Loss
September 9th
As much as Remus hates to admit it, the last five days he's settled into a routine—one he found strangely comforting.
It starts with him waking up before the sun, where he forces himself to take a shower in scalding heat, a task that has become increasingly difficult considering he can’t get the site of his PICC line wet. He wraps a plastic bag around the dressing and tapes it with duct tape, which has left two angry red bands on his arm as a souvenir. After dressing in whatever clean clothes he can find, he drops three slices of bread in the new toaster; one for his mother, two for himself. He eats his toast with plain butter and a side of various small pills. When he’s done, he brushes his teeth with enough force to make his gums ache in order to force the pungent taste of the drugs to go away.
That's usually when his mother wakes up and boils the kettle, taking her plate thankfully and adding a quiet comment of “Oh, you didn’t have to.” But Remus knows he does otherwise she wouldn't eat at all. Most of the time she even struggles to put down the single slice.
He reads while his mother gets ready, though her morning routine is growing shorter and shorter. Makeup has been abandoned, and her hair now is thrown messily up, as if she couldn’t spare the time or energy to care.
They walk across the road to the hospital as the sun makes itself fully visible in the morning sky, and for a few minutes they’re left with the magnificent hues of orange and pink—a brief, fleeting beauty that ends the moment they step under the bright letters spelling “Hadlington Hospital.”
Specialist Clinic E, or The Teen and Young Adult Cancer Center is on the second floor, so they find the closest lift. At the reception desk, Remus is handed a wristband and a small ticket. And then comes the waiting.
First, there is the weigh bay, where he kicks off his shoes and steps onto the scale, a smiling nurse will record the numbers and wish him the best for the day. There’s more waiting followed by blood work, then another stretch of waiting. Eventually, Poppy’s consultation comes next—more waiting. Finally, a nurse calls him for chemo, and hours later, they leave. By the time they return to the flat, Remus collapses into bed, exhausted.
His mother makes dinner, a surprising but comforting affair; she seems determined to cook despite her exhaustion, though Remus lives in quiet fear of waking one day to smoke.
They eat together, watching whatever is on TV, before Remus makes an excuse to escape to the bedroom.
There, he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts running wild until sleep finally takes him—just in time to do it all again the next day.
But today is different. It’s day five of his cycle, which means he gets a two day break from the hospital before he comes in again on day eight. That small joy alone causes Remus to hold himself a little higher and slightly relax his furrowed brows. These subtle changes would've easily been overlooked, had he not been in a cancer center—where every small detail about a person is uncovered and noted. So Poppy notices immediately, greeting Remus with a broader smile than usual.
Out of all the rooms in the hospital, Poppy’s consultation office is the one Remus hates the least. It's quiet and dimly lit, a stark contrast to what lays beyond its door. Poppy herself is kind and in a way that sets her apart from the other staff. She doesn't talk to him like she's checking boxes on a chart or following a script; she speaks to him like he is a real person.
“How are we doing today?”
“All right,” Remus replies, and for once, he half means it, which is a lot more than any other time.
“Hmm, I think I believe you this time,” she teases lightly. “Any new side effects from treatment?”
Remus shakes his head. “No, I don't think so.”
“Energy levels still low?”
“Sort of, I’m not as tired today.”
“Are you eating well?”
“Yeah”
“Not as much as he usually does, though,” his mother chimes in. Poppy asks more questions, and Remus gives more answers while the soft clatter of her typing fills the room.
Then she pauses, turning to face the two of them. “One more thing—the PET scan results came back.”
Remus’ stomach does a quick flip at the mention and his heartbeat quickens. Please he thinks, don't be bad, don't be bad.
“And your disease is what we would classify as stage two.” She says, gently.
Remus exhales and feels his body relax slightly, that was okay, right?
Poppy turns the screen to reveal the pictures from the scan. The outline of Remus’ body was black, but the inside was littered with glowing orange blobs, beginning at his right clavicle and trailing all the way down his sternum.
“This means that along with your first two general cycles of OEPA, you will receive one additional cycle of COPDAC. These are different chemo drugs, but we’ll discuss that when the time comes…”
Three cycles, three months.
He can do three months.
12 weeks.
84 days.
2016 hours.
What could happen?
Two hours later, the dooming beep of the IV pump rings out. It was a horrid sound, one of the many Remus has come to despise. The high pitched signal seems never ending until Effie comes along to silence it. Remus mechanically puts his arm out so she can flush his line, her practiced hands moving swiftly.
“And you're all done for today—another one down,” she says with a smile, peeling off her gloves and tossing them into the bin.
Remus stretches as he stands, leaving the chair behind—the same one James had shown him on his first day and the one he’s occupied ever since.
“Thanks. See you soon” he says happily, the relief that the short break brings evident in his tone.
