Yes, Becs. My boobs just talked.
It was New Year’s Eve in the Bellas household. Beca and Chloe were still the only Bellas in the house, although Stacie was with Aubrey somewhere else in Bristol, and would be coming back to the house on the 2nd January; being a medical student meant exams, exams, exams come January.
Becca and Chloe’s plans for the day were not extravagant: in the day time, they would continue their usually rhythm of Chloe studying or reading while Beca mixed in the morning, Chloe wasting time on the internet while Beca napped in the afternoon. In the evening, Stacie and Aubrey were coming round for dinner, before they (and Chloe, in theory, but whether she would actually leave Beca’s side was yet to be determined) went to a New Year’s Eve party that the other Bella house was hosting.
Beca had had her 3rd round of chemo just before Christmas, just after the other girls had left. The fatigue was hitting the small brunette hard: not everyone was so exhausted when they had chemo, she knew, but somehow, she was. She had lost some weight, although Chloe was constantly (but kindly) trying to encourage her to eat; Chloe had more time on her hands as it was the holiday, and the girl loved to bake and cook, so she was enjoying spending time shopping and cooking to make meals Beca might actually want to eat. For dinner that night, she was planning on cooking Beca’s favourite: vegetable lasagne with garlic bread, with panna cotta for pudding.
The morning had gone as usual, although Beca had seemed to spend even more time than usual staring into space, rather than mixing. She was covered in blankets, with just one arm poking out to manipulate the software. Chloe, of course, insisted on listening to the mix before she went to make them lunch, and was surprised when it didn’t seem quite up to Beca’s usual standard. Something about it wasn’t quite right, something didn’t quite sit. But, as Beca’s body was being poisoned every few weeks, this could hardly be surprising.
The girls were only having an even lighter lunch than usual that day; Chloe knew she would eat a lot in the evening, and Beca really wanted to be able to eat a lot in the evening, so Chloe poured them both bowls of cereal to eat while they watched an episode of Buffy. Half way through the episode, Chloe realised that Beca was in danger of throwing milk all over herself: she had fallen asleep, her barely touched cereal still in her hand. Shaking her head at the girl’s clumsiness, even in her sleep, Chloe grabbed the bowel before the milk was spilled, and headed to the kitchen to wash up and get ready for dinner. Beca could sleep on the sofa that afternoon.
Chloe happily whiled away the next four hours cooking: she had roasted and peeled the aubergines and peppers; toasted pine nuts; made white sauce, made the panna cotta and put it in the fridge to set… When she had finally finished sprinkling the last of the parmesan on the last layer of lasagne, she slipped her headphones off, untied her apron strings, and just stood for a minute.
Chloe loved her time in the kitchen. She loved to cook when none of the other girls were around (because she loved them, but there is just not room in a galley kitchen for more than one body to be comfortable). She loved to close the door, shut out the world, put some music on (using her Bluetooth headphones if, as now, Beca was asleep), and just concentrate on cooking for a few hours. On doing something productive with her hands which, at the end of it, gave her delicious and nourishing food to eat. The kitchen, with music, was Chloe Beale’s happy place, where she forgot about studying, or her family, or how her best friend had cancer – Beca.
Beca didn’t usually sleep for this long, even in the afternoon, even now.
Chloe rushed out the kitchen, apron strings flapping behind her, so glad that in their open plan house the sofa was only 5 feet away from the kitchen door.
“Beca? Beca!” Chloe yelled, no longer worried about waking her friend up, hoping to do just that, in fact, rushing to the bundle of duvet and blanket and beanie that was Beca curled up on the sofa.
Beca didn’t reply.
Chloe could hardly see her face – she threw the blankets off – “No Chlo, I’m cold,” came a weak protest, but she wasn’t, Beca was hot, she was HOT.
Swearing, Chloe raced upstairs, going up the stairs two at a time, using her hands to stop herself from falling over, all the way up two flights to the bathroom, grabbing the digital thermometer Stacie had insisted the house invest in when Beca had first got ill, flying back down the stairs, almost tripping over herself in her desperate desire to get to Beca, to get to her, to get to her quickly, now.
