Angel of Mine

by Jessica Louise

  After missing the doctor during his rounds yesterday because of my run in with Ally, I find myself with two choices: either wait in my room for the rounds the doctor will do tonight, or go seek him out in the outpatient department. There’s no way I could handle waiting until the end of the day to get news, so here I am in the outpatient waiting room.

  The room is packed and I have been waiting for three hours already, but I don’t complain. The last thing the doctors here need is me whining. They put in long hard hours performing miracles every day, so I can certainly afford to sit around and do nothing for one day of my life until Dr. Stevens is ready to see me.

  Looking around the room, I see various patients talking to each other, huddled in their own small groups. It’s as though we have formed our own little clubs as support networks. Various snippets of conversations hit my ears as people catch up with familiar faces, comparing what is going on with their health. Everyone here is going through the most terrible of circumstances, yet most people still wear a smile on their face, and try to pick out the positive pieces of their situations.

  A man in a flannel shirt with a beanie on his head is joking with a woman by his side that all this waiting is a good chance to be able to get her fix of daytime television shows. She playfully swats his arm and smiles before they both turn back to the tiny little television that sits in the corner of the room. That’s their positive, and many people around here are able to find something that makes them happy too. Considering what most people are facing, I find it incredible that they are able to do this.

  Every chair in the waiting room is full today. In front of me, a young woman is laying across three hard, cold plastic seats. Her legs dangle off the edge and she doesn’t look very comfortable. She seems to be here on her own, and I hope they find a bed for her soon, although I hear there is a waiting list at the moment.

  As I watch the woman, she starts to shake lightly and move around restlessly. A deep feeling of empathy for her pain courses through me, and I shift anxiously in my seat. I wonder if I should ask if she is okay, or if I should just leave her be. When the shakes start getting stronger, I get the nurse’s attention. She says the woman is having a reaction from the chemo and rushes off to get a heated blanket and a pillow.

  On her return, she is very apologetic that there are no beds, and stresses that she is trying to remedy the situation. The bedding the nurse brought out seems to help make the woman who was shaking more comfortable, and I slump back into my seat.

  My stomach rumbles and I’m glad Mum will be back soon with something for me to eat for lunch. The conversation going on beside me distracts me from my hunger pangs. From the sounds of it, these people have been here at least an hour longer than I have.

  It feels as though I am eavesdropping, but I can’t help but listen in when they are right beside me. The young woman’s voice is obviously distressed as she asks, “Are you sure you will be okay here without me Mum? I’ll only be a minute. You won’t even notice I’m gone. As soon as I’ve put more money in the parking meter, I’ll be straight back. It’s bound to run out any time now; we’ve been here at least four hours.”

  The older woman rubs her frail hand over the younger woman’s arm, reassuring her. “I’ll be fine Julie. How much trouble can I get in sitting here on my own for five minutes anyway?” The old woman chuckles making light of the situation.

  Julie nods and informs her, “I’ll be right back,” before briskly walking away.

  Only a few minutes after Julie leaves, the doctor calls out a name and the woman beside me starts to gather her belongings. As she makes a move to stand, her right ankle crumples beneath her, unable to hold her up. I lunge to catch her, but she slips through my grasp and an agonizing cry of pain follows the loud crack of a bone breaking. The woman lies in a heap on the grey linoleum flooring at an awkward angle.

  The doctor rushes over to her, and I back away to give him space. My heart sinks. I can’t believe that I was right there and couldn’t catch her in time. I feel sick in the pit of my stomach at some of the awful things that people have to endure in this hell on earth.

  “Mum, what happened?” Julie is back and frantically runs towards her mother.

  The nurse comes over with a wheel chair, and an injection that I assume is morphine. As the doctor relieves her pain, he explains to Julie what happened. “I’m afraid the chemo may have weakened your mother’s bones, and they were unable hold her up when she went to stand on her own.” Yeah either that or the cancer has spread to her bones, I think dismally. Unfortunately, I have seen this before.

