Better Than None (21 page)

What could I possibly say? Beg him not to go back to his wife who’d just
beat cancer? Ask him why it was ok to fail me? Throw his words back into his
face about the absurdity of owing someone when it takes two to tango? I could
have said any or all of those things, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d made
his decision long before I walked into the bar. Whether or not he was happy
with it was on him. Though part of me, perhaps the most pathetic part, actually
felt sorry for him.
I
felt sorry for
him
and
he
was
dumping
me
. I didn’t blame him. It was hard to when he already looked so
miserable.

It felt like a joke, like some colossal joke. Of course, it wasn’t, but
I laughed anyway as I shook my head. Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice,
shame on me. So many years after getting my heart broken as a teenager, I felt
as raw as though I was 16 again. Perhaps all those years of never letting
anyone in weren’t so ill-conceived after all.

I thought that I’d had the whole loaf with Brad. That’s what it had
started feeling like once I’d become comfortable being with him. Not once did I
feel like I was settling, not like my mom did over and over again. I had the
whole loaf. And just like that, I had none.

****

I shouldn’t have driven home, but I did. Slowly and carefully. It
wasn’t a good excuse, but the thought of sitting in my car waiting while the
alcohol wore off wasn’t an option this time. I forced myself to simply focus on
the drive home and not play back the events in my mind and thankfully, I
arrived home in one piece without hurting anyone else.

Vincent and Claude thumped their tails and seeing them temporarily
brought me out of my funk. I put on my running clothes and their leashes and
set out. We never ran at night. Typically, they got a good run in the morning
and a quick walk to do their business when I got home. But tonight was
different. So we ran. And ran. Far past our usual turnaround spot until I
finally realized just how far from home we were and only then did I turn back.

I’d never run buzzed before and I was surprised at how well I did. The
adrenaline seemed to be pumping even harder due to the alcohol, or maybe it was
just the idea that I could outrun the hurt. I knew it was coming. I’d kept it
at bay in the bar and on the drive home, and even on most of our run, but by
the time we were within a half-mile of the house, the adrenaline finally died
down and my legs started burning. But far worse than any of that was the hurt
that washed over me. It was almost like an orgasm, but one of intense pain
instead of pleasure. The hurt started in my core and radiated out until it
touched every nerve ending, every single tiny spot on my body so that the last
few blocks the hurt became more than I could hold in. It washed over me until I
exploded into heavy, heaving sobs that wracked my entire body. I jogged as best
I could as I choked and coughed out my cries, as the tears and snot fell, as my
limbs felt numb, and my heart felt irrevocably battered and bruised.

When I finally got home and inside the door, the dogs tore towards
their water bowl and I sunk to the ground and cried for the rest of the night.

****

There had been many a morning in my past where I had awoken completely
numb from the night before. But those mornings were ones of shame and
embarrassment. Surprisingly, the hollow feeling though was the same. It almost
felt like something physical, like a huge hole inside me, and even though it
was empty, I often imagined cutting it out, like if I could just take a knife
and cut the hurt out, I’d feel better. Of course, the pain wasn’t physical no
matter how much I actually felt.

I had tried to protect myself for so long, though it was never really
protection at all, it was simply avoidance, or perhaps trading one kind of pain
for another. So whether it was because of lack of practice or the simple truth
that my heart had been broken, the pain that I felt this time was far, far
worse. All I wanted to do was stay in bed and wallow, sleep, but the reality
was that I had Barb to take care of and perhaps knowing that was the swift kick
in my ass that I needed. So I got my heart broken. So what. It happens every
day. It’s what country songs are written about. It’s a rite of passage, or so
I’d been told. I chuckled to myself that this was one more first that I shared
with Brad, he was the first man to ever truly break my heart. I was tempted to
text him, but ego and pride prevented me from doing anything so foolish.

While I felt like shit as I processed everything, I took solace in the
notion that it wasn’t me he was rejecting. It was her he was choosing, but not
because he didn’t want me anymore. The outcome was the same, but thinking this
helped soothe my ego a bit.

