Chương 6
“After I accused her of sleeping with someone.”
Christopher exhaled.
“I’m not going to help you turn this into evidence that you’re a terrible person.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“You are a little.”
I said nothing.
He shifted the phone, and I heard Hannah fuss.
Then his voice softened.
“Your mom made a bad decision too.”
That irritated me immediately.
“She was trying to help us.”
“She was hiding cancer treatment.”
“You don’t get to be mad at her.”
“I’m not mad because she has cancer.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Claire, if she’d passed out while carrying Hannah down the stairs, we’d be having a different conversation.”
The image came so fast that I gripped the phone harder.
“That didn’t happen.”
“No.”
“But it could have.”
“Yes.”
I pressed my knuckles to my forehead.
“I hate that you’re right.”
“I know.”
“You sound smug.”
“I’m eating cold cereal over the sink at two in the morning while our daughter tries to escape a pack-and-play.”
“That does help.”
“Good.”
The door opened.
Mom was coming back.
“I have to go.”
“Call me.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Don’t make her comfort you all night.”
That hurt because I knew exactly what he meant.
“I won’t.”
I hung up.
Mom returned looking exhausted but alert.
The technician transferred her back into place and left.
“Well?” she asked.
“They didn’t tell me anything.”
“They never tell you anything.”
“That sounds familiar.”
She ignored the jab.
We waited nearly forty minutes.
At some point Mom fell asleep with her mouth slightly open.
I sat beside her and watched the IV drip.
A machine beeped in another room.
Someone laughed at the nurses’ station.
A janitor pushed a yellow mop bucket down the hallway, pausing to straighten a crooked sign on the wall.
The ordinary movement of the hospital felt offensive.
I wanted everyone to understand that my mother might be terribly sick.
Instead people bought crackers from vending machines and discussed shift changes and complained that the printer was jammed.
When Mom woke, she asked what time it was.
“Two thirty.”
“You should go home.”
“No.”
“Hannah will be awake by six.”
“Christopher is there.”
“He has work.”
“So do I.”
She looked at me.
“You do have work.”
“Not tomorrow.”
“Claire.”
“I’m taking the day off.”
“You can’t.”
The old reflex in her voice made me almost angry again.
“Yes, I can.”
“Your rollout.”
“Can survive without me for one day.”
“It couldn’t three months ago.”
“That was three months ago.”
Her mouth tightened.
I leaned forward.
“Mom, you don’t get to use my job as an excuse anymore.”
“I’m not using it as an excuse.”
“You literally delayed cancer treatment because of it.”
“Because you needed help.”
“I needed help with childcare.”
“You needed more than that.”
The sentence landed strangely.
“What does that mean?”
Mom looked toward the door.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“What did you mean?”
She picked at the tape securing her IV.
“You were falling apart.”
I sat back.
“I had a newborn.”
“You were crying every day.”
“I was tired.”
“You weren’t eating.”
“That lasted a couple weeks.”
“You told me you were scared to be alone with Hannah.”
Heat rose into my face.
“I was exhausted.”
“I know.”
“You’re making it sound like I was unstable.”
“I didn’t say unstable.”
“You’re implying it.”
“I’m saying you were overwhelmed.”
“Every new mother is overwhelmed.”
“Not every new mother calls her mother at two in the morning and says she’s afraid she might fall asleep standing up while holding the baby.”
I stared at her.
I remembered that call.
Barely.
I had forgotten what I said.
Mom hadn’t.
“You should have told Christopher.”
“You begged me not to.”
“Then you should have ignored me.”
She gave me a tired look.
“I did ignore you.”
“You came.”
“Yes.”
“And hid cancer.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us had anywhere useful to go after that.
The room settled into silence.
A few minutes later Dr. Shah returned.
This time he was accompanied by another physician, a woman with silver hair pulled into a low knot.
Mom sat straighter.
I felt her hand reach for mine before either doctor spoke.
Dr. Shah introduced the woman as Dr. Patel, a surgical oncologist who was covering overnight consults.
That title changed the air immediately.
Dr. Patel pulled the stool closer.
“We reviewed your CT.”
Mom said, “And?”
“There is a partial bowel obstruction.”
Mom’s fingers closed around mine.
Dr. Patel continued.
“The obstruction appears to be caused by narrowing in the abdomen.”
“Scar tissue?”
Dr. Patel did not answer immediately.
“There is scar tissue.”
My stomach dropped.
“But?”
“There are also several areas that concern us.”
Mom looked at her.
“What areas?”
“Near the surgical site and along the peritoneal lining.”
The medical words meant almost nothing to me, but Mom’s face told me enough.
She whispered, “Recurrence?”
“We cannot confirm exactly what we’re seeing from this scan alone.”
“But you think the cancer is back.”
Dr. Patel kept her voice steady.
“I think we need to evaluate for progression.”
I heard myself ask, “Progression where?”
Dr. Patel turned toward me.
“There are changes in the abdomen that were not described in the records we received from her surgery.”
“Changes meaning tumors?”
“Possibly.”
Mom let go of my hand.
She pressed both palms against the mattress.
“What about the swelling?”
“Fluid.”
I looked at her abdomen.
“All of that?”
“A significant portion of it appears to be ascites.”
The word was unfamiliar.
“What causes that?”
Dr. Patel answered carefully.
“Several things can.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Cancer can.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
Dr. Shah explained that Mom would be admitted.
She needed bowel rest, IV fluids, monitoring, and further testing.
A tube through the nose into the stomach might become necessary if the vomiting continued.
Surgery was not the first option unless her condition worsened.
May you like
Then Dr. Patel said the sentence that finally broke through whatever numbness I had been using to survive the night.
“We also need oncology involved first thing in the morning.”
