Abby, Tried and True

by Donna Gephart

  You’re the world’s best brother, Paul.

  I love you!

  —Abigail Rebecca Braverman (aka Six-Pack)

  Abby grinned because her brother was wearing a pair of green short-sleeved pajamas with little squirrels and acorns all over them. Ethan had given Paul the pajamas as a joke because it reminded him of the Pin the Nut on the Squirrel game they’d played the night before this all started. Of course Paul wore them. Anything for a laugh. The turtle hat Abby had crocheted almost matched the pajamas perfectly. Thick blue socks with little white treads on the bottom covered Paul’s feet. Since the pajamas were shorts, Abby could see that Paul’s once-hairy legs were completely smooth. Paul’s bare legs somehow made him look young and vulnerable. Abby had a fierce urge to protect her brother and keep him safe.

  “They put him on a new medicine,” Mom Rachel told Mama Dee.

  “Another one?” Mama Dee planted her hands on her sturdy hips. “He’s already on so many, Rach.”

  “I know. This one’s called Ativan. It’s supposed to make it easier on him with all the vomiting.”

  Mama Dee filled her right cheek with air, and then let it escape. “Well, he sure could use help with that.”

  “It doesn’t make him not vomit,” Mom Rachel explained. “The doctor said the Zofran is for that. This Ativan will sort of make it so he doesn’t remember it.”

  Mama Dee’s brow furrowed.

  “I’m skeptical too. But the doctor thought it would be a good idea.”

  Mama Dee squinted, like she didn’t believe the doctor.

  “But maybe this medicine isn’t such a good idea because he hasn’t been himself since they put him on it,” Mom Rachel said. “Burst out crying twice today for no reason.”

  “That’s not like our Paulie at all. He’s usually the one trying to make everyone laugh.”

  Mom Rachel looked over at Paul, still sleeping in the hospital bed. “It was so strange. Nothing was wrong. He just couldn’t stop crying. He was so out of it. I’m going to talk to the doctor about it tomorrow.”

  Mama Dee let out a breath. “This has been so hard to watch.”

  Mom Rachel grabbed Mama Dee’s hand and nodded.

  Abby felt her stomach tighten. She knew if Paul woke up crying for no reason, it would scare her.

  “I hate to leave him, but I’ll run home, take a quick shower, grab something to eat, and be right back. I’m going to sleep here tonight since he’s been so out of it.”

  Mama Dee squeezed Mom Rachel’s shoulder. “Of course, Abby and I will be here until you get back. Take your time.”

  Mom Rachel gave Abby a kiss on the cheek. “I feel like we keep passing each other like this. Is everything okay in your world, Abs?”

  Abby nodded.

  “Hey, the video you helped me with is getting a lot of views and thumbs-ups. A bunch of people are commenting that they want to see you in more videos.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “That’s cool.” Abby reminded herself to check out the video later when she got home.

  Mom Rachel touched Abby’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Really appreciate your help, Abs.” Then she slipped on her jacket and grabbed her purse. “Okay, then. If you two have everything covered here, I’m out.”

  “We’re good.” Mama Dee grabbed Abby’s hand and squeezed.

  Abby watched her mom leave.

  Mama Dee and Abby sat there awhile, but Paul slept soundly while the IV dripped, dripped, dripped medicine into his arm.

  “Baby girl,” Mama Dee said, “I’m going to run to the cafeteria and grab a cup of coffee before I fall asleep like your brother over there. You want anything?”

  Abby’s stomach seized as she remembered how the last time Mama Dee went for coffee, that traveling nurse nearly unhooked Paul from his chemotherapy. She looked at her brother. He hadn’t even shifted positions since they’d arrived. “I’m okay,” Abby said. But please hurry back.

  A minute later Abby heard the elevator ding and knew her mom was on it, heading down to the cafeteria.

  Paul shifted.

  He opened his eyes.

  Abby lifted a hand. “Hi.”

  Paul squinted at her, then started crying. Big, choking sobs.

  “Paul?” Abby leaned forward, panicked.

  He sniffed hard. “I… I… have to pee.”

