“Zoe’s shown great progress, and we’re hopeful that the next few rounds of chemo will help,” Dr. Roman says as she enters the room. She turns to the girl, who clearly holds a place in both their hearts. “How are you feeling, Zoe?”
“It’s always a good day when I have to come to the Poison Room,” Zoe responds, and I chuckle. Everyone turns to me, and I start coughing in a weak attempt to hide my outburst.
“Don’t worry. After a while you get used to Zoe’s sarcasm,” Dr. Roman says.
“I’m sure going to miss it when you resume your life,” Fiona says, bringing her hands to her hips.
“I’ll come visit, don’t worry. You guys won’t get rid of me that easily,” Zoe says with a sweet voice that has me paying attention to every word she utters.
“Have you met our intern, Jesse?” Dr. Roman asks at the same time Fiona’s pager beeps and she lets herself out of the room.
“I have, though I didn’t know you had any interns,” Zoe tells Dr. Roman. The two of them volley back and forth while I just stand there looking awkward as hell.
“We have a couple of spaces available over the summer for very special students. Jesse is actually a junior at Bragan University. You’ll probably meet the girls later, but Jesse is who you’ll see most often, as he’s assigned to this unit,” Dr. Roman says while going through the chart in her hand.
They continue to talk as if I’m not in the room, and I’m grateful for it because I’ve been too distracted by the way this girl smiles, the shade of red in her hair, the green in her eyes, and even the length of her eyelashes.
Stop being weird.
“Bragan University? That’s awesome. I used to go there too!” she says, her voice laced with excitement, but there was also an undertone of sadness. She used to go to B.U. too. Probably before she had cancer. Probably before she was in this hospital. I’m instantly pissed at the thought that she too has had to miss out on things because of this illness—this disease.
“Really?" I ask.
“What? Do you think I’m not smart enough to be admitted?’ she challenges.
“No, not at all—I—erm —I think you’re great,” I say before I can stop myself.
That was an odd freaking response.
“You think I’m great?” She repeats my words back to me, and I internally cringe.
“I—I can see you studying at B.U. I think you probably did well—will do well!” I add.
“Do well in what?” she questions, and boy, if I’m not confused as to what the hell we’re talking about.
“Let me start over.” I take a deep breath. “It’s great that you used to go there! Are you thinking about coming back after your treatment?” I ask.
“If the treatment works, then yes, it’s a possibility.”
“Um,” I hesitate, unable to find the words I want to tell her. I want to assure her it will work and that she’ll be able to come back to school, but I don’t know if that’s true. I can only hope it is.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Zoe, we’re ready to start you up on the chemo. Afterwards, we’ll transfer you to one of the rooms, and I think we’ll keep you for at least two days to make sure everything looks good,” Dr. Roman informs her, effectively putting an end to our conversation.
“Great! Can’t wait!” Zoe says with fake enthusiasm.
“You’re almost done,” Dr. Roman assures her.
“Let’s hope so,” she says, a little more resigned. For a brief moment, I see the fear behind her eyes, and it speaks to me.
“Jesse, could you please make sure Zoe knows what room she’ll be in after chemo? I know her parents will be here afterwards and will want to know.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond, happy to leave the room. There’s something about this girl that wakes some of the emotions I’ve had before. Her resignation to being ill makes this place feel a little more suffocating, and there’s nothing I need more right now than air.
4
ZOE
I’m awoken by my aching body, and when I pry my eyes open, I realize I’m back in that room again—the room with the white walls and the beeping medical equipment. I turn to my right, finding my mother snuggled on the couch with a blanket thrown over her. Even in her sleep, worry lines frame her face.
The nausea hits me out of nowhere, and I double over the bed, but nothing comes out. My stomach is empty. I wish it had something in it; I think it would feel better than dry-heaving.
“You doing okay, honey?” my mom asks sleepily as she lifts herself from the couch quickly. Her hand is on my back a moment later, her attempt to soothe me. “Want a ginger ale?” she adds when I don’t respond.
“Yes, please,” I tell her, tears sliding down my face. I can’t stop them from falling despite how much I try—despite how strong I want to be.
“Coming right up,” my mom answers, her eyes still bleary from an uncomfortable night on the couch. I’d try and get up and retrieve one myself, or even call a nurse over, but I know Mom wants to feel useful. I reposition myself on the bed after the nausea subsides.
“Hi,” someone says from just outside the door.
I turn in the direction of the voice. “Hey,” I say to the guy Fiona had introduced me to earlier. She’d told me the day before that someone new had started and she couldn’t wait for me to meet him. Now I see why. He sure is easy on the eyes, and since Fiona is only a few years older than me, surely, she noticed too.
“Zoe, right?” he says, looking a little uncomfortable. I look him up and down. His blue scrubs hug his broad shoulders more tightly than normal.
“Yes. Could you remind me your name again?” I ask him. It feels like I was introduced to him days ago instead of just yesterday. Yesterday, I was so focused on what followed the chemotherapy that I didn’t care about anything else.
“Already forgotten, huh? I guess I wasn’t that memorable,” he says, cracking a smile. I find myself smiling too, unable to resist his charm. “I’m Jesse.” He extends his hand to me.
