by John Herbert
I patted him on the arm and nodded in silent acknowledgement of my gratitude.
Beth shifted John from her lap to her hip and got up from the picnic bench. She gave my cheek a gentle stroke with her hand and looked at me sadly.
“Tell Peg we love her,” Beth said, her words punctuated by swallowed sobs, “and that we’ll be praying for her and for you…and tell her I’m sorry…that she’s sick…and that I hope she gets better quickly…and comes home soon.”
“I will, Beth.”
I looked over at Jennie and held out my hand for her to take. “You ready, sweetheart? It’s time to go see Mommy.”
Seventeen
The hospital was only a mile and a half from our house, so there wasn’t a lot of time for Jennie to ask questions. But the questions came anyway, as I knew they would, and I gave her the standard answers to the expected questions, one by one, almost as if I had taken a course on what to tell a three-year-old whose mommy is in the hospital. But some of Jennie’s questions weren’t expected and took me very much by surprise.
“Daddy, where’s Mommy?”
I glanced up into the rearview mirror and saw her, perched in her car seat, looking at me.
“Mommy’s sick today, and she had to go to the hospital so she can get better.”
“Why is she sick, Daddy?”
“I don’t know, honey, but the doctor will find out why.”
“Is he a good doctor?”
“Yes, sweetheart, he’s a very good doctor.” Funny how a three-year-old can zero in on the very same question the adults are asking, I thought to myself.
“Is Mommy going to be all right, Daddy?”
“Yup. She’ll be fine.”
“Is she going to die?”
Jesus, I said to myself. Where did that come from? What made her ask that?
A deep breath. “Of course not. She’s just a little sick.”
“Will she come home tonight?”
Another deep breath. She’s going to catch me if I’m not careful, I thought.
“I don’t think so, honey.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
Well done. Well deflected.
“I’m glad we’re going to see her.”
“Mommy’s going to be glad to see you too, sweetheart. I’ll bet she misses you a whole lot already.”
“Who’s going to tuck me in tonight and hear my prayers?”
“Well, either Grandma or Grandpa or I will. How about that? Will that be okay?”
When Jennie didn’t answer for several seconds, I looked into the rearview mirror again and saw her staring pensively out the side window next to her car seat.
“Well, what do you say? Will that be okay?” I asked.
“I guess so,” she answered in a small, sad voice.
Not a great endorsement for Grandma, Grandpa or Dad, I thought, but then that’s why they invented mommies, isn’t it?
“I miss Mommy,” Jennie said a few seconds later, still staring out the side window.
“Me too, honey. Me too.”
Eighteen
Visiting hours had long since started by the time we arrived at Huntington Hospital, so I had to park in the lot farthest from the main entrance. As we walked from the car to the sidewalk leading to the front doors of the hospital, Jennie’s chatter stopped, and she became quiet. Perhaps she was frightened by the size of the building looming in front of us, or perhaps she was thinking about my answers to her questions. But whatever the reason, she walked next to me in silence, taking four steps to every one of mine, her hand buried in my hand.
When we reached the hospital lobby, we went to the visitor registration desk and checked in with one of the receptionists, an elderly lady in the red and white striped uniform that earned her and volunteers like her the nickname “candy stripers.” She informed us Peg was on the fifth floor, East Wing, Room 512, and directed us to the elevators.
I pressed the up button, and the doors of the middle elevator quietly slid open. We stepped inside, and Jennie, never having been in an elevator before, immediately started to look around her, trying to understand what we were going to do in this tiny room without furniture. I pressed the fifth floor button, and as the elevator began to rise, Jennie first looked down at her feet and the floor in response to the pressure she felt from the elevator’s rapid rise, and then up at me with the wide, happy grin of discovery. At another time, in another place, the look would have struck me as priceless. Tonight, it only served to underscore the sadness of what was happening.
When the doors opened on the fifth floor, we were met with all the sights, sounds and smells that characterize any hospital. It was still early in the evening, so all of the hall lights were ablaze, the paging system asked doctor after doctor to pick up line so-and-so or report to room such-and-such, and the air was heavy with the smell of cleaning solvents and disinfectant and, to my nose, sickness.
We followed the signs pointing the way to the East Wing, Jennie’s hand still buried in mine, her sandals going slap, slap, slap on the polished vinyl tile floor. Within moments we were outside of Peg’s room. The door was ajar, but before we had a chance to knock, Peg called out to Jennie.
“Is that you, sweetheart?”
In an instant, Jennie withdrew her hand from mine and ran into the room and over to Peg’s bed at full speed. “How did you know it was me, Mommy?”
“I could hear little feet coming down the hall,” Peg answered, wrapping her arms around Jennie’s torso, “and I knew they belonged to you.”
Peg was sitting up in bed in one of her own nightgowns. She still wore her makeup from earlier in the day, but her mascara was badly smudged, probably from crying, and her hair was in disarray. She looked tired, but she was calm. For some reason, she had been assigned a private room, so the three of us were alone.
Peg and I said nothing about my meeting with Dr. Goldstein, and I didn’t bring up my conversation with Dave. Instead Jennie and Peg talked as only a three-year-old and her mommy can, with Jennie rambling on about this and that as Peg hung onto every word.