  “Okay. You don’t have to cry about it. I’ll help you.” Abby looked at the IV pole he was attached to. “What do you need me to do?” She didn’t want to help her brother use the bathroom. That would be too awkward. “Should I get a nurse? Do you want to wait until Mama Dee comes back? She’s just getting coffee.”

  Paul sniffed hard and stopped crying. “No. I have to go to the bathroom right now.” He looked at the plastic bags hanging on the pole. “All this liquid makes me keep having to pee.”

  Paul swung his legs around and put his socked feet on the floor. As soon as he stood, his legs collapsed and he went down, arms flailing.

  “Paul!” Abby stood and saw her brother lying on the floor beside his bed with blood spurting and spraying all over him. “Oh my…”

  Paul moaned with his eyes half-closed. “It hurts! It hurts!”

  Abby saw Paul’s arm was free. The plastic piece was still taped to his arm with blood coming out of it, but the rest of the tubing wasn’t attached anymore. The chemotherapy wasn’t going into his arm, and blood was spurting and splattering everywhere—the wall, the floor, the bed, Paul.

  Even onto Abby!

  It had splattered all over the poem she’d written for him.

  Paul tried to stand but fell again hard on his rump. “Argh!”

  Abby’s breathing came in gasps.

  “Ohhh,” Paul moaned. “It hurts.”

  Do something! Abby told herself. If there were an emergency, would you be quiet and let people die? Abby’s legs trembled, and her feet felt like they’d grown roots into the floor, keeping her from moving.

  Being brave is when you’re scared to do something but you choose to do it anyway because you know it’s the right thing to do. Abby suddenly understood she could be quiet and sensitive plus brave and bold at the same time. That’s what Abby 2.0 really meant.

  She didn’t want to leave her brother struggling on the floor, blood spurting everywhere, but she knew she had to.

  Abby darted into the hallway, hoping she’d see Mama Dee coming toward her holding the familiar cup of coffee, but the hallway was empty. “Help!” Abby screamed, but it came out as a croak. She found a stronger, braver voice and bellowed, “Help! Help! I need help right now!”

  A nurse came running from a patient’s room and held on to Abby’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  “My brother. Blood. Everywhere.” Abby led the nurse into Paul’s room, hoping her brother hadn’t bled to death while she was out getting help.

  “My God.” The nurse ran back into the hall. “Help in 514! Stat!”

  Soon another nurse ran in.

  Abby got out of their way, pressing herself against the wall, watching as they got Paul up and back into bed. The first nurse cleaned his wrist and was able to get the IV back in, then they worked together to clean up the blood. So much blood. It ruined Paul’s cute new pajamas.

  Paul was crying again. “I just wanted to go to the bathroom. I need to pee.”

  “You’re on Ativan,” the nurse said. “You have to call someone to help you next time. Do you understand?”

  Paul nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Mama Dee walked in holding her coffee cup. She was whistling softly until she saw the mess that was Paul and the nurses working on him. “What the…? What happened?”

  One nurse took Mama Dee into the hall and explained while the other continued to clean up and help Paul finally get to the bathroom.

  While all this was going on, Abby said something to herself she knew to be true. I saved my brother. Miranda and Laura were wrong. I would speak up in an emergency.
I may be quiet and sensitive, but I’m also strong and brave when I need to be.

  Mama Dee returned to the room, shaken.

  It frightened Abby to see her big, strong mom pale and trembling. She was the one who usually held everyone else together.

  “He’ll be okay now,” Abby told her.

  Mama Dee bowed her head, and then she looked Abby right in the eyes. “He will, but I’m sorry. I’ll never leave you alone with him in here again.” Mama Dee rubbed at a bloodstain on Abby’s shirt. “We’ll try to get that out when we get home.”

  “It’s okay.” Abby was talking about the blood splatters on her clothes.

  “No, it’s not,” Mama Dee said. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this by yourself. It’ll never happen again, Abby. I promise.”

  Abby nodded, but she knew deep in her heart that even if her mom did leave her alone and something happened, Abby would do whatever she had to. She would be brave, like her last name—Braverman.

