Amani was the palliative care assistant that Dr. Jackson had assigned to her. “What’s the matter, Doc? Are you afraid I won’t die right?” Frances had asked with a forced chuckle. There was nothing funny about it and the referral had annoyed her. She did not need to be reminded she was going to die, and she damn sure didn’t need an assistant to do it.
“I’m afraid you’ll be in pain,” Dr. Jackson had said evenly. “Amani will help you be comfortable.”
Frances had reluctantly made the call. She could already feel her travels thus far had taken a toll on her body. She would need help getting through the next two weeks.
Amani was a young woman in a purple head scarf. She had coal-black eyes that seemed to bore right through Frances. She took Frances’s vitals and recorded them on a tablet.
“Dr. Jackson said you’re going to help me be comfortable.”
“That’s right,” Amani said.
“Then maybe get rid of these rock-hard chairs.”
“Sorry about that,” Amani said, sounding not sorry at all,still focused on her device. Frances thought everyone younger than fifty never looked up anymore. There was an entire world out there they were missing. Things happening right under their noses they never saw because they were too intent on a tiny screen.
“You’re taking a trip, you said?” Amani asked. “Something fun, I hope?”
Frances figured this was as good a time as any to test the theory that no one gave a shit what older women did. “Yep. I’m going to help a friend with some genealogy. She’s researching her ancestors. She can trace them all the way back to the Neanderthal era.”
“Interesting,” Amani said without looking up from her tablet.
Amani proved Frances’s theory: she did not give a shit. And Frances, being testy and in her seventies on the bullet train to six feet under, tested her theory even further. “And then we’re going to knock off a casino.”
Amani looked up and smiled. “Okay. Just be careful not to overdo things.”
“Well, I’m not the one cracking the safe. I’ll probably just be on lookout.”
Amani smiled. “I’m going to prescribe more pain medicine, laxatives, and anti-nausea.”
It turned out that taking cancer medicine wreaked havoc on the functioning parts of the body, and then you had to take medicine for that.
“And some antianxiety medication,” she added.
That was unexpected. “Why?”
“Some patients tend to experience anxiety as symptoms increase. Since you will be traveling for a couple of weeks, I’d like you to have some on hand. You don’t have to take it, but if you’d like, follow the directions on the label. Be very careful with this one, however. It’s to help you sleep. You don’t want to take it and then try to go about your day. You’d be a little woozy.”
Frances hated woozy. “What about energy? I’d rather havemore energy. Can you give me a super dose of B vitamins or something?”
“I would advise you to rest.”
“Riiight,” Frances drawled. “Seeing as how I’ll get plenty of rest when I’m dead, I would like more energy while I’m not dead. What else you got?”
Amani looked at the tablet again. “I could give you a low dose of steroids. Temporarily.”
“Sold,” Frances said.
“I’d like to see you back here in two weeks,” Amani said. “Sooner, if you need it.”
“You bet.” Frances stood up. The sooner she was out of here, the sooner she’d stop thinking about dying. No offense to Amani, but she was a huge downer.
“Before you go, Mrs. Deluca, may I put you in touch with one of our social workers?”
Frances frowned. “Excuse me?”
“A social worker to assist you in thinking about next steps.”
Frances didn’t need any assistance; she’d thought about next steps. She was going to do this last heist and go out with a bang, and she didn’t want to think about anything past that right now. Anything past that was too depressing. Too real. Too …final. “I’m good,” she said.
