Desperately Seeking Epic(76)
“No, she’s not,” I insist gently as I scoop her up in my arms and stand. “Clara!” I yell. I carry Neena out into the hall where Clara meets us. As soon as she sees us, all of her sadness vanishes and she goes into mother/paramedic mode. “How long has it been bleeding, Neena?” she questions.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Is there anything else that’s wrong?” Clara presses her hand to Neena’s forehead.
“My stomach. It hurts.”
Clara looks at me, her gaze riddled with worry. “Get her in the car. I’ll call her doctor and let him know we’re on the way.”
“Because her platelet count is abnormally low, the nosebleeds will be more frequent. She may notice her mouth and gums bleeding. Her stomach swelling is from cells gathering in her liver and spleen, among other areas. She may experience back pain from her kidneys swelling as well,” Dr. Jones explains.
My hands are clutching the armrests. I hate how he’s talking about her . . . so cold. So unfeeling. Clara must sense my tension because she reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it. Marcus is on the other side of her, inclining in his seat, his expression stoic. He’d met us in the parking lot. I’m glad Neena is resting in one of the exam rooms. The nurse that attended to her seemed nice enough.
“I feel I should warn you, it’s only going to get worse. She’ll begin to experience breathing issues from the swelling of her lymph nodes, along with bruises and joint pain. Her appetite will decrease significantly.” Well isn’t he just a ray of fucking sunshine? He pauses for a moment, leaning back in his desk chair. “Clara.” He says her name firmly as he gives her a pointed look. Clara meets his stare. “Have you contacted hospice?”
Her face contorts as a wave of sheer sadness hits her. But she doesn’t make a sound. She shakes her head no adamantly. My insides feel full of lead. Just the word hospice depresses me.
His gaze drops for a moment, seemingly disappointed by her answer, before meeting mine. “I would strongly recommend you do this immediately. I know it’s difficult. But you will need hospice. You want someone to be familiar with the family before things get too bad.”
It’s not his fault, but I kind of want to shoot across his desk and punch him. I clear the emotion from my throat and straighten myself in my seat. The doctor jots something down and tears off two scripts from his pad. “If she’s in pain, give her these. She needs to be comfortable.”
“How long?” Marcus pipes up.
My breath hitches with his question. I hate that he’s asked, but on the other hand, I want to know the answer.
Dr. Jones’ mouth tightens for a moment before he answers. “It’s hard to say, but if I had to guess, two months maybe . . . three at most.” My vision begins to blur as I stare blankly at the clock behind his head, willing time to slow down.
When we get Neena home, we move into strategy and execution like we’re about to make a military strike. First mission: lessen her exertion. We rearrange the living room and move her bed downstairs. Neena, of course, hates it. She does not want to move into the living room, but it’s one of those times where we have to do what’s best for her, not what she wants. Clara, knowing Neena may want some privacy, rigs a curtain so Neena can close herself off from the room if she wants to. We hang her Masters of the V posters up, which seems to make her a little less angry. Marcus left to pick up a few things and returns with a video monitor so we can see and hear Neena at night when we’re in bed. Neena makes us promise not to use it until things get really bad.
After we get Neena settled, Clara looks exhausted and emotionally drained. I feel so powerless. I can’t cure Neena; take her pain and illness away. And I can’t take Clara’s sadness and worry away either because I feel the same way. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes closed, head in her hands. She doesn’t have a lick of makeup on, her long hair is braided to the side and yet, somehow, she looks amazing. But she looks worn out and I wonder when was the last time she had a day for herself. Her nails and toenails are plain; no paint. Her shirt has a blood stain on it from Neena’s nosebleed. She deserves some pampering. More like she needs it. She needs a little reprieve.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nice, hot bath?”
She smiles tiredly. “Yeah, that would be nice.” Standing, she kisses me chastely before walking morosely out of the kitchen. Digging through the kitchen junk drawer, I find her address book.
It takes two calls and thirty minutes later, I’m dialing the airline company as I hold my credit card, ready to pay.