But You're Still Alive

Crinkling exam-table paper; alcoholic smell of hand sanitizer; a latex model of the heart in vivid colors that comes apart to reveal the inner workings of the chambers and then refuses to be reassembled. Dr. Zed's office: my fingers are smarting from all the needle pricks, and my stomach sloshes uncomfortably.
"Oooh-kay." Zed gives me a look I can't interpret and slides behind his desk. He picks up my chart with the fresh leaflet of test results pinned to the top and hums to himself as he looks it over. "Well, good news first: I can plainly see the results of the exercise and diet," he says to HB. "He's gained a few pounds, looks like he's gaining muscle mass..." he flicks the sheet up and reads the page beneath it. "Knowing what a stubborn bastard he is, that must have been an uphill battle. Good for you."
"'Good news?' You said..." HB begins.
"Well, yes." He puts the clipboard down and folds his hands on top of it.
Oh boy, I think randomly to myself, here it comes...
"The thing is, we found something when we did those last few scans. Didn't want to say anything at first - sometimes these things come and go, it can be an artifact of the scan process-"
"What is it?" HB has gone very white, and I reach out and take his hand with a smile. I am not worried; I was here, just over a year ago, in a doctor's office almost identical to this one hearing what sounded like the worst possible news in the world. I've already lived through this one, kids.
"Now, I don't want to alarm you. What we've found is a spot on Bigg's liver. In the three weekly scans we've given him, it has remained in the same place and has actually enlarged a little, so we know it isn't a mistake in the test." He flicks a grave look at me, and I roll my eyes and chuckle - which makes him wince a little and look away. "At this point, there's no real way to know what it is. I am hesitant to believe that it is a spread of the cancer, since that should have shown up quite visibly in his lymph nodes and other tissues first, but..." he pooches out his lower lip, and I can tell that he doesn't want to look at HB's stricken face. "I'm afraid we can't rule it out without a biopsy."
"A... biopsy?" HB echoes, and his voice trembles just a tiny bit. "Is it... very likely to be the cancer?"
"I can't say," Zed says ominously, "but if it is-" he hesitates delicately "-it might explain his continued difficulties with digestion and his low energy levels." Zed shoots me another look to see if I'm taking this seriously yet; true to form, I am not.
I reach over instead and take one of HB's hands and hold it. "Tell me," I challenge Zed, "how often do you see spots likes this one?"
Zed frowns. "In cancer patients?"
"No, in anyone." I make a show of waiting for his expert pronouncement.
He sighs heavily. "Look, Bigg, if you were healthy I'd say there's a ninety percent chance that this is nothing. That what you want to hear? But the fact is that you have cancer, and seeing a spot like this in a patient with cancer like yours is a genuine cause for concern." He raises his eyebrows at me, and his look says very plainly that I should stop trying to make light of this.
HB catches his breath, and we both look at him. I can tell that he's fighting tears, and I curse Zed inwardly for telling him.
"When..." HB begins, catches himself, then continues in a steadier voice, "how soon can we get a biopsy?"
Zed shoots me yet another look - at least your boyfriend is taking this seriously - and shuffles his papers. "I've taken the liberty of making you an appointment in Cleveland. This Friday," he adds significantly.
"Friday?" HB grips my hand hard. "So soon?" He looks at me. "It's really serious, isn't it?"
"Let's wait and see what the biopsy says," I tell him, and fake another smile. "It'll be okay."
But he drives me home in ominous silence, and instead of insisting on the exercises he'd threatened me with before we left, he hustles me right up both staircases and into bed.
"Really," I protest as he's fussing with the blankets. "I'm not cold or tired. It's okay."
He stops and stares at me, raw-eyed, but then lets the comforter slide from his fingers. "All right," he sighs. "Is there something you want to do today? You want to go to the beach? You wanna..." He trails off and runs his hands through his hair until it froths around his face in wild curls and waves. "Hell, you wanna get high? Might as well."
"Oh, HB," I groan, and open my arms to him. He falls against my chest, me sitting up so high on the bed and him leaning against me, his body jerking in my arms as he starts to cry.
"It's... not... fair..." he gulps against my ear. "I won't... I can't lose you... please!" He grabs me by both shoulders and holds me face to face with him. "I can't.... promise me! Please? You... you just can't..."
"HB," I croon in his ear, and try to hug and rock his sobs away. "HB. Listen. It'll be okay. Don't cry, honey. It's gonna be all right."
"You swear?" his face is crumpled, tears shooting down his cheeks. "You swear it, Bigg?"
"Yes," I tell him hel.plessly, and I hold him against me. "I swear."
What else could I do?

Title lyric from "You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morissette.