He nodded. Took a breath and held it. I was digging my nails into my knees, part of me wanting him to spit it out, and part of me wanting him to never speak again.
“Your blood tests indicate that you have leukemia,” he said to Kayley.
I grabbed Kayley’s hand and squeezed it harder than I ever had in my life.
“We need to do more tests to narrow down the exact type,” said Doctor Huxler. “We can run those right now, if you’re okay with that.” He was calm, but the urgency in his voice scared the shit out of me. I nodded. Next to me, Kayley nodded too. Her jaw was firm, her hand gripped mine, and she didn’t shed a single tear.
But, as we left Doctor Huxler’s office, heading for the first test, she squeezed my hand in a death grip and said, “Say it’s going to be okay.” And I heard the crack in her voice, like a fracture in a glacier that’s about to split wide open.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said automatically. But I could feel myself shrinking inside the parent suit I’d been wearing for the last few years.This isn’t right. I can’t do this.As we walked down the hallway, I looked around—I mean I actually, instinctively looked over my left shoulder—for my parents because I needed to hand things over to them, now, and get a hug myself.
But they weren’t there.
They made Kayley strip off her clothes and I gathered them up: the artfully distressed jeans and the belt with the obscure Japanese cartoon characters on it I’d bid for on Ebay as a Christmas present; the lurid pink top we’d argued over for days before I’d let her have it. The things that made herher.The hospital staff gave me a bag to put them in and Kayley and I exchanged a look as I folded the top down.This is just temporary,we nodded to each other.
But once she was in a gown, she looked like a patient.
For the next three hours, I watched my precious, fragile sister be stabbed again and again: stabbed in her arms for more blood, stabbed in the base of her spine for spinal fluid, stabbed with a slender, howling drill to collect bone marrow. The staff were polite and caring, but in the fake, rehearsed way that airline staff swear they’ll takeextra special careof your package or your suitcase or your dog. Maybe it was because she was so stoic; maybe they just saw hundreds of patients and had gotten jaded. But I wanted to scream at them that she was a child.Mychild.
When it was all over, Dr. Huxler asked me to come into his office “for a second.” He made it sound as if it was nothing important, boring paperwork that Kayley didn’t have to sit through.
“I want to stay,” Kayley said immediately. “I want to be in there.”
Dr. Huxler caught my eye and I’ll remember the look he gave me until the day I die. “Kayley,” I said, fighting to keep my voice level, “go check your email. It’s okay.”
“I don’t want to check my email,” she said, her eyes huge. “I already checked it. I want to stay with you. I want to know.”
A lump was swelling inside my throat. My chest hurt. I was about to break down in front of her and I couldn’t let that happen. “Check it again,” I said. And took a step away from her, towards the door Dr. Huxler was holding open for me.
“No,” I heard Kayley say behind me. “No! I want to go in!”
Another step.My legs are shaking.Another. Another. I heard Kayley start forward behind me, then stop. I couldn’t turn around or I’d lose it completely. Then a nurse’s voice, murmuring to Kayley: “You stay here with me, honey.”
“No!”
My heart felt like it was tearing in two. I walked into Doctor Huxler’s office and he closed the door.
And then it got worse.
4
LOUISE
“This is goingto be a very difficult conversation,” Dr. Huxler said as soon as we sat down. “There’s nothing I’m going to be able to say that’s going to make this easier.”
I just stared at him.
“The tests confirm that your sister has leukemia.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”
My whole world was exploding but, for some reason, my body just continued as if it was still there. I found myself nodding. “Um-hum.What are our, uh...what are our treatment options?”Leukemia.Images flashed through my head. Charity drives to take kids to Disneyland. Bald heads and bags of chemo chemicals and throwing up. I’d quit my job. I’d be with her every step of the way. We could fight this.
Dr. Huxler swallowed.
“We can hold it back,” he said. “Extend things. Maybe as long as six months.”
It took a while for the enormity of what he was telling me to sink in.
“No,” I said. “No. You’re not…”
