Chapter 8
Bryan doesn’t want the doctors to look him over, so I invite them to camp out in his room until he reluctantly gives permission. I know he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, and doing this is enough to mess with his head horribly. The slightest glimmer of false hope will crush him.
The medical team is wearing street clothes, no scrubs or lab coats on any of the four doctors. The first man is young, maybe thirty with a goatee and a shaved head. There’s an older woman, an oncologist, with a clipboard. While the others speak, asking questions and conferring with one another, she scribbles constantly, saying nothing. When she first arrived, I thought she was their secretary. She nearly bit my head off for that mistake, but in regard to her work, the woman doesn’t talk. She just circles Bryan and jots things down. The third doctor is older, with frizzy white hair sticking off his skull and a quirky plaid shirt and stripe pants clothing combination. He looks like he escaped from the loony bin. They’ve been looking at him for an hour now, but it feels longer. Why does time seem to crawl by when things matter most? Under their inspection, my love is acting like a hurt little boy. I want to wrap my arms around him and throw them out, but this is his last chance, our last chance.
“But if there’s something they can do—”
Bryan’s jaw is locked. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and glares at me. “No one knows what I went through to get this diagnosis in the first place. Sitting here, repeating the process is unnecessary and cruel. I thought you’d understand that.”
“Different eyes might see different things.”
“Different eyes won’t miss the massive tumor in my head, Hallie.” His words are so pointed that my gaze drop to the floor. He softens. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m tired, so tired, and I want to spend what time I have left with you—not them.” He jabs his thumb at Dr. Plaid.
The old guy smiles. “We’re all half dead, Kid. It’s a matter of extending one’s life to make it as enjoyable as possible. Even if we can’t cure you, we can make sure the end is as good as it can be.”
Bryan’s sharp gaze cuts to the man. “Don’t patronize me. It’s easy to say that when there’s nothing wrong with you.”
The old guy laughs and points a tongue depressor at Bryan. “And that’s where you’re wrong, Kid. We don’t all go to group meetings or proudly wear our cancer card on our chests—though I think we should.”
“You have cancer?” Bryan asks, shocked.
The old guy nods. “Yes sir, and it’s gotten to the point that I don’t see patients anymore, but I owed your aunt a favor, so here I am. The best cancer doctor around, and I’m dying of the same damned disease I’ve spent my life curing. Allow my colleague to take a look at you, then we’ll compare and see if there’s something we can do to make your life better—you can bet money on that.” He squeezes Bryan’s shoulder and leaves the room. The other male doctors follow, leaving us with Dr. Scribbles.
She’s older than Dr. Goatee and a lot quieter when she finally speaks. “When you get headaches, where are they? Can you show me?” Bryan points, explaining as best he can. She nods. “Have they always been there?”
He’s silent for a moment, thinking, and then shakes his head. “No, they moved. Originally it felt like a sinus headache that was behind my ears and eyes.”
She nods as she takes in the information, writing, her eyes scanning her notes swiftly as she does so. She asks a few more questions, mostly about time—when did this happen, when did that happen—followed by an exam. She asks questions, poking and prodding, until Bryan is too exhausted to answer. He slumps back into his bed.
She sighs and stares at her papers, and then looks up at Bryan before clutching the papers to her chest. “Let me talk to the others.” She smiles at us and leaves.
When the door clicks shut, I look over at Bryan. I’ve been sitting in a chair across from him. “That was cryptic.”
His arm is draped over his eyes. “Yeah, I thought she was going to bust out a measuring tape and suggest a coffin size.”
“Bryan!”
“She took notes for two hours straight!”
I smile and laugh a little. “She was probably writing hate mail to your aunt. It’s a hobby I plan on joining her in soon.” Bryan laughs so hard he winces. I rush over and slip into the bed next to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you hurt more.”
He holds up a hand. I take it, and kiss the back. “Laughter is one of the only things keeping me sane.” He smiles up at me and then lays down, placing his head in my lap.
“Me, too.” We sit there for a long time, me gently stroking his hair while humming a lullaby I don’t remember learning. I sing the notes softly, continuing even after he’s asleep.
I never heard the door open, so I startle when I see Joselyn standing there.
She holds up her hands and then presses a finger to her lips. She studies her brother as if trying to see the cancer through his skin. Finally, she looks up at me and whispers, “Did they say anything?”
“Not yet,” I whisper back.
“If they need me for anything, I’m here.” She’s so nervous. Her arms are wrapped around her middle and she’s barely breathing. She thinks Bryan will die before he forgives her for splitting us up. Jos looks everywhere except at Bryan. Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, she rushes on, “I’d give him a kidney if it would help. I mean it, Hallie. Make sure they know.” She’s wringing her hands, about to burst into tears again. Her navy blue top is made of flowing fabric. It’s coupled with a pair of ripped jeans that cost a fortune. Jos looks straight into my eyes. “Anything he needs, ok. Be sure to tell him. I know he’s mad at me and I wish I could undo everything. I’m so sorry, Hallie.”
Bryan speaks, surprising both of us. “I’m not mad at you, Jos. I’d love it if you were here when they came back. Sit. Stay.” We both thought he was asleep.
Jos’s lip quivers violently, but she manages to tame it and takes her seat. “I love you, Bry.”
He smiles weakly. “Right back at you, Mini Twin.”