“That’s smart. I’ll have your dad reach out to some friends too. He must know someone at Dana-Farber.”
My father was a retired firefighter and was well known among most of the emergency services in Boston. He had friends everywhere, and it was likely someone owed him a favor or two.
“Call Isabella. Make sure I’m on Miriam’s visitor list. I’ll be there shortly.” Mom hung up, and I sat there, as if I expected her to call back immediately, which was silly. I knew she’d be leaving as soon as she spoke to my dad.
I pulled my phone away from my ear and sent a text to my sister, who was a nurse:I need you to call me when you have a chance. It’s not urgent, but it is. Miri’s sick, and I need advice.
My next call went to Brendan.
“Hey, please tell me you’re on your way back.”
“Miri has cancer, Brendan.”
I was met with silence.
“Brendan?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just ... ‘sorry’ doesn’t seem like the right thing to say. What can I do?”
“I’m going to need time off,” I told him. “At least until I can figure out how we’re going to proceed.”
“Well, it’s obvious she’ll start treatment right away.”
“It’s all over, Brendan. Her blood work showed metastatic cancer in multiple organs.”
“How the fuck? How did we not know this? Wouldn’t she have been in pain? Sick for months?”
“I don’t know.”
Brendan groaned, and I imagined him running his hand over his face. “I’ll cancel dinner with my parents this weekend and come up.”
“Thank you, but hold off. My mom’s on her way, and we need to tell the kids and figure out our next steps.”
“You don’t want me there?”
His tone caught me off guard. I frowned and closed my eyes. “It’s not that, I just need a couple days, Brendan. Thank you for offering.”
Brendan sighed deeply before replying. “Yeah, okay. Let me know.”
“I will—”
Brendan hung up before I had a chance to finish my sentence. I chalked his dismissive attitude up to being busy and feeling unwanted. His love language was ... well, I wasn’t sure. It could be he didn’t have just one and genuinely embodied all five of them.
On my way back to Miri’s room, I stopped at the nurses’ station and gave them my mom’s name: Carmela Bernardi. Once she arrived, she would take over. That was her nature.
I stood outside Miri’s door and battled my inner turmoil. I needed to go in there and be her happy-go-lucky best friend who grabbed life by the horns and didn’t back down from anything, instead of the best friend who was dying on the inside at the thought of losing her.
Miri needed me to be strong, to be her rock.
Before I crossed the threshold, Dr. Frederick walked toward me. “Can we speak for a moment?” I asked him as he neared. He nodded, and I motioned for him to cross the hall, away from Miri’s room.
“Give it to me straight,” I said bluntly. “Is she going to survive this?”
His expression told me everything I needed to know. He couldn’t mask the inevitable.
“How long?”
“It’s impossible to predict exact timings,” he said. “It could be weeks or months. It all depends on the treatment plan. I’ve given her the options. Aggressive is the way to go, and we’ll monitor the response.”