I look down at the blanket covering my legs. “This is embarrassing, but I may have been throwing up a few minutes ago, so I don’t think you’ll want to shake my hand.”
“Nonsense,” he says, getting closer to the bed, his hand still extended.
“Are you sure?” I look at him, waiting for him to change his mind.
“You’re not contagious, are you?" he says with a chuckle.
“Not that I know of, but who knows? Maybe that’s how I got ALL in the first place,” I joke, but I can see his eyes harden. It passes just as quickly as it comes, though, and he takes my hand in his own, shaking it.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” he tells me, still holding on to my hand. I feel the roughness of his fingers, and the massiveness of his palms.
“I’m sorry I didn’t remember your name. I wasn’t paying too much attention yesterday,” I tell him sheepishly.
“I wouldn’t have been able to tell,” he retorts, and I can see in a different world, like in a world where a guy like him would look at a girl like me, or where I wasn’t sick, we’d be good friends.
“You’re going to have to start paying attention if you’re thinking about returning to B.U.,” he tells me, then realizes he’s still holding my hand. He lets go, a blush creeping up his neck and shading his cheeks.
“I think I’ll manage. It was nice seeing you again, Jesse,” I tell him.
I watch as he takes a few steps back and stands awkwardly near the door. I can tell he’s debating whether he should stay or leave. He seems a little flustered, which is surprising considering how handsome he is. I wouldn’t have pegged him as a guy who easily gets nervous. With his ocean blue eyes, dark brown hair, and even wearing his scrubs, I’d think he’d confidently command every room he walks into.
Instantly, I wish I’d met him under different circumstances. I wonder if we’d both attended B.U. at the same time, would we have run into each other in the quad, café, or at a football game? I’m sure he’
s an athlete. I mean, with that frame, it’d be a waste not to be.
“How are you feeling?" he asks, lingering longer despite being given a chance to get out. I guess he does have a job to do; he isn’t here for a social visit.
“I feel the same as usual,” I tell him. He once again abandons his spot near the door and moves towards me.
“So there’s the nausea, which you already told me about, but what else is there? Weakness in your limbs? Headache?” he asks, and I notice he’s not looking down at the paper in his hand.
“Ding! Ding! Ding!” I joke, feeling myself get light-headed almost immediately.
“Sweetie, I’ve got your ginger ale. Sorry it took so—” my mother says, stopping when she sees Jesse. I look up to find her staring at him.
“Hello, dear. I’m Danielle,” my mom says, extending her free hand to Jesse while handing me the ginger ale.
Avoiding her eyes like she’s the most intimidating person he’s ever met, he mumbles, “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Jesse—one of the interns.”
I hold back a giggle at how visibly red this guy is getting and take a sip of my ginger ale. I really hope it’ll push away the nausea and somehow miraculously give me strength. The room goes completely silent while my mom watches him with curiosity. He looks to me, then back to her. I can physically feel his discomfort. Under different circumstances, this would’ve been hilarious, but right now it’s just awkward.
“I was just checking in to make sure Ms. Evans was doing okay,” he says, answering a question she never asked.
“And is she?” my mom asks with a big smile.
“I am,” I tell her, relieving Jesse of any further questioning and giving him yet another opportunity to escape.
“On that note, I’ll be back a little later to check in,” he says, striding through the door.
“Cute guy,” Mom says with a glint in her eye that tells me she’s up to no good.
“No!”
She lifts her eyebrow questioningly. “Not cute?”
“Not happening. Whatever’s going through that head of yours, it is not happening, Mom!”
“There was nothing in my head,” she says, but her smile tells me she’s lying through her teeth.
“You’ve never been a good liar,” I tell her.
“All I’m saying is, he’s a handsome guy,” she says innocently.
“And?” I ask, though I know I shouldn’t.
“And nothing. Don’t you agree?”
“I guess, Mom. Yes, he’s a little attractive.”
She claps in excitement. “You should get his phone number!”
“And do what with it? You see; I knew you were up to something!”
She points at herself. “Who? Me?” she says, acting innocent. “I was just thinking it might be good to get yourself some new friends,” she says, and while I know she’s joking, I also know her words are true.
“He’s just doing his job, Mom. I’m sure he doesn’t need any new friends.”
And even if he did, I don’t want to be the burdensome sick girl to anyone else ever again.
Burdening my parents is enough. My friends couldn’t take it, and I won’t make anyone else go through that.
“Doesn’t hurt to try, Zo,” my mom continues, pulling a chair closer to my bed.
“It ain’t gonna happen, Mom!”
“Fine. But you’re no fun—you get that from your father. If you were anything like I was when I was your age, his number would not be the only thing you’d be getting.”
I gasp in mock horror. “Mom! Gross! We’ve talked about you telling me stories of your ‘adventurous’ youth!”
“I’m not giving you any details. I’m just saying, live a little,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.
If I get the chance to, I will. I’m prepared to live a little more, but only when I know I’m actually going to live.
The jury’s still out on that one.
