I can just miss rehearsal after school,” she says in defeat.
“I think that’s a smart decision,” Tommy says, again in his shrink-voice. “I’m going to make breakfast, come down if you want to join me.”
Nailed it. I burrow deeper under the covers and close my eyes again. Since I’m not going into the office, I can spend the day doing more research on treatment options. I saw an ad the other day for a drug, Keytruda. It’s only for non–small cell lung cancer, but I figure it’s worth a shot to do some digging. Maybe the pharmaceutical company is working on a similar drug for the small cell kind?
I roll over and reach for my phone, which is miraculously in its usual spot, plugged in on the nightstand. I google “cure for small cell lung cancer.”
The first few results are ads for the clinic at Emory University where Tommy’s oncologist works. But halfway down the page, there’s a link to a blog by a stage 4 cancer survivor who beat the odds thanks to homeopathic remedies.
I tap the link and hold my breath as the page loads. I have to read the woman’s story twice to make sure I didn’t misunderstand. But the beautiful truth is there, written in black-and-white: her doctor told her there was no hope, but eleven years later, she’s still cancer-free after going to a clinic in Mexico that used natural remedies. She went from stage 4 to a zero, so it is possible.
For the next ten minutes, I continue down the rabbit hole, reading patient testimonials, choosing to ignore the “results may vary” and “not approved by the FDA” warnings. The site doesn’t go into detail of what the treatments entail, but the author lists a few by name. I reach for the notepad and pen on my nightstand and jot down the phrases to research individually: hyperthermia (“local whole body heat”), sonodynamic therapy, oxygen treatments, enzyme therapy.
Another quick Google search locates the clinic I’m pretty sure she’s talking about. It’s in Tijuana, less than half an hour from the San Diego airport. My pulse quickens as I read about their philosophy, how important the patient’s attitude is and how they see fewer patients in order to provide the highest level of individual care.
I’ve got to get Tommy into this program. As I fill out the form for more information, a plan starts to formulate.
It’ll be a compromise. Shrinks love compromise, it’s like part of their code of conduct. Tommy will get to spend the summer at the beach like he wanted, just a different beach, one near a clinic that can save his life so we can go back to Destin for years to come, long after Monica’s stupid show has wrapped. It’s the best of both worlds.
I’m so relieved to be feeling hope instead of despair that when I hear the bedroom door slowly open, I forget that I shouldn’t look quite so happy.
“Morning,” he says, slightly suspicious. “You look like you’re feeling better.”
“Just happy to see you,” I say. “CeCe left for school?”
Tommy nods and leans against the doorframe. He looks exhausted.
I hesitate before asking the next question, afraid to hear the answer. “I didn’t tell her, did I?”
Tommy shakes his head, and I feel more relieved than I have the right to be. “I told her,” he says.
I know better than to ask how it went, so I pat the bed beside me instead. Tommy gives me a small smile and walks closer. His eyes graze across the page where my scribbled notes and plans are outlined. He frowns and I quickly turn over the notepad before reaching for his hand.
“I have a patient in half an hour,” he says, lifting the covers and sliding underneath.
“I’ll take all the time I can get.” I curl into his side and throw my arm around him, letting my head rise and fall with his breaths, which I try not to notice are shorter than they should be. I should have noticed; why didn’t I pay more attention? If I had, if I’d made him go to the doctor sooner, then maybe it wouldn’t be too late.
As if the universe wants to make the point loud and clear, Tommy coughs and I can hear the rattle echo in his chest. The sound hurts my heart, so I lift my head, away from what’s trying to destroy him from the inside out, and focus on his lips instead. I drink him in, tasting the coffee