  * * *

  As soon as Abby got home, she threw out the clothes she’d been wearing, because even if Mama Dee could get the blood out, Abby knew the clothes would remind her of this horrible day and she didn’t want that. Then Abby took a long, warm shower; got into comfy pj’s; and then texted Cat.

  Worst night ever! But Paul is okay, and so am I.

  It was no surprise that Cat didn’t reply; Abby knew she must be asleep. So Abby did something that made her at least feel closer to Cat. She pulled out the journal she’d given her, opened to a clean page, and wrote a poem.

  Being Brave

  Being brave

  Is mixed with being scared.

  You can’t have one

  Without the other.

  Being scared

  Isn’t a choice.

  But being brave

  Is a choice.

  Today, I was scared.

  And I’m so glad…

  I was also brave.

  I’m Abby 2.0 and

  Plain Abby, too—brave

  When I need to be.

  And scared sometimes too.

  All parts of me.

  “Good night, Fudge,” Abby said to her turtle after she put away her journal and turned out the light.

  She could hear him swimming through the water in his tank.

  Abby couldn’t fall asleep for a long while. She kept playing the incident over in her mind. It was hard knowing Paul wasn’t in his room down the hall, but Abby was glad Fudge was there beside her, keeping her company and watching over her.

  “Turtles do important work in this world,” she whispered into the darkness.

  An Ending. A Beginning?

  Two days later on Friday evening, during Paul’s last minutes of his last treatment, his hospital room was full again, like it was at the beginning of his first treatment.

  Paul wasn’t crying or confused because he’d been taken off the Ativan right after the accident.

  Zeyde and Bubbe were there with their arms around each other’s waists, along with Mom Rachel, who was wearing a PAUL KICKED CANCER’S BUTT! T-shirt over bright purple yoga pants; Mama Dee, in her usual black slacks and button-down white shirt; Aunt Jeanne; Uncle Steve; Ethan; Abby; and Nurse Nicole.

  Everyone wore a pointy party hat, even Abby.

  Paul put his party hat on over his crocheted turtle hat, because he said it would hurt if he put it directly on his bare scalp. “Think I could get a job as a male model?”

  “Absolutely,” Mama Dee said.

  Nurse Nicole, who was also wearing a party hat over her tight blond curls, stood next to Paul’s IV pole. “You ready for this?”

  “So ready,” Paul said. “And to be a sport, I’ll try not to commemorate the occasion by vomiting on your shoes.”

  “My shoes appreciate your thoughtfulness, Paul.”

  Abby loved that Paul was joking around. It showed that the spark inside him was still there. Her brother might look different from the Paul she knew before he started treatment, but he was the same inside, where it mattered.

  Abby quickly texted Cat so it would feel like she was part of the big moment too. If she weren’t in Israel, Abby knew Cat would be standing beside her in the hospital room, and they’d probably be holding hands as Paul was disconnected from his last chemo drip.

  Paul’s finishing his last day of the last chemo treatment right now!

  It was 11:25 p.m. in Israel, so Abby didn’t expect a reply, but one arrived.

  Hooray for Paul! I knew he could do it. Now he’ll keep getting better and better. Love you, Abs. G’night.

  It still sounded funny to Abby when Cat said “G’night” and it was only early evening for her. She hoped Cat was right, that Paul would keep getting better and better. She’d read about people who thought they were fine after treatments and then the cancer came back. Abby looked at her brother, seeming small in his hospital bed, and wondered if she’d ever not worry about him again.

  “Everybody else ready?” Nurse Nicole asked. “Count it down with me, Paul’s people. Ten… nine…”

  Everyone in the room joined in.

  Paul grinned. He looked like a little boy about to get a birthday present.

  “…three… two… one!”

  Nurse Nicole disconnected Paul’s IV and removed the needle from his wrist.

  He shook his arm. “I’m finally free!”

  A cheer went up from the room.

  Zeyde Jordan let go of Bubbe Marcia’s waist, waved his hands like he was conducting an orchestra, and started everyone singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”

  Abby wondered if all the noise was bothering other patients. There were some really sick kids on the fifth floor. Maybe they didn’t want to hear a celebration.