“Shhh shhh Becs,” she tried to murmur, tried to keep up her usual low, slow, soothing patter, but her voice was high and her breath was catching and there was a hitch in her throat as she smoothed the other girls hair away, put the thermometer in her ear, pressed the button, waited those agonising 5 seconds to hear the beep, while Beca pointed out “I don’t feel great, Chlo…”
38.6.
“FUCK”
Chloe tried, she tried so hard to keep calm, alone in the house with a burning up Beca who was barely awake, alone, without a car. What should she do what should she do what should she do –
Stacie. Stacie would know.
Grabbing her phone, her hands were shaking too much to type in her password but thankfully a thumb print is always a thumb print. She unlocked the phone, held down the home button, instructed Siri to call Stacie, all keeping one hand on Beca, one hand on her face, stroking her hot cheeks, looking at her drowsy eyes.
“Chlo?Chloe? Chloe, What’s wrong?” Chloe had barely noticed Stacie answer the phone, she was shaking now, shaking all over, her whole body vibrating with adrenaline and anxiety and-
“Beca, it’s Beca, she’s hot, she’s hot but she was covered in blankets, and she’s sleepy, she’s even sleepier than usual, Stacie, HELP!”
“Ok Chloe. Calm down. Did you find the thermometer we bought?” Unlike Chloe, Stacie's voice was calm and quiet and even, Aubrey’s voice was in the background, asking her girlfriend what was going on, and Stacie was replying, telling her to have her phone ready, have her phone ready, but all that was entirely lost to Chloe.
“Yes! Yes, I took her temperature, it’s 38.6, what does that mean?”
“Ok Chloe. You have to stay calm now, ok? Aubrey and I are coming over in her car right now, and we’re gonna take Beca to the hospital. You need to try and help her walk upstairs. We’re gonna be with you in five minutes and I’m gonna stay on the phone with you.”
“Ok,” suddenly, Chloe stopped shaking. She took a deep breath. She had things she needed to do. She needed to get Beca upstairs. Putting the phone on speaker, she set it down on the coffee table.
“Talk to me Chlo, what are you doing?”
“Hey Becs, we gotta get upstairs, ok babe?” Chloe said, ignoring Stacie for the moment, pulling duvets and blankets off of Beca, pulling off her woolly beanie and barely feeling the wince in her stomach Beca’s bare head usually brought.
“Ok…,” Beca mumbled, pushing the blankets off Chloe and standing up, only to sway and sit back down again a second later.
“Slowly Bec, you’ve been lying down all day, there’s no blood in your head,” Chloe reminded her.
“S’always blood in my head, Beale… I’m Beca effin Mitchell,” Beca mumbled, making Chloe smile through her tears as she took both the brunettes hands, helping her to stand up, grabbing her shoulders while the Beca’s blood pressure adjusted to the change in position.
Keeping one hand on Beca, Chloe turned round and grabbed the phone from the coffee table, tucking it into the top of her bra,
“We’re going up stairs now Stace,” she said, knowing the other girl could still here her,
“Great, that’s great guys,” Stacie’s voice came from Chloe’s cleavage.
“Chloe, am I delirious or did your boobs just talk?” Beca asked, becoming more and more aware as her brain began to wake up properly.
Chloe laughed, but she could have cried. “Yes, Becs. My boobs just talked. Now we need to get you upstairs and Stacie and Aubrey are gonna pick us up, ok?”
Slowly the two girls made their way up the narrow staircase, up to the floor of Beca’s room and the front door. Only a minute or so after they had made it up, Beca leaning against the wall, Chloe hovering next to her, ready to catch her at any moment, Stacie's key was in the door and the tall brunette was ushering the two other girls out and into the back seat of Aubrey’s car.