  The nurse wheels the woman away, and the ugly scene clears. Sitting back down I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands and take a few deep breaths. My thoughts stray to Ally. She would have a field day if she were here. The idea of her trying to help all of the people around me makes me involuntary cringe. I’m not letting her back in this hospital, or she will likely kill herself.

  Mum walks back in from the cafeteria and hands me a sandwich. It doesn’t look particularly appealing, but I force it down my throat anyway. Not long after I finish, I hear the nurse call my name and direct me into the doctor’s room. Mum always waits outside. Her support is excellent, but I’m a twenty-year-old man now and should be able to go to my appointments without her holding my hand, no matter how scary they may be.

  It’s been four torturous hours since I first stepped foot in the waiting room and I’m so anxious I have chest pains. They increase in intensity as I walk in the room and I wince.

  “Hi Theo, I won’t be but a minute.” Dr. Stevens uses a monotone voice and continues to shuffle through a stack of papers, without looking up. There are a couple of green plastic chairs by his desk, and I take a seat to await my fate.

  He lifts the pile and taps the bottom of it a few times to get it in line before smiling up at me. Straight away, I see the smile is not genuine. It’s the kind a doctor gives you when they are about to deliver unwelcome news and want to keep you as calm as possible.

  “Do you have a support person out in the waiting room today? Perhaps you should bring them in before we start?” This is not good. Instincts have me studying his face, trying to gauge any type of reaction. Like any good doctor though, he is a professional and I can’t get a read him.

  Dread settles over me, and my feet feel heavy as I open the door and motion for Mum to come and join us. Her lips start to tremble as she nods and she purses them together in a hard line to get them to stop. A few magazines sit in her lap, but forgetting all about them, they fall to the floor as she stands. With shaking hands, she goes to pick them up, and then drops them again.

  Being able to help gives me something to focus on, other than what’s about to go down, and I go over and pick them up. Holding Mum up, we both walk back to the room.

  On the short distance back to the door, it’s as though we put our own little bubbles up around us. In this small world of our own, nothing will be able to penetrate; no bad news can reach us here.

  The door clicks closed behind us, and it’s as if the emotional section of my brain shuts too. Facing reality is not something I can deal with just yet.

  “I’m afraid your body did not accept the transplant. Unfortunately, we do not have a donor that matches closely enough to make a second bone marrow transplant successful.” The words drone on as I stare past the doctor at nothing in particular. My inner self breaks down into hysterical sobs, pounding at the floor with my fist. The real life me doesn’t have the strength to do that. It’s as though I am putting all of my energy into blocking the news about my health out. My brain starts chanting ‘deny, deny, deny,’ not letting anything sink in. Nodding my head as if I understand, I go onto autopilot.

  I know if I let even the slightest thought creep in of leaving Ally and my family behind l will be completely hollow, a shadow of whom I used to be. Once I get further away, I can let my guard down and try to process everything.

  Although I am too numb to study her closely,
my guess is Mum is doing the exact same thing. I haven’t heard more than a few simple words uttered through her lips since I asked her to come in here with me.

  At one point, I hear her ask “How long?” The answer doesn’t resonate in my brain, but the whimper from the woman who raised me manages to break through my bubble and pierce my heart.

  At lightning speed, I reinforce the shield, twice as thick. If I allow myself to think of everything this means I won’t survive the heart break, better off to make myself cold and uncaring, indifferent to what’s being talked about. My eyes actually go cross-eyed from concentrating so hard on not looking at the doctor, making not one, but two happy family photos laugh back at me from across the room.

  There is something mentioned about going home for now, with sufficient painkillers, and coming back as needed. I pay no attention though. That’s not important right now. I can get details later.

  In a daze, I find myself on my feet without knowing how I got there. I’m glad we are finally about to leave though. I’m caving, my chest feels as though it’s constricting, and I need room to breathe. I need to get out of here.

  When we walk out of the doctor’s room, everyone is eerily quiet. The unbelievably small, console television in the corner of the waiting area is surrounded by people. Some of the crowd omit almost silent gasps and cover their mouths in disbelief.

