Where the River Ends - Charles Martin [111]
Sincerely,
Dr. Paul McIntyre
Radiation Oncologist
cc: Dr. Roy Smith
Dr. Katherine Meyer
Dr. Raul Dismakh
Dr. Gary Fencik
I read it once and more slowly a second time. Whispering aloud to myself, I read it a final time—hoping that I could hear it differently than I saw it. But each time I pronounced the words in my head, I heard glass breaking.
Only remaining option…
I closed the folder and leaned against the door. At thirty-five years old, she had physically exhausted her body, emotionally spent her soul and spiritually lost her hope. We had hit bottom—the fight was over.
I walked in and found the room was empty save the bed, dirty linens and the empty electrolytes bag hanging above her head. The clear feed line snaked down Georgie’s one-inch, stainless-steel chest. I looked around the room and wondered how many white-coated, Harvard-trained optimists had rained poison into her veins through the ever-present needle that stuck to her skin like a leech.
I stared at the Christmas cards taped to the wall and realized we’d been added to the list of most every oncologist at Mayo. I knew as much, probably even more, about the cancer in her as the interns who stood stone-faced at the foot of her bed, nodding, scribbling notes and thanking God it wasn’t them.
Heels clicked on the hard floor outside the door. The long gait and hard-soled wingtips told me it was Ruddy. His question echoed in my mind: Do you like to dance?
Ruddy walked in, set the folder on the bed and sat opposite me at Abbie’s feet. He gently patted her toes and put a hand on my shoulder. “The CAT scan…” He shook his head. “It’s replicating, too…”
Abbie opened her eyes. “How long do I have?”
Ruddy was hurting. “I don’t know if you have a week, a month or…” He was quiet a minute. “Hard to say.” He smiled. “You’re the toughest fighter I’ve ever met, so…I give you longer than the textbooks do.”
I asked, “What do the books say?”
“They say she shouldn’t be here now.”
Ruddy continued, “I’ve recommended you for a spot in a trial study out of M. D. Anderson. You don’t quite fit the parameters but I…” He shrugged. “I’ve asked anyway. And we have yet to see the results of your other two scans, but they’ll be a few days.
“I recommend you go home. We’ll give you whatever you want to keep you comfortable, and in the meantime, let’s see what happens with Anderson and these other scans.”
“When will we know something?” I asked.
Ruddy stood. “Couple of days.”
I shook my head. After all that we’d been through, we were down to waiting on two phone calls.
I turned to Ruddy. “And if the phone calls don’t offer us anything?”
Ruddy palmed his face. “We make you as comfortable as possible.”
I stared up at the ceiling, then looked down at Abbie’s arm, the thin blue vein slightly visible. I thought of that scene in The English Patient where the nurse finally shoots Ralph Fiennes full of about eight vials of morphine.
Abbie climbed out of bed, and kissed Ruddy on the forehead. She pulled at the tape, slid the needle from under her thin, translucent skin, retaped it quietly around Georgie’s single leg and whispered, “Georgie, meet Lilith. Been nice knowing you.” Her voice was scratchy and dry. She turned her ear toward Georgie. “Nope…won’t hear of it. I really think it’s time we start seeing other people.” She held out a stop-sign hand. “I know…I get it all the time, but our careers are taking us different places, and you need someone who can stand by you, support you in your work and offer