He walks eagerly ahead of his mother, passing nurses in the corridor and the ever growing number of patients in the waiting room. His mother mentions something about picking up lunch, but before Remus is able to respond, they’re stopped near the exit by Minerva. She seems to find them almost everyday, where she pauses her rushing for a brief moment to sit down and talk—mostly with his mother. Remus appreciates it; few people take the time to talk to her.
“Ah, just the people I was hoping to see,” Minerva says warmly. “How are we today?”
“Quite well, actually,” his mother replies, smiling, and Remus gives a small nod.
“Still tired?”
“Not as much today,” he admits, “we were pretty quick.” The waiting wasn't nearly as long today, and his chemo only lasted two hours. Between everything, this is the most alive Remus has felt in a long time.
“That’s wonderful,” Minerva says, before shifting to a more serious tone. “Now, I wanted to ask if you would be interested in attending a program. It’s a support group run by an external foundation here at the hospital.
Remus stares at her, hoping she’s joking. A support group? There’s nothing he can think of that he’d want to do less. He’s fine—great, even. What support could he possibly need?
“It’s designed for teenagers and young adults with cancer,” Minerva explains. “It’s a safe, understanding environment. People often find it to be fun, and it can provide helpful insight into what you’re experiencing.”
“That sounds wonderful, doesn't it, Remus?” His mother says, beaming.
“Thanks, but, I’m okay,” he replies, hoping to end the conversation there.
“Remus,” his mother says, her tone now stern, “just think about it—it could be good. I know you don’t like talking to me about all of this, but maybe going there could help.”
He groans internally. He really doesn't see how this could do anything but irritate him. Minerva looks at him, as if she can hear his thoughts.
“What if you just try it once?” she suggests. “It starts in about five minutes, considering you're not so tired, why don’t you give it a go today? Get it over and done with? If you hate it, you don’t have to go back.”
No.
He glances at his mother, whose face is filled with hopeful longing.
“Fine,” he mutters, “Just today, though.”
Minerva leads him down to the ground floor, through unfamiliar hallways lined with large offices and cluttered desks strawn with papers. They eventually reach the double doors of what is a moderately sized lecture theatre. The seats are all empty but Remus’ gaze follows the loud murmur of voices to the front of the room. He recognises a distinct one, louder than the rest, confident and smug.
Of course he has to be here too.
Remus glances at the doors behind them and momentarily contemplates if he should just sneak back out before anyone notices him. There are around fifteen other people, all sitting in a circle of chairs. A few turn their heads as they continue to make their way in and any hope Remus has of leaving is gone.
“Matilda, this is Remus,” Minerva announces. “I managed to convince him to give it a try.”
A tall thin woman in a long blue dress greets him warmly. “Of course! Welcome Remus. Come find a seat.”
Minerva leaves, and Remus feels everyone's eyes on him as he reluctantly picks the only empty chair—conveniently directly across from Sirius. Remus doesn't plan on paying attention and glues his eyes to his feet.
“Alright,” Matilda starts, her voice cheerful, “I think we're ready to begin. Now, we have quite a big theme for today's discussion…”
She writes in big bold letters on the board behind her:
Loss
“Now, loss can take many forms—it can be physical, emotional, even spiritual. And when we lose a key aspect of our self, we can feel incredibly different and lost. But hopefully today we can explore our unique experiences and identify some strategies to feel more ourselves.”
Sirius slouches in his chair, looking equally unimpressed with the hour-long session ahead of them.
Matilda continues, “Let's all give an example of something we’ve lost from cancer– just shout out– I'll start. Shortly into my chemotherapy, many years ago, I lost lacrosse. I had a rare side effect of cardiomyopathy that prevented me from playing high cardio sports, even now. I was quite good as well and terribly disappointed when I had to stop.”
A small girl beside her raises her hand, Remus remembers her from the waiting room during his first appointment at the center. “I think the worst thing I’ve lost so far is my hair.”
“That's a common one.” Matilda says sympathetically. “Now you can get wigs, beanies and head coverings, sometimes it can help but I think for many people it doesn't.”
There was a soft hum of agreement.
“I think a good way to look at it is moving forward. Take every day as a step closer to the future, accept your current state knowing you can only go up from here, and before you know it you’ll look in the mirror and realise just how far you've come.”
Remus tries not to think about losing his hair. If he’s honest, he doesn't believe it’s going to happen, like he will be the only exception. He’s started a bad habit of tugging his hair, just to make sure it hasn't begun falling out. It started just in the mornings, where he’d pull tightly on a strand when he brushed his teeth. Lately, he's been doing it more often, whenever he is reminded of what's to come. So he doesn't surprise himself when his hand instinctively reaches up to his head and gives a hard little yank.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks Sirius catches him.