My mom takes a seat on the couch, grabs the remote and turns on the TV. She begins flipping through the channels, stopping only when she finds FRIENDS. This has become our ritual from the first day we walked into this hospital. She always sits next to me, while I lay in the hospital bed. With her hand clinging to my own like a lifeline, we watch FRIENDS until Dad shows up a little later. Somehow, this helps us think about the better times in our lives—the times before this.
FRIENDS begins, and I can’t help but remember when I had some of my own.
5
JESSE
I’m not sure if I’m actually allowed to check on patients yet. Still, after I found out which room Zoe was in last week, every time I walk by, it’s like a magnet pulling me in her direction. All I know is, I want to see her again.
For the majority of my morning, I shadow a few different doctors, making sure I don’t give in to the urge to check on Zoe; I remind myself that she isn’t exactly my responsibility. Even if she was, it was so hard to find the courage to knock on her door the first time around that I don’t know if I could do it again. Though seeing her smile might be worth it.
Still, I wasn’t prepared for her mom to watch my every move—or even be in the room—while I stumbled through a conversation with her daughter. I couldn’t help the nerves that took over. I felt like a school boy meeting my girlfriend’s parents for the first time. But that wasn’t actually the case.
Her mom showing up was not something I was expecting, but I should have. Parents tend to spend every waking moment here. Who wouldn’t want to make sure that their child is okay? Cancer affects them just as much as the patient—maybe even more because watching something happen to someone they love, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it, fucking hurts.
The similarities between suffering parents is striking, but not shocking. Zoe’s mom has bags under her eyes and looks visibly tired. I know her exhaustion is both physical and emotional.
“There’s one more patient you all haven’t met yet!” Fiona tells me when I walk by the nurse’s station. “Follow me,” she adds cheerfully.
Since I started a little over a week ago, I’ve discovered she is, in fact, not only a nurse, but also the intern coordinator. Following behind her are Lilly and Marissa, the other two interns who joined us yesterday. I found out they’re both already in the medical program at Bragan—which is a difficult thing to do considering the school accepts less than twenty percent of applicants. I asked them both a few questions about the program and how they found the process of getting in since that’s what I want to do after graduation.
It seems it won’t be too hard to get some insight about the application process because, although they both seem to be quite bright—they have to be if they’re in the medical program at B.U.—Lilly couldn’t stop making eyes at me while Marissa flipped her hair flirtatiously after answering all of my questions.
I’m not an idiot. I can tell when someone’s feeling me, and they both were. But while I appreciate the compliment, I’m more interested in how they got into the med program than I am in getting their phone numbers.
Lilly and Marissa walk next to me as we follow Fiona, and every so often I hear them whisper, then giggle about something. I walk faster, matching Fiona’s speed and catching up to her.
“Okay, we’re here!” Fiona says as we arrive in room 201. “Before we go in, let me tell you about who you’ll be meeting. Her name is Maria, and she’s been a patient here for almost a year. She’s four years old. She’d responded well to the treatment but ultimately relapsed a couple of months ago. Right now, her grandfather is donating bone marrow to hopefully save her life.” Fiona’s eyes get visibly teary as she speaks. I feel my hand twitch at my side, knowing it’s because I feel powerless to change her reality. I guess it doesn’t get any easier with time.
“Poor baby,” Lilly says to Marissa in an audible whisper.
“I can’t imagine what she’s going through,” Marissa adds, equally distraught.
“You’re going to have to imagine it be
cause you’re going to see it every day,” Fiona responds, and while that may sound insensitive, I know she’s right. “Anyway, Maria is a sweetheart, and I wanted her to meet you all. She’s one of those patients you’ll want to come and say hello to every so often.” We all nod.
“Treatment isn’t the only thing these kids need; they also need someone to make them laugh, someone to make them smile and to forget they’re sick, even if just for a few minutes.” Fiona looks at each of us intently and then adds, “This part of the job is just as important as all others. We never know when the last smile will be, so we make each of them count.” Fiona takes a moment to compose herself. One thought loops through my mind: Cancer doesn’t tell you when it’s going to take away the people you love. It just does it.
“Let’s head inside,” Fiona says finally. She knocks on the door before opening it, and we all follow after her.
ZOE
Maria bursts out laughing as we play peek-a-boo. It’s kind of crazy how easy it is to entertain kids. Even in this place, they don’t lose the innocence they had when they first walked in. Maria’s laughter echoes off the walls, and we all laugh along with her.
I turn when I hear a faint knock and watch Fiona walk in with a smile on her face. Trailing behind her are two girls wearing scrubs. One is a brunette, and the other one is blonde. Rob, Martha, and Maria turn in the direction of the door as Fiona greets everyone.
“Nice to see you making your rounds, Zoe,” Fi tells me with a wink.
“She always does. You guys should hire her,” Rob jokes.
“I’ll let you know when I’m looking for a job,” I answer.
“We’ll be sure to save it for you,” Fiona replies, and we all laugh. I don’t know that I’d ever want to work here. It may be selfish, but I don’t want to see people suffering.
“Rob, Martha, Maria, these are our new interns—Lilly, Marissa, and Jesse,” Fiona says just as Jesse steps into the room.
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