Oh. Apparently she was talking to me. I take a deep breath, but it’s ragged. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lack, what was that?”
She stands up and walks around her desk. She sits on the edge of it in front of me. “Your family. When should we have this conversation with them?”
“Today. I’ll get them to all come in,” I say.
She leans forward and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Sadie.”
“I know. I am too. Thank you for everything, especially giving me the chance to know first.” I wish my heart would stop aching so damn hard. It’s making me feel faint.
“Your dad okayed it. He must know how strong you are,” she remarks.
“He knows I’m the only sane one,” I joke, but it feels flat. She smiles anyway. I stand up. “I’m going to go check on him and wrangle the family.”
“Let me know when they’re all here, and I will come down to answer questions and talk about other options,” she offers. “Although the feeding tube would be my best recommendation, we have other alternatives that can help a little.”
I leave her office and walk slowly down the corridor. Everything feels wrong. The halls are too white, the floor tiles too shiny, the lights too bright, the people walking by too happy. My world is shattering, splintering, and people are just…continuing on. I’m on my way up to see my dad, but I can’t make it. I slip into the restroom on his floor and lock myself in a stall and sit on the toilet with my head in my hands as my breathing becomes erratic. I am fighting off tears with every fiber of my being, and instead it’s causing a panic attack. I focus on my breathing and will myself to take long, deep breaths even though it physically hurts.
With shaking hands I dial Griffin’s number. I need someone, anyone, to talk to. I need to share this information—the weight of it—with someone I won’t have to then pick up, emotionally or maybe even physically. But the call goes straight to voicemail. I open my mouth to leave a message but can’t. I hang up.
I try again a few minutes later. Still nothing. God, I need him right now.
Stop it, Sadie. Just focus on your breathing and calm down. You can do this.
It takes me about twenty minutes, but I get myself together when I get a text from Dixie. She and Winnie and Mom are on their way over to visit Dad. Eli and Jude are at practice. I send her a text back telling her I will meet them here. She sends back another text saying she wants all the details of my hot night with “Coach Sexy Skates,” which I guess is her new nickname for Griffin. Normally it would make me smile, but not today.
I turn off my phone instead of responding and get myself out of the stall and over to the sink, where I splash cold water on my face until the puffy redness brought on by the panic attack is mostly gone. Then I take some deep, cleansing breaths and head to my dad’s room. He’s sitting in a chair by the window readingSports Illustratedwhen I knock on the open door. He looks up, and his blue eyes brighten when he sees me. He drops the magazine in his lap.
“Hey, pumpkin,” he says. Pumpkin is his nickname only for me. Winnie is Sunshine. Dixie is Little D. Jude is just Jude. “Are you working today? I thought you were off.”
He’s slurring less than yesterday, less than he has in a while. I wish that could make me hopeful. I wish I didn’t know that a good day in this illness is just that—a day. It ultimately changes nothing. I smile at him. “I’m not working. I came by to talk to your doctor and see your silly face.”
“Watch it, pumpkin,” he warns playfully. “You and Jude look the most like this silly face.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” I joke and drop dramatically onto his empty bed, which makes him laugh. I close my eyes and absorb that sound with every fiber of my being.
“Which doctor were you seeing, Sadie?” he asks as I sit up. “I’ve got so many these days it’s hard to keep track.”
“Dr. Lack, your neurologist.”
“Aha. So that’s why you’ve been crying.” Our eyes meet, and he smiles.
“I haven’t,” I lie. “It’s allergies.”
“You’re allergic to ALS side effects?” He tries to kid, but when I don’t laugh or smile his expression grows solemn. “Honey…Dr. Lack told me the results too.”
“Dad…”
“The answer is still no,” he replies. His tone reminds me of the time I had a broken arm when I was seventeen but still wanted to go to a water park with my girlfriends, promising that I would wrap my plaster cast in a trash bag. He said no with the same remorse then. He wanted to give me what I wanted, but he couldn’t. “We know how this ends, no matter how many tubes they put in me.”
I nod.
“Your siblings are going to need you to talk them through this,” he says. “You’re the only one who can look at this as a professional. I need you, pumpkin.”
You’re still my dad, I want to cry to him, but that will make it harder on him, and that’s not fair. So I just nod again. “They’re on their way over now.”
“Okay, good.” He picks up his magazine again. “Did you know thatSports Illustratedwants to put your brother in the body issue?”
“You mean the issue with naked athletes?” I question, and he nods. “Gross.”