  Another nurse wheeled in a cake that read, PAUL KICKED CANCER’S BUTT!

  It matched Mom Rachel’s T-shirt.

  Mom Rachel nudged Mama Dee. “It’s perfect, babe.”

  “We’ve got to celebrate our boy. And what better way than with cake?”

  They hugged.

  “I want the ‘butt’ piece,” Zeyde Jordan said, and everyone laughed.

  * * *

  On the drive home, Abby expected Paul to be exuberant. He was finally able to get back to living his life. It was like he’d been released from a prison sentence. But when Abby glanced over at her brother, he was biting his bottom lip and looking out the window.

  Abby thought Paul looked a little lost.

  Isn’t he happy to be going home?

  Hard Truths and a Painful Plaque

  Abby squished next to Mama Dee on the couch while crocheting a new hat for Paul to wear until his hair grew back. It was a plain blue hat with very soft wool, so it wouldn’t irritate Paul’s bare scalp. His turtle hat was looking kind of ratty and had a couple spots of dried blood on it from the accident.

  Mama Dee was thumbing through a pastry cookbook with full-color photos of delicious desserts that were making Abby’s mouth water.

  Miss Lucy plopped herself on top of Abby’s feet, which kept them warm and only gave her a little feeling of pins and needles.

  Abby laid her crocheting in her lap. “How come Paul’s sleeping so much?”

  Mama Dee looked up from her cookbook. “His body’s recovering from the chemo, Abs. Those drugs were an assault on his body. Sleeping will help his body recover, help him build back his strength.”

  “But he’s really sleeping a lot. Like, three naps a day.”

  Mama Dee patted her leg. “Keep crocheting that hat for him. He’ll love it. And he’ll be okay.”

  Abby nodded, but she worried he wouldn’t be okay because he seemed to be getting worse instead of better. She wondered when his hair would grow back and when he’d be his old self, like he was in the hospital right before he got disconnected from the chemotherapy. Conrad had said his uncle was working and playing basketball after he was done with chemo. Paul was… sleeping.

  On the third day after he got home from the hospital—Monda
y—Paul came out of his room and sat on a stool at the counter next to Abby, who was doing homework.

  “It’s so good to see you up, Paul,” Mom Rachel said, an apron covering her overalls. “I made those veggie burgers you like. I’ll set a plate up for you.”

  “Can’t eat,” Paul said.

  Mom Rachel leaned on the counter. “But you have to eat, honey. I know you’re worried about throwing up, but you have to try. You’ve lost so much weight.”

  Paul looked down at himself and made a sour face. “Please,” he said. “I know you love cooking and you’re trying to help, but stop trying to feed me. Right now, everything tastes like metal, and it’s ruining my favorite foods.” He pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket and wiped his nose. “Besides, I still have sores in my mouth and throat. It really hurts to eat.”

  It really hurts to eat.

  Those words stabbed Abby’s heart. She put her pen down. There had to be a way to help Paul. How can he eat without it hurting his mouth and throat? Abby remembered when she’d had a tooth pulled and Mama Dee took her out later that day for a vanilla milkshake. It made her mouth feel better and tasted delicious. “Would a shake be better until the sores heal?” Abby was sure Mom Rachel could make him a delicious shake filled with healthy foods.

  Paul looked at his sister. “Thanks, Six-Pack. Good idea, but right now I only want… to go back to bed.”

  He shuffled to his room and closed the door behind him.

  Mom Rachel looked at Paul’s closed bedroom door, and her shoulders drooped. Then she looked at Abby. “He’ll be fine.”

  Abby knew her mom didn’t believe what she’d said. And Abby didn’t believe it either.

  What if the chemo damaged Paul in some way and he never gets better? What if the cancer isn’t gone?

  * * *

  The following Friday—the third week in January—when Abby got home from school, the house was quiet, except for Miss Lucy’s dog tags jangling as she ran to greet Abby and sniff her sneakers.

  Abby gave Miss Lucy a small treat, then grabbed a banana and a glass of tangerine juice for herself.