Chapter 7 – Tests Reveal the Truth & Stage 1 Diagnosis
The sterile scent of the hospital washed over Conor as he sat in the examination room, his fingers nervously tapping the armrest. His heart raced with every beep from the monitors, every shuffle of papers, every muted conversation outside the room.
The doctor entered, face calm but serious, holding the results of Conor's recent tests. Conor's stomach tightened, dread pooling deep in his chest. He had feared this moment, yet had convinced himself he might escape unscathed.
"Conor," the doctor began gently, "we ran the scans and lab tests. I'm afraid you have stage 1 brain cancer."
The words hit like a thunderclap. Conor's knees buckled slightly as his mind raced, refusing to grasp the reality. Stage 1... brain cancer...
Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. He pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs, to hold onto control, to not let the world see him shatter. But the truth was undeniable: his body had betrayed him, and the reality of mortality had never felt closer.
"I... I can't tell anyone," he whispered hoarsely. "Not Chad... not my friends... not my family."
The doctor nodded slowly, understanding his fear. "It's your choice, Conor. But hiding it will be hard, especially as treatment progresses. You'll need support."
Conor swallowed, nodding. "I... I just... I can't... I can't let anyone see me like this. I can't be a burden."
The doctor left him alone with the results, and Conor's mind spiraled. He thought of Chad, of the warmth in his hands, the soft brush of his lips against his forehead in that first kiss. He thought of his friends, Lana, Chris, Josh, Lev, and Sophie—how they laughed, how they depended on him. And he thought of Jaime and Reena, of the years of neglect, the invisible pain that had defined his life.
I can't be seen like this... I can't let them see me break... I'm... not needed.
The weight of his secret pressed down on him, suffocating, relentless. Conor forced himself to stand, clinging to the small shred of control he could muster. He would hide it. He had to. No one could see. No one could know.
Back in his dorm room, Conor carefully hid the test results inside his desk drawer. He sat on his bed, hugging his knees, staring blankly at the wall. His phone buzzed with a message from Chad:
"Hey... are you coming to the café later? Study session?"
Conor's heart ached. He wanted to say yes, to laugh and smile with him, but the fear gnawed at his resolve. If he knew... if anyone knew...
He typed a quick reply: "Yeah... I'll be there."
Even as he did, his hand shook, a tremor he couldn't hide. It was only a small symptom, only a subtle hint of the struggle to come—but it was real. The disease had started its silent invasion, and Conor felt the fragile illusion of normalcy slipping through his fingers.
That night, he wrote in his diary, pen scratching across the page:
"Stage 1... brain cancer. I can't tell anyone. I can't let them see me like this. I thought I was invisible before... now I feel useless, unwanted... like I don't belong anywhere. But I can't ruin everything. I can't ruin what I have. I have to stay strong... for him, for me... for everyone."
Tears blurred the ink, but Conor refused to stop writing. The diary had become his confidant, the only witness to the storm raging inside him.
Cliffhanger: Conor lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, whispering silently: I have to hide this... but how long can I? How long before someone notices I'm fading away?
This chapter establishes:
Conor receives the stage 1 brain cancer diagnosis
His immediate decision to hide it from everyone
Emotional depth: feelings of uselessness, invisibility, and fear of being a burden