My pity-party and wallowing were quickly dismissed when I got to my
mom’s house. I almost threw up when I saw her. She was shaking violently,
uncontrollably, her limbs flailing. When I touched her, she was burning up.

“Mom! Mom! Mooooommmmm!” I screamed but she didn’t respond. She just
looked at me as she continued to shake and jerk. The cats were meowing and the
dog was doing her happy growl as she pawed at me all begging to be fed. Their
sounds and the beating of my heart all seemed uncontrollably amplified inside
my head as I wrestled between calling 911 and racing her to the hospital
myself. It wasn’t yet 6am and I knew I could get her to there faster and the
thought of waiting until an ambulance arrived was unimaginable. I probably
wasn’t thinking clearly, but I’d made my decision.

Whether it was the adrenaline or years of working out or the fact that
she was barely 100 pounds now, I scooped her up and walked as fast as I could,
without banging her head down the hallway, out the front door and into my car.
I barely even remember the drive to Saint Joes, and if it had been at any other
time of day it could have taken a half hour, but at that time of morning, we got
there in less than 15 minutes. As fast as I was driving, with her shaking and
shaking it felt like the ride was interminable. When we finally got there I
lifted her out of her seat and ran through the double doors and into the
emergency room. The person at the front desk was useless.

“We need a doctor, NOW!”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

“GET ME A FUCKING DOCTOR NOW. MY MOTHER IS DYING!”

“Ok, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to”

“HEELLLPP MEEEEEE!!!!!! HELLLLPPP!” I screamed and finally nurses and
doctors came running out. I wasn’t about to waste my time with some admin
person who needed me to fill out a form.

They looked at me, then my mom, and wasted no time.

“Ok, come with us,” one of the people in scrubs said and I followed
them through another set of double doors and into the actual ER. They led us to
an empty gurney and once I set her down I started answering the questions they
were shooting at me.

“Pancreatic cancer, stage 4. Last chemo was on Tuesday. She’s taking
Diludad 2mg as needed, at least twice a day, Pancreatese…” and I went on
listing the various medications, amounts, her allergies. It was all so rote by
now. As we talked, nurses started taking her vitals.

“I walked in and she was shaking like this.”

“When did it start?”

“I don’t know. I just went over this morning.”

“She lives alone?!”

“Yes, but I take care of her.”

“So you don’t know when this started?”

“No! I talked with her last night before she went to sleep and then I
went over just now and found her like this!”

“Her fever is 104.5. I’m guessing it’s an infection. We’re going to do
some quick blood work to confirm that, but in the mean time we’re going to give
her IV antibiotics to get her fever down. I don’t want to wait for the results.
If it’s not an infection, the antibiotics won’t hurt her.”

I nodded trying not to feel like the doctor was chastising me for not
being there with her 24/7. As she gave one nurse the order for drugs, she
ordered the other to start an IV.

“She has a port.” I quickly offered and before they could ask, I’d
become so used to the questions. “It’s a Power Port. .75 gauge needle.” They
were momentarily surprised that I knew such detail but then went about getting
the sterile kit that I’d become used to seeing. Meanwhile the doctor asked me
more questions.

“Who’s her oncologist?”

I jerked for a second. “Dr. Rosenberg.”

“Do you know his first name? We have a lot of Rosenbergs.”

I know what his dick looks like
, is what I felt like saying.
“Brad.”

“Ok, and has she ever had anything like this before?” I shook my head.
“Any hospitalizations recently?”

“Yes, she had a biliary stent inserted a month or so ago was her last
one. They want to put in a duodenal stent but the opening is too tight and
they’re hoping the chemo shrinks the tumor so that they can.”

The doctor smiled for a moment. “Sounds like you know your stuff.”

I actually managed a smile. “No offense, but I’ve become way too
familiar with the GI system, any and all medications, hospital procedures…it
comes in handy now, but if were all the same, I wish I had no reason to know.”