“Ok, so, what else have we lost?” Matilda askes and they continue around.
“Friends, or, people I thought were my friends.”
“My arm!”
“Sex.” That one got a laugh from everyone.
“My last years of school.”
“A normal sleep schedule.”
Remus listens to everyone until it’s just him and Sirius who are yet to speak.
“And what about you two?”
Remus thinks hard. If he’s being honest there were at least a million things he’s lost. Money, time, sleep, the ability to relax, his mother, showers, food, Daisy, the chickens, mornings, his bedroom, trust. He settles on the most obvious one and clears his throat. “My home, I guess”
“Do you mind explaining what you mean by that, Remus?”
“Ah, sure. I live on a farm, way out in the country,” he says. “It takes too long to travel so we have to stay here for treatment, in an old dingy flat across the street. Not exactly my ideal place to be.”
He hears Sirius give a chuckle across from him.
“And you, Sirius? What's something you’ve lost from cancer?”
He lets out a huff, leaning back dangerously on his chair, arms crossed. “Jeez, dunno really, don't think there's anything.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
He stares at her challengingly, “positive.”
“Is there anything you’ve gained then, from cancer”
“Nope”
“So, you're the exact same person you were before your diagnosis?”
Sirius just shrugs.
She takes this as an opportunity to start a tangent about growth and acceptance that Remus barely listens too. There must have been more behind her words, because what she said to Sirius definitely put him in a sour mood.
They talk for half an hour more and play some team building game for the rest. When they are done, Remus is one of the first to gather his things and begin up the steps. He can feel Sirius close behind him until he abruptly stops.
“Sirius, a word,” Matilda says sternly.
Remus finds himself waiting outside the door for Sirius, letting everyone filter out and quickly pass him. He doesn't really know why he is, considering he’s been avoiding Sirius and James this whole week. In fact, Remus doesn't know what he expects out of this or even what he’s going to say to him.
“Surprised to find you here,” comes a voice.
“I can say the same for you, not really your style is it?”
“Effie makes me come to them, waste of precious fucking time if you ask me.”
Remus scoffs in agreement. It goes quiet and Sirius looks almost awkward.
“Are you… alright?” Remus asks.
Sirius stuffs his hands in his pocket. “Always, mate.”
Remus goes to say something when Sirius interrupts him, nodding towards the corridor.
“C’mon. James’ bus should be here in an hour.”
It surprises Remus that he remembers the way to the roof. It seems all the walks he’s taken between appointments have left him with a detailed mental map of the hospital.
When they push open the heavy door, Sirius exhales loudly, and Remus also feels the suffocating weight of the building slip away. Sirius pulls off his hoodie, muttering something about the heat, his pale, smooth arms catching the golden sunlight. The sun bathes them both in blinding light, forcing them to squint furiously.
However, that doesn't stop Sirius from climbing up onto the ledge, settling with his legs dangling over the side of the building. Remus hesitates but joins him a moment later, his movements slower and more cautious than Sirius’ effortless confidence.
“You don't like us very much, do you?” Sirius asks after a while, cocking his head to the side to study Remus.
Remus shrugs, peering down at the tiny cars and people scattering around like ants below.
“Is that why you've been avoiding us?” Sirius presses.
“No, I don’t think so,” Remus replies, shaking his head.
“Then why?”
Remus fiddles with his fingers, searching for the words. “Because,” he begins slowly, “I think you two could make this place slightly more bearable.”
“And why’s that a bad thing?”
“It’s just easier to leave a place behind when you hate everything about it.”
Sirius gives a sigh, a sound heavy with understanding.
“You're planning on forgetting everything once you leave, aren't you?”
“Yep.” Remus says with certainty. “Never wanna think about it again.” It was true, though it’s getting harder to imagine as more and more of his life becomes entangled and stuck here.
Sirius clicks his tongue, turning toward him with a stubborn expression. “Well, let me tell you something—it doesn’t fucking work.” He pauses, his voice softening. “You know that feeling? the one you get when you sit down to think about everything your trying to ignore, and it actually registers in your head what the fuck is going on?”
Remus nods. He knows it all too well. The feeling mostly comes to him at night in a bed too small to be his, or during long waits on uncomfortable chairs in white rooms. It quietly crawls in when he lets his guard down. It slithers about his head, coiling around his chest before it settles in the pit of his stomach.
“If anything,” Sirius continues, “it gets worse when you leave. Louder. More persistent.”
Remus doesn’t know how to respond. He understands that Sirius has been through this too—might still be going through it—but they’re not the same person. Remus is convinced that once he’s back on the farm, everything will be okay again, and the feeling that haunts him now will cease into nothingness.
Sirius eyes him for only a second longer before looking out at the skyline. “My advice? Hold onto whatever good you can find around here.”