Cliché.

I knew it wasn't going to be good. The parents had voluntarily left the room while the doctors came in to talk to us about fertility issues related to chemotherapy and the treatment regime planned out for Andrew. Everything was so new. Only yesterday had they delivered a diagnosis. Tonight, they were starting chemotherapy. We took it in stride... this could be handled. It was a temporary thing-- he would have treatment, he would get better, and we'd live our lives.

The doctors entered the room. There were fact sheets and information pamphlets in hand. I eyed the door. What an uncomfortable topic. I held Andrew's hand while they delivered the news. They explained our options and suggested making a sperm donation before beginning chemotherapy. He handed us a card with a number. We were to call the number when we were ready for that donation.

We sat in silence after they left. I felt the walls of the room beginning to cave in on me and I had to get out of there. I fought back the burning sensation in my eyes as I headed for the door. "I have to go to the bathroom," I choked out when Andrew asked where I was going. I stepped into the hallway. My eyes felt blurry and I suddenly felt dizzy. I could see our family gathered at the end of the hallway in the lobby. I couldn't see them-- I knew I didn't want to see them. Seeing them would evoke the tears-- and crying in the hospital was so cliché.

It was too late, my mom saw me. Their eyes shifted in my direction and I felt them peering into me trying to read my reaction. My feet were moving, but I had no control. I saw my mom and I could no longer be strong. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I couldn't pretend to be okay. The tears poured out. I momentarily forgot where I was, I forgot there were other people around. I didn't care.

My mom saw my face and started crying. I fell into her arms and she just held me and rocked me while I sobbed uncontrollably. The family around me tried asking questions and asking how Andrew was. I couldn't answer. I only buried my face into my mom's shoulder and cried. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Let's go for a run," my mom suggested. "Let's run up to the top of that hill." She motioned to the mountainside immediately behind the Huntsman Cancer Hospital. She knew I hated crying in public. She knew that I didn't want to be here. But I couldn't do it. I was crippled by exhaustion.

Finally I started talking in short jabbing sentences.

"It's not fair!" I cried into my mom's shoulder. "I know, honey, I know... it's not fair." I could hear the tears in her voice while she ran her fingers through my hair. I felt the need to explain further. "It's not bad enough that this has to happen right now-- but now it's something we're going to live with forever. It's not going to go away." She couldn't respond.

I could feel Andrew's parents staring at the back of my head. It almost stung. It felt as though they were telling me to calm down so as not to upset Andrew. I couldn't deal with it. I only cried harder. My head was light and I was suddenly exhausted and paralyzed by my tears.

Reality was beginning to sink in.