The drive to the hospital was almost silent, Aubrey expending every ounce of her energy on driving there as quickly but safely as possible. She pulled into a taxi space, allowing Stacie, Beca and Chloe to pile out the car, while she looked for somewhere to park.
Beca was very sleepy again; one arm was slung up around Chloe’s shoulder, while Chloe’s was round the smaller girl’s waist, part holding her up, walking slowly while Stacie ran ahead.
Getting into A&E, Stacie froze momentarily at the scene surrounding her. It was New Year’s Eve, granted, but it was only 6.30pm, and the waiting room was full with drunk people. Bleeding drunk people, yelling drink people, passed out with mascara running down their face drunk people, but as far as Stacie could tell, everyone here was drunk.
She saw a triage nurse with a clipboard approaching the waiting room, ready to call the name of the next patient, but Stacie grabbed him first, started pulling him away, gabbling as she went
“My friend is having chemo and I think she’s neutropenic and her temperature is 38.6 and she’s this way and we have to hurry!”
Everything happened very quickly after that. Stacie and the nurse showed up, somehow having acquired a wheelchair, and shoved Beca into it. She was taken to Resus, while Stacie and Chloe were shown to the waiting room, where they prodded and poked her, asked her questions, took her blood and gave her fluids, all while she sat on a hospital bed in her pyjamas, wondering what the fuck was going on.
Eventually, having just been told she was going to be admitted and then left alone for hours by the doctors (15 minutes), three pale faces poked round the curtain of the cubicle she was in, swiftly followed by the rest of the three, relieved, Bellas.
Beca’s face momentarily lit up at the sight of her friends, and then fell.
“Sorry for ruining New Years guys,” she muttered, and it may have been her signature move, but Beca got three eye rolls in response.
Beca was in the hospital for 4 days. They never did find the source of the infection, but they pumped her veins choc-full with antibiotics and fluids and goodness knows what else.
After 4 days her temperature was finally down, her white blood cells were finally up (just), and with strict instructions to drink lots (of boiled and cooled water, ugh), and continue taking oral antibiotics, Beca was finally allowed home.
And boy was she glad to be going. Because it had been an emergency admission, Beca hadn’t been able to go to the Teenage Cancer Trust unit that she usually went to for chemo, where there were young people and fun nurses and games’ stations. That meant she was on a general adult ward, boring and white-walled and nowhere near as fun. Because her immune system was so weak, Beca was in a side room, and everyone had to put on aprons and gloves and even masks to come in and do anything, even just to say hello. It was lonely, and more importantly for Beca, it was boring. It seemed bizarre to Beca that she went from being in her own room where everything was cleaned before entering, to being allowed to go home with Chloe and Stacie (and Aubrey, who could not be persuaded to go home for love nor money), but she was not about to complain when she finally walked out of her room, holding Chloe’s hand (that wasn’t weird, it wasn’t weird, they were friends), and towards home.
Beca went straight to bed when she got home, but Chloe, Stacie and Aubrey stayed up and gathered in the kitchen for wine and debriefing. It’s scary having cancer, but it’s also terrifying having a friend who has cancer, and sometimes you just need to drink wine and wonder how the fuck this came to be your life.
A couple of hours later, Chloe came up to Beca’s bedroom, popping her head round the doorway, expecting to see the brunette fast asleep, but Beca was lying on her back, still awake. Chloe retreated, crept to her bedroom, changed into her pyjamas (decided her teeth probably wouldn’t fall out if she didn’t brush her teeth just this once) and returned back to Beca’s room, crawling up the bed beside her and throwing herself under the duvet. She joined Beca, lying on her back, both girls with their arms over the covers, hands only an inch apart, and then, by mutual agreement, clasped tight.
“We can’t do this without you, Becs,” Chloe said, softly, holding their clasped hands above their heads and looking at them, Beca’s small and pale, her’s bigger, pinker.
“Yes you can, Chlo. You can, but you won’t have to. Not if I have any say in it”
And with that Beca took her hand back, turned over, her back to Chloe. Chloe stayed, still staring at the ceiling.