The minutes passed, and too soon it was time for us to go. It was almost nine, way past Jennie’s bedtime, and I still had to go back to the house and pack an overnight bag before taking her over to my parents’ house for the night.
“Hon, we should go,” I said.
“I know. I know,” Peg replied, nodding rapidly to emphasize that she understood.
“I don’t want to go home, Mommy,” Jennie piped in. “I want to stay here with you.”
“I know, honey,” Peg said, holding her close with one hand and stroking her head with the other, “but it’s past your bedtime, and I think Daddy should take you home now.”
“But I’m not tired, Mommy,” came the automatic response as Jennie pulled away from Peg and looked squarely at her.
“I know, honey, but Mommy is, and I think Daddy is too.”
Jennie looked at Peg as if she were ready to cry. “Will you come home tomorrow, Mommy?”
“I don’t think so. But soon, I promise.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“I miss you, Mommy.”
“I miss you too, sweetheart,” Peg replied, starting to lose her composure.
She gave Jennie a kiss on her forehead, then on the top of her head and then gave her a long, silent hug. As if on cue, I picked Jennie up off the bed and put her back on the floor next to me.
I had no idea what thoughts were going through Peg’s mind at that moment as she felt her little girl slide out of her arms. She must have been in agony, terror-stricken, but she gave no indication of any of that. She just bit her lower lip, quickly wiped away a tear and tried to smile, first at Jennie, then at me.
I bent down to kiss her good night. “I’ll call you in the morning,” I said as I straightened up.
I took Jennie’s hand, and we started to leave.
“Good night, Mommy,” Jenn
ie called out when we reached the door.
“Good night, sweetheart.”
“I love you, Peg,” I said as I always did just before we turned out the light and went to sleep.
“I love you too,” Peg answered quietly from her bed, her hand up to her mouth, her fingers pinching her lips.
A second later and we were in the hall, Jennie’s hand again in mine, on our way back to the elevator. And as we walked down the hall hand in hand, I listened to the slap, slap, slap of Jennie’s sandals, and I wondered if Peg were listening too.
Nineteen
I stayed with the children at my parents’ house that Wednesday night and decided not to go into the office the next morning. Instead, I called Peg shortly after breakfast and told her of my conversation the night before with Dave about Dr. Werner.
“So,” I said in conclusion, “Dave’s going to call me here as soon as he gets in touch with Dr. Werner, and we need to be ready with a decision. Assuming Dr. Werner’s willing to treat you, that is. So…what do you want me to say to Dave when he calls?”
“I don’t know,” Peg replied after several seconds of thought.
“Well, we have to make a decision, hon, one way or the other.”
“I know. I just don’t know what the right thing to do is.” She paused. “What do you think about Dr. Goldstein?”
“He seems competent, and he’s certainly confident, but he’s young. Hell, Peg, he’s younger than I am, which makes me wonder how much experience he’s got.”
“I know,” Peg agreed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. And what about the hospital? Huntington Hospital, I mean?”
“Well, it’s probably a good enough hospital for normal stuff, Peg, but I don’t think what you’ve got is normal stuff. So I’m not sure Huntington Hospital is up to the task of taking care of you.”
Peg said nothing in response, so after a second or two, I continued. “On the other hand, if you transfer into Manhattan for treatment, it’s going to be a whole lot more difficult for people to visit you. You won’t see people as often as you would if you were here in Huntington. Especially Jennie and John. But the question is, what’s more important? Visitors, or the quality of care you get?”
“So you think I should go into New York and let Dr. Werner treat me if I have the chance?”
“I didn’t say that. Anyway, it’s more important what you think.”
“I don’t know what to think,” she said softly. “I don’t want to be a million miles away from everyone and not be able to have people visit me, especially the kids. But at the same time, I want to beat this thing, and I’m not sure Dr. Goldstein and Huntington Hospital are going to give me my best chance. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s the best there is, and maybe a small hospital like Huntington will give me the kind of care a big city hospital can’t. I don’t know. I just don’t.”
We were both silent for a moment before Peg continued.
“I think what I’d really like is for you to make the decision. Can you do that for me?”
“If that’s what you want, yes. That’s not like you, though.”
“I know, but I’d like to leave it up to you,” she repeated. “I know you’ll do what’s right.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I replied. “I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I hear from Dave. Okay?”
“Okay,” Peg replied, barely audibly.
“I’ll do my best, Peg.”
“I know you will. You always do.”
Twenty
Dave called at ten-forty. “Hi. How are you?” he said, beginning the conversation as he always did in his crisp military way.
“I’m all right. You?”
“I’m good.”
“Did you get to Dr. Werner?” I asked.
“Sure did. Got to him just before he started his morning rounds.”
“Did he remember you?”
“Yeah, he did,” Dave replied, a touch of pride evident in his voice.
“So how’d it go?”
“Pretty good, I think, but I’ll let you be the judge. We had a good conversation. And a long one. I told him all about you and Peg, how I came to know you. Told him about the family. You know, about Jennie and John. Stuff like that. I told him about Peg getting sick and about your concerns with Dr. Goldstein and Huntington Hospital. Basically tried to appeal to any compassion he might have for someone in trouble. Anyway, it worked, I guess, because even though he’s not accepting any new patients right now, he’s going to take on Peg.
