is, if you’re out of options, why not try it?”
I had a list of ten patients. I’d have them sign waivers of course. It wasn’t like I could get fired again, though prison was always a possibility. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Shit, I glanced at my watch. It was already nearly 4pm. I ran upstairs and grabbed my keys, opening the garage door and peeling out of the driveway, so quickly I almost didn’t see Cindy, our next door neighbor’s daughter, riding her pink bike in the street. I slowed, rolling down my window to wave, even though my heart was pounding. She smiled and waved back, having no idea of the danger she’d been in.
I waited for Becky in the cancer ward. They’d cut her hair after the first round of chemo. This was the 3rd, in five years. She looked so thin, her skin stretched over her cheekbones. They rolled her out in a wheelchair.
“Is this really necessary?”
“Honestly I’m fine,” she said, giving me a weak smile. “Just a little dizzy.”
“I’ll take it from here. Just give me a second to talk with the doctor.”
I left her in the hall with the nurse, and followed the doctor into the lab, where he showed me the latest x-rays and reports.
“At this point, I think we need to be realistic with our expectations. She’s not responding to treatment. The cancer is malignant, and aggressive. As you can see, it’s eating through her heart and lungs. I don’t know which will give out first.”
“What are we looking at?” I asked, my tongue sticking to my throat. “How much time?”
“A few weeks,” he said. “Maybe a month.”
I sucked in a breath. After the last treatment he’d given her at least a year.
“As I said, things are deteriorating quickly. I think it’s time to start making arrangements.”
My fist was around his collar before I knew what I was doing, pushing him back against the wall.
“My wife is not going to die,” I breathed. “Do you hear me?”
An intern walked in, a young woman wearing scrubs and a medical mask. Her eyes widened when she saw us.
“Sorry, sorry,” I said, backing away and ducking into the hall before they could call security. I must be losing my mind.
I pushed the wheelchair into the elevator quickly, jabbing the button. We were quiet on the drive home.
Cindy was still there when we got back.
I leaned out of the car this time and waved her away.
“Move!” I yelled. Her stricken face stuck her tongue out at me before pedaling off.
“She’s just a kid, Richard.”
“She should know better than to play in the street.”
“You talked to the doctor then,” she said, as I supported her through the doorway. It reminded me of when we first got married and I’d carried her through the threshold after our honeymoon.
“He told you?” she pressed.
“He’s wrong,” I said. “We’ll get a second opinion.”
“He’s not wrong,” she said, placing a hand on my arm. “I can feel it. It’s time.”
I looked up at her, blinking back a tear.
“What will we tell Damien?”
“The truth. He’s old enough, he can handle it.”
Dinner was awkward. Damien was on his cellphone scrolling through social media. I had to ask him twice to put it away. Becky tried to make small talk and ask him about school.
“Son, we’ve got something we need to tell you. We love you very much, you know that.”
“What is this,” he asked, clenching his jaw.
“Treatment, it’s not going well,” Becky said. “I’m not going to make it.” Damien flinched, his eyes suddenly wide and vulnerable.
“But Dad’s a scientist. He can fix it, right? Dad, why can’t you fix it?”
“I’ve been trying son, I just need more time.”
“It’s not his fault, cheese weasel,” she said, cupping Damien’s cheek with her hand. “He’s done everything he can.”
Damien pushed away from the table in anger, spilling the coconut chicken soup. He was getting so big, so fast, it seemed like he was always knocking things over. This time, he didn’t apologize.
“I can’t be here right now. I don’t want to talk about this. I’m not saying goodbye.”
He grabbed his skateboard and left through the garage. I heard him come in later, after dark, and Becky walking slowly down the hall to tuck him in. They’re talking quietly, and I hear Damien cry, which he hasn’t done in years. Maybe he’s ready to accept it.
I’m not.
I wait for her to fall asleep in front of the TV, like she always does after treatment, then carry