fine at managing the pain, but dealing with the underlying cause was beyond them. A couple more x-rays, MRIs, and blood tests later, someone finally, in early November, scheduled a CAT scan. I am eternally grateful for that, if only that the results got me out of going to physical therapy; a super in PT would probably have thrown up a few too many red flags. By this time not only was I in a lot of pain most of the time, but I was starting to turn as white as a sheet; my blood count was falling faster than a Hellion knocked off a rooftop. The CAT can itself was harmless, but when the lab tech told me that they were calling my doctor in to talk to me, I had a sinking feeling in my gut.
"So, after reviewing your CAT scan, it would appear that your lymph nodes are running amok."
"So we're looking at a random POSITRON or two? Maybe a SYNAPSE and/or NEURON throwing a drunken frat party in my lower spine?"
"No, Death. You, uh, have cancer. Lymphoma. Probably Hodgkin's, though we'll need to do a biopsy to confirm that."
That had a CRUSHING IMPACT on my psyche. I tried to be the TOUGH guy and just shrug it off, but...We all being supers, we work with some pretty strange things, and we've seen folks survive things that nothing should live through. There are a few people out there that really are IMMORTAL, but to realize that you're not one of them, it's a big blow. You could be UNBREAKABLE, or NIGH INDESTRUCTABLE, but that 'nigh' is a very big word at times, and it isn't immortality.
My doctor scheduled the surgery date as well as an appointment with a hematologist, and on Friday the 13th I was admitted. They did a HACK and SLASH routine on the left side of my neck for a lymph node, and a SLICE and dice route on the right side of my chest to insert a port, for ease of drawing blood and the inevitable chemotherapy. After the surgery and I was recovering in my room, I was worried that it may be hard to keep my super powers hidden; for all anyone knew outside of the doctor and surgical staff, I was a regular guy. It turned out that I didn't have cause to worry; I was completely out of it. I ended up being a simple BIRD WATCHER out of my window that weekend, having blood, iv, and the standard chemotherapy drugs pumped in through my port. I was completely SHUT DOWN for most of my stay, and it took a week or two to recover from the surgery and recovery time.
I went in on Friday and didn't get out till Tuesday, but at least there was a plan in place now. I had a disease, but it was known and a treatment was in position. All I'd need to do was go on like nothing was unusual, and sneak away for chemo every two weeks. The plan was, the hematologist said, to nuke me every two weeks, because it would take just about that long for my white cell count to get back to normal. It would take a dive after chemo, but steadily climb back up, and just as it would reach its APEX, it'd be time for another dose. So that's the way it went - every two weeks, for six months.
Most of the side effects were manageable or easily concealable; everybody's gone through Terra Volta enough times, we've all been exposed to some form of LINGERING RADIATION, or nuclear FALLOUT if the reactor does have to shut down for a time due to gang invasion. I was able to blame most of it away on stuff of that nature. Sure, my STAMINA had been greatly reduced due to the chemo, but I was able to keep plugging away and kept my breaks to a minimum. Also, I didn't have to REST as much if the fights were short.
There was one situation, however, where it was a little bit harder to explain away the problem. Now, we've all been around long enough to know that the PPD do not ask questions about how the villains are caught. Whether it be by gunshot wounds, stabbings, or just your good OLD FASHIONED 'setting the guy on fire', they didn't care, because you brought them to justice and order was restored. Unfortunately, it takes awhile for the newbies on the force to understand that lesson. It was about a month after I had started treatment when I was called into an office invasion. Seems the Carnies weren't thrilled with their tax return, or something. Anyway, it was a relatively easy job, as it was just a few groups and their leader, a Ring Mistress whose name I've forgotten. I was outside the building, supervising the cleanup after the fight and watching the Ring Mistress be taken away in a squad car, when this young Officer, Officer PARRY, came up to me and asked me a very odd question:
"Mr. Conqueror, why is your hair all over the Ring Mistress' body?"
"...Uh... She, uh.. was a bit of a hair puller when I tried to subdue her, heh..."
That was a question I had never wanted asked of me, but it made me realize that I'd have to do something about my hair, as it was evidently falling out. Over the course of a few days after that encounter, about 70% of my hair went 'poof'. I eventually decided to go the wig route, to avoid the unnecessary questions and to avoid the gangs thinking there was a possible opportunity if I appeared ill.
In March, my hematologist wanted to run a PET scan, to determine the cancer's progress, see if treatment was working; while the cancer had not been completely eliminated, it had been confined to a few spots. That, along with my appetite being back to normal and my red blood count staying consistent, was very good news for me. We both decided that we'd wait another 2 months, see if the rest of the cancer was gone, run a few more tests, and hope for the best.
Two months later, and after another scan, there was no change, unfortunately. To say I was disappointed was an understatement. Though, now I do find it IRONIC, as it turns out the two months of chemo I thought were wasted were actually keeping the cancer in check. Anyway, it was decided to abort progress on the standard drugs, and after consultation with another doctor out of town, it was decided to begin a new process called ICE; no BLAST for me, I'm sure. Talking with some of the other doctors around town, it doesn't sound like the peachiest thing in the world. So we'll see how that goes, see what it does to me. This is by no means the LAST STAND effort, but I do believe I'm running out of options. But let me make this perfectly clear: I'm not going anywhere. And no, you can't have my stuff.
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While dealing with all of this, I still tried to maintain a presence around town, making sure there wasn't a noticeable gap times I was around, but the question did come up a few days ago. I had just started patrol when I got a message over my communicator. It simply said "Where have you BEEN?" "Well," I said as I started texting back, "it's a long story..."
Was hoping it'd be higher.