  Mum doesn’t even notice their bizarre behaviour. It’s as though she has switched into robot mode. I don’t blame her, because I feel the same. We follow the motions of what we should be doing, because what else can you do when you receive such earth shattering news?

  We continue to shuffle our feet, one after the other, in our zombie like state, back to my room. We don’t pay any attention to our surroundings but our feet lead us the right way regardless.

  We step in the elevator, and through my hazy eyes, I see the blank look on my face reflected through the mirror. The strange atmosphere back in the waiting room is long forgotten. I press the button for level 5 and the doors shut. Claustrophobia closes in around me, and the oxygen in the small space disappears.

  Sinking to the floor, I start to hyperventilate. My body curls into the foetal position and seconds later, my mum’s arms wrap around me. We are both lying on the cold, hard, dirty floor of the lift. Her body heaves behind me as giant sobs wrack her frame.

  The doors ding as they open and everything is obscured. I’m only faintly perceptive of people calling out. I’m not clear on what they are saying, and I don’t really care.

  A nurse’s blurry face mumbles something in front of me and seconds later I feel the slight sting of a needle as sedatives are injected into my arm. Someone is hovering over Mum too, and I highly suspect she is getting the same treatment since she is catatonic. The effect takes over quickly, and I’m out like a light within mere seconds.

  When I open my eyes, Alex is pacing next to the bed. A quick scan of the room shows Mum sleeping soundly on a recliner that someone must have graciously moved to the corner of my room. I’m glad she can escape to somewhere more peaceful, under the sedation effects for a while. I remember the awful news I just received and it settles heavily in my stomach. I am going to die. If I were selfish I would want to close my eyes and let death take me already, I’m not though, so I will try to stay strong for my family.

  I’m not sure if Alex knows the news yet or if he is just wondering what is going on. How am I supposed to let my little brother know that I’m not going to be around for him anymore?

  While I’m trying to gather the courage to tell him, he stops moving abruptly and throws a curveball my way, totally out of left field. “Were you watching the news in the waiting room at all?”

  My mind flashes back to the people huddled around the TV in the corner. “No, why?” I go to pick up the remote, and he wrestles me for it.

  “Never mind Theo, just give me the damn remote. You don’t need to see.” Oh now I absolutely need to see.

  I’m able to get the device out of his grasp and he immediately starts pacing again as he waits for my reaction to whatever it is I’m about to see. The red on button lights up and as I watch the picture form, my eyes bug out of my head. Images of Ally healing that little boy’s arm fill the screen. I’m on my feet in seconds, edging closer to get a better look, and hoping that my eyes are deceiving me. No, it’s her.

  I’m terrified, full of rage, and at a loss of what to do. I have so many strong emotions I don’t know how to handle them. My actions are no longer under my control, and I pick up the portable heart rate monitor and fling it across the room. It breaks with a loud crash.

  Alex comes flying at me and wraps his arms around my body, restraining me. “Breathe Theo. I will get to her. Stay calm. Get yourself under control so I can go check on her for you.” Only I don’t know if I can, but I will try for her. For her, I can find the will. I will do whatever I can to protect her until my last breath. I go lax in Alex’s hold.

  “Go to her,” I whisper in desperation.

  The tow truck company dropped off our car at the crack of dawn this morning, and the auto mechanic came just after. He replaced what was apparently a flat battery. As soon as he left, I was in the car and driving off to the hospital. Mum gave me a funny look, and I heard her mention something under her breath about ‘boy drama’. If only she knew the half of it.

  Pushing my way through the throngs of people, I barge through the hospital doors, determined to make Theo see me. The look of annoyance on my face isn’t enough to deter the flashes blinding my eyes and the microphones shoving towards me.

  Rage seeps through me. That stupid ungrateful neighbour. After I see Theo, I’m going to smack that bitch silly. She had to be the person that contacted the media. A stinging sensation burns from my palms as my fingernails dig into them. Gritting my teeth, I stomp up to the administration desk, barely resisting the urge to punch one of the reporters square in the face.

