Sticking his hand out, he said, “Just wanted to thank you for the jersey. That’s so going in my man cave at home.”
I took his hand and shook it with a smile. “Just trying to bribe you to make sure she gets the best possible medical care.”
Olivia snickered and Dr. Yoffman gave her a quick grin. “So, how are you feeling?”
“Pretty great, actually,” she said. “It gets easier each time.”
“For some it does,” he says, and then turned to me. “Just watch her carefully. Extreme fatigue, shortness of breath, chest pains…get her in to the hospital.”
Anxiety seeped through me because I was leaving the next day for an away game, and the thought of her going through that again while I wasn’t here made me sick to my stomach. I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak, because I wanted to demand that he do something to prevent that from happening. Which was ludicrous. I know that.
Dr. Yoffman chatted with Olivia for a few more minutes, making sure she was set to come in for the midway CT scan and blood work in a few days. Then he left and I took my seat again, propping Olivia’s feet in my lap. She had taken her tennis shoes off and I gently rubbed her feet while she started to doze for a bit.
While I hated that she was going through this, I also knew I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world. Every step I took with her on this journey brought us closer together, bound my heart to hers more tightly. I think I knew in that moment that I had fallen in love with her.
“So, his office is really strange, right?” Olivia whispers to me, jolting me out of my memories.
Smiling at her, I whisper back, “He reminds me of your mother. All free-spirited and shit. I like it, though…makes this all seem a little more bearable.”
She nods in understanding, then our heads turn when the office door opens. Dr. Yoffman walks in wearing a Billabong T-shirt and a pair of frayed khaki shorts. “Excuse my causal dress today,” he says as he sits behind his desk and starts flipping through Olivia’s chart. “My wife and I are headed to the beach in a couple of hours.”
Olivia and I cut a look at each other with matching smirks…because he’s always casually dressed. I reach my hand out and she places hers in mine. I give her a reassuring squeeze.
“All right…I have the results in from the blood work and CT scan. Your blood looks good…white cells are a little low, but should rebound soon. The lymph node in your neck has decreased substantially and the small one we saw on your lung is completely gone.”
Dr. Yoffman looks up with a confident smile on his face. I want to jump up and do a jig, but instead I just give Olivia’s hand another squeeze.
“So does this mean I’m beating this thing?” Olivia asks with excitement, leaning forward slightly in her chair.
The smile slides a little bit on Dr. Yoffman’s face, which causes me to feel uneasy. His voice is patient and cautious. “It means you are responding how I expected you would on this protocol. The treatment is working for now. That’s fantastic news. But the flip side is we don’t know what’s going on in your marrow. We won’t do another biopsy until after your last treatment.”
I shudder, thinking about Olivia going through that biopsy again. Stevie told me about it one night when we all went out to dinner together, and then I got the bright idea to Google it. I watched a video of one being performed and totally lost my man card when I actually got a little queasy watching it. I pray to God that my schedule permits me to go with her to the next one she has, because as Stevie tells it, he almost passed out, and Olivia needs someone a bit stronger. Besides…I want her to rely on me first and foremost. It’s a caveman sort of thing.
“But you’re happy with how everything looks?” Olivia asks, and I sense desperation in her question. I think she was expecting the doctor to tell her that she would definitely be cured by the way things looked so far.
Dr. Yoffman gives her a kind smile and stands up from behind his desk. He walks around and leans a hip on the front edge of his desk, right in front of Olivia. Crossing his arms over his chest, he speaks frankly. “Olivia…this disease is treatable, and by that, I’m confident we are going to get you into remission. But don’t forget…it’s not curable. I don’t want you to have expectations that will be failed down the road.”
His words are not unkind…merely honest and stinging. I appreciate his frank talk, even if what he’s saying isn’t exactly palatable. Even if what he’s saying brings home the terrible truth that this will probably always be hanging over Olivia’s head. Over my head too.