“He asked me to let him know this morning if Peg wants to transfer to New York Hospital,” Dave continued. “If she does, he’ll arrange for her to be admitted tomorrow morning. He said you should arrange for an ambulance to bring her into the city, and you should plan to arrive at the hospital around ten-thirty. That way, he’ll have time to examine Peg and still have all afternoon to run the necessary tests before they start her chemotherapy. Which, by the way, he’ll probably start on Monday morning, if he agrees with Dr. Goldstein’s diagnosis.”
Dave paused. “So now, good buddy, the ball’s in your court. If you want Dr. Werner to treat Peg, just say the word. He’s there for you.”
Dave waited for an answer, offering nothing more. He knew he shouldn’t; he knew he couldn’t.
And I knew a decision had to be made, and it had to be made now. But the enormity of that decision was terrifying. Peg had literally entrusted her life to me. She had put her life in my hands to do with it as I thought best.
“Okay,” I suddenly heard myself saying. “Decision’s made. We’ll get Peg out of Huntington and into New York Hospital tomorrow morning. Call Dr. Werner and tell him he’s got a new patient.”
“Will do,” Dave answered. “And for what it’s worth…I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“I hope so, Dave. Because God help me if I’m not.”
Twenty-One
I didn’t see Peg until seven forty-five that evening, even though I had intended to visit her after lunch. I had called her room around one o’clock to tell her I was on my way, but there was no answer. I tried every twenty minutes or so from that point on, but each time, no answer. When I finally reached her at five twenty-five, after what must have been fifteen calls, she explained that she had been out of the room all day being subjected, it seemed, to every test known to modern man. Given the hour, I told her I’d see her as soon as I had grabbed a bite to eat.
When I arrived at her room that evening, she was in bed, propped up on two pillows that rested against the headboard, with a magazine in her lap and her eyes closed. She wore another one of her own nightgowns, a pale blue silky thing with thin shoulder straps. The left strap was off her shoulder and hung down against the outside of her upper arm. Where the strap should have been was a large bandage held in place with broad strips of adhesive tape. A clear plastic fitting, similar to the type used on intravenous lines, but much larger, protruded from its center. She looked so much paler and more tired than the night before, it was hard to believe barely twenty-four hours had passed. Her hair looked unkempt, she wore no makeup, and for the first time, she looked truly sick.
She opened her eyes as soon as she heard my footsteps at the door and greeted me with a tired smile. I pulled the room’s single armchair over to the side of her bed, and she began to tell me about her day; a day that had included numerous blood tests, a spinal tap, the taking of a bone marrow sample from her hip, urine samples, X-rays, electrocardiograms, more blood tests and still more blood tests. She put her hand to her shoulder and said Dr. Goldstein had installed the central line around two- thirty that afternoon in preparation for her chemotherapy scheduled to begin Saturday morning. She asked about the kids and how they were doing, but seemed to be somewhat more at ease with the idea of being apart from them.
“Did you hear from Dave?” she asked, suddenly changing topics.
“I did. He called me this morning.”
“And…?”
She liste
ned quietly as I told her about my conversation with him and didn’t interrupt until I got to the part where Dave told me Dr. Werner had agreed to accept her as a patient.
“What did you say?” she asked, breaking in sharply.
I looked at her for several seconds before answering and then, watching her face for her reaction to what I was about to say, answered her question. “I told him to tell Dr. Werner he’s got a new patient. And that we’d meet him, Dr. Werner that is, at New York Hospital tomorrow morning. At ten-thirty.”
Peg made no comment. She just sat perfectly still, looking into my eyes as intently as I was looking into hers, waiting for me to continue.
“I’ve arranged for an ambulance to be here tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. To take you into the city. I’ll go in with you.”
Still no response, and still no indication from her face or her eyes as to what she was thinking. No grimace indicating disappointment. No smile indicating agreement. Nothing.
“You okay with this?” I asked, anxious for some kind of feedback.
Peg looked hard at me but remained silent.
“You told me to make the decision,” I pressed, “and I did. Now, are you okay with it? Because if you’re not, we’ll change it.”
I waited a second or two and asked my question again.
“So are you okay with it or not?”
Peg finally answered, but too late to give me the comfort level I had been looking for.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I’m okay with it. If you think it’s the right thing to do.”
She put her hand up to the bandage on her shoulder again. “I just can’t help wishing we hadn’t already started with Dr. Goldstein.”
“Should I tell Dr. Werner we’ve changed our minds?” I asked.
I knew that wasn’t what she was saying, but I desperately needed some kind of assurance that I had done the right thing.
“No. No,” she replied emphatically. “The decision’s been made, and I’m sure it’s the right one. I just wish we had been able to make it last night. Then I wouldn’t have had to go through all these tests today, which now I’ll probably have to go through again with this new doctor. That’s what bothering me. That and I’ve spent all day getting used to Dr. Goldstein being my doctor. And now he’s not.”