She reached out, squeezed my shoulder and nodded. The nurse accessed
the port and the other nurse came in with the antibiotics. My mom was still
shaking but within less than a minute of them pushing IV antibiotic and some
type of sedative the shaking stopped. They started affixing the sticky monitor
conductors to all parts of her body and hooked her up so they could monitor her
heartbeat and other vitals. Meanwhile someone else came in with a portable
ultra sound and within minutes they were scanning her belly, taking picture
after picture. I felt like after all the imaging she’d been through I should
have known what the white areas were versus the grey ones and the black ones,
but it all looked the same to me. I watched as the clicked and measured, each
time thinking that must be the tumor and wondering what they saw that I didn’t.

45 minutes later, one of the nurses came back in and took her
temperature. “100.3” she smiled and I took what felt like my first breath since
finding her. She still wasn’t awake, but the nurse assured me that was only
because of the sedative they’d given her. It wasn’t even 8am and I felt like an
entire day had passed by already. As I waited for the radiologist to read the
ultrasound results I sat in the hard visitor’s chair and watched my mother’s
unconscious body. I watched the shallow breaths raise and lower her, but if it
weren’t for those, she looked lifeless to me.

I texted Marty letting him know I was in the ER with Barb and he texted
back his support and care. For a second, in a knee-jerk reaction, I thought
about calling Brad, and as soon as I did, I prayed I wouldn’t see him here.

Dr. Collins, the ER doc came back in around 9am. “Her ultrasound shows
a blockage in one of the branches of the biliary tree, which is probably what
caused the infection and the fever spike.” I nodded. “We’re going to admit
her.”

“Ok. So, does this mean another stent?”

She smiled slightly and nodded. “But we need the GI and IR teams to
take it from here. Once she’s admitted, they’ll figure out what they need to
do, but yes, that’s the most likely.”

“How many stents can one person have? Is the tumor just going to keep
growing and pressing on things?”

“Those are questions for Dr. Rosenberg.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I know, he can be a little uh, prickly. But he’s the best there is.”
She paused and looked around, realizing her mistake. “I shouldn’t say that, but
it’s true.”

I held down whatever snarkiness was on its way up. “Yes, I’ve heard
that before. It’s a little hard to believe sitting where I’m sitting.” Of
course, she had no idea I wasn’t just talking about him as a doctor.

“The GI and IR doc will consult with him.” She said like I’d offended
one of her own. “As soon as a bed’s available, they’ll wheel her up. Transport’s
already been called.” I nodded all to familiar with transport and all the terms
that a novice in the hospital system wouldn’t know. Unfortunately, I was
becoming an old pro.

Once my mom was in her own room and I’d gleaned that the sedatives
would keep her knocked out for a few hours, I went back to her house to feed
all her animals and then back to mine to retrieve my laptop, and everything
else I’d need for sitting in the hospital. When I returned, not much had
changed. We were still waiting to talk with GI and IR and Barb was still out.
The good news was that her fever was now normal. The antibiotics were doing
their job, so that was a small check mark in the plus column.

Hours passed and finally a new set of doctors came in. They explained
they’d be injecting her with dye and then taking an x-ray to see how the dye
flowed to determine whether or not they could stent her. If they couldn’t, then
they’d insert another external drain and a bag. I asked my questions, nodded in
understanding and went back to my laptop after they left. Nurses came and went
and eventually transport once again came to take her down for the x-ray.

There was an odd awareness of time in the hospital for me. Each visit,
it seemed like time ticked by so slowly waiting for results, waiting for
doctors to come by, and simply just waiting. Yet I was always surprised when an
entire day would pass and it was already late afternoon.

When they came back they explained that for the time being, they would
need to insert an external drain to drain the bile. They’d give that a few days
and then reevaluate to see if they could internalize it.

I thought back to that first visit with Brad, when I accused him of
delivering news like he was telling us the weather. Now I understood. What
should have horrified me, or at least taken me aback was now simply
commonplace. The news that my mother would once again have a tube sticking out
of her abdomen draining bile to a bag was just accepted.