  How did they even know I’d be here? My mum is going to flip. As I sweep a death glare all around me trying to get the vultures to back off, I notice some reporters gathering around someone in a wheel chair. What did that person do and why are they talking to them too? Does whoever it is expect me to heal them? Put on a little show like a circus freak? As much as I would love to help, I don’t really want myself confined to a wheel chair, and I need to think of Theo right now. I can’t help him from a wheelchair.

  “That’s unquestionably her. Her hands were glowing.” Craning my neck to put a face to this voice, I see the man from the alleyway yesterday. The one I ran away from after calling for an ambulance. They must be here to interview him. To think I helped him and now he is outing me. Bastard.

  Turning my back on him, I direct my attention back to the nurse behind the desk. “Can you please tell me where I can find Theo Baker?” The noise around me is deafening. I try to ignore everyone calling out my name so I can hear her answer.

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t give out that kind of information.”

  “Why the hell not?” I snap. It’s not as though I want his medical details. I just want to know where he is. My frustration level is peaking. A dull ache starts to throb at my temples, and I rub them with my fingertips. I’m seriously contemplating giving into the temptation of throwing myself on the floor and having a good old temper tantrum, bratty kid style, to get some relief. I bet the cameras would love that.

  A hand wraps firmly around my arm, and I freeze. They actually have the nerve to touch me and try to get my attention now? Who the hell do they think they are? Furious I shake it off, desperate to get away.

  To my surprise, a familiar voice from behind me comes to my rescue. “Come on darlin’, let’s get you out of here.” When I turn, I see the concerned face of the nurse who took care of me on previous visits. Without question or explanation, she drags me behind the desk and off to a staff only area, away from prying eyes. I go willingly.

  A quick glance around the bare room tells me we are alone. All that is in
here, aside from a basic kitchenette to the side of me, is a large rectangular table with a glass top, six chairs and a TV on an old rickety stand.

  “Well now, I know why you are always landing yourself in the hospital. You’re all over the news.” Her hands rest on wide hips while appraising me. Despite the abnormal situation, she sounds only marginally surprised, as though the claims people on these programs are making explain everything, and nothing is out of the ordinary. Her carefree attitude flabbergasts me, but I appreciate it immensely.

  There is a remote on the table, and when I press the button, the TV comes to life. Images of the two of us heading to this back room from only moments before fill the screen. In a smaller shot at the bottom of the screen, continuous footage, obviously from someone’s phone, rolls of me healing my neighbour’s arm, followed by someone interviewing his mother. Unbelievable, I hope she is enjoying her 15 minutes of fame. Stupid cow.

  “Sit down love. I’ll get you some water.” The metal legs of the chair scrape against the tiles as she pulls it out. Without taking my eyes off the screen, I gladly let myself drop into it. I don’t know how much longer my legs would have held me up anyway. “Take your time to rest a minute and when you are ready I have an idea to get you out of here safely.”

  Footsteps return a few minutes later. Curious, I tear my gaze away from the TV. Barbara, as her nametag states, drapes a doctor’s coat over the chair beside me, and a mask and headscarf on the table. This woman is a genius.

  A smile creeps over my face and the tense posture of my body finally eases as I think of the possibility of being able to get to Theo undetected. They may not tell me where he is, but every fibre of my being is pulling me to him like a magnet. My bet is my ability will guide me to him, and this disguise will make it that much easier to achieve.

  “Are you saying I can wear this gear to sneak out of here?”

  She lifts the coat off the chair, passes it to me, and then replies, “It’s all yours.” Before she can change her mind, I make a grab for the coat and slide it on. It’s a little large, and a hideous shade of aqua, but at any rate I’m not complaining. It hides all the items of clothing the reporters may identify. Expertly twisting my hair into a quick bun and tying it in place with the band I always keep on my wrist, I cover it up with the scarf and then don the matching mask.