Spiral

by Mila Ferrera

  But then he starts to push my pants off my hips, saying, “I want to take you right here. I was up all night wishing you’d stayed.” And my fears fall into place, finding their shape: Aron’s horny. He’s been full of energy over the past few days. He’s not sleeping. And now he wants to have unprotected sex with me in an unlocked room in the middle of the oncology department.

  I catch his wrist and pull his hand from my body. “Aron, have you been taking your medication?”

  He stills against me. “Yes … every evening …,” he says slowly.

  “But you didn’t sleep at all last night?”

  He yanks his hand away from me and steps back quickly. I bite the inside of my cheek and refasten my pants to the sound of Aron cursing under his breath as he washes his hands in the sink. With blazing cheeks and a pounding heart, I turn to him. He’s taking deep breaths through his nose, like he’s trying to slow himself down. “No, no, no,” he says as he runs his wet hand through his hair.

  “It’s okay, but maybe we could—”

  “No.” He looks me over, like he’s making sure I’m decent, then pulls the door open. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and then he’s gone.

  An hour later, after three texts from me asking where he is and if he’s safe, he replies. At psychiatrist. Making plan. Sorry for scaring you.

  I reply: Are you going home after?

  Yes.

  Can I come over?

  There’s a few minutes pause, and then: No.

  I swallow back fear and frustration. Please.

  I called Mark. He’s got this.

  I stomp my foot, making Lisa give me a questioning look from her cubicle. I clench my teeth and swivel my chair so she can’t see my face. Call me later?

  If I can.

  I stand up, wanting to scream. Before I do, I stride out of the intern office and start walking. I know Aron is safe—he must have gone straight to his psychiatrist after our heated encounter. And that alone should make me happy, because it shows that he’s in his right mind and exercising good judgment. As soon as he realized what was happening, he took action and sought help instead of letting it take him down—or, more accurately, up—again.

  But he’s shutting me out.

  And it hurts. Like a knife through the heart.

  Needing to get my mind off it, I head to the oncology unit and peek in on Rohan. He’s staring at the television in a way that tells me he’s not really watching it. He’s got Stage III Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and his treatment has been a pretty brutal combination chemo regimen, but now Mark is talking to the supervising attending about a bone marrow transplant. Rohan has been so sick, and the fact that he’s been really noncompliant and hostile hasn’t helped.

  His parents visit him one or two times a week, but they both work two jobs and seem irritable and unhappy. It’s hard to blame them, since Rohan treats them like the enemy when they do show up. The last time his dad was here, Rohan threw his water pitcher at him, and the nurses nearly had to call security.

  He’s not that nice to me, either, but I don’t give him a hard time about it, and that’s probably the only reason he lets me near him. There’s a trick I’ve learned this year, in part from Aron—when he helped me understand what was driving Joanna’s anger. I’ve thought about that lesson with every doctor I’ve worked with and every client I’ve had since that day. If I don’t focus on the words coming out of Rohan’s mouth, if I don’t take it personally when he yells or calls me a dumbshit and a bitch, if I hang with him and listen to what’s going on underneath his words … then I can get somewhere. Farther than I’d get if I demanded politeness.

  And underneath Rohan’s harsh words is this: I’m scared shitless.

  I walk into the room and sit down in the chair next to his bed. “Hey. Anything good on?” I gesture at the TV.

  He clicks it off. “There never is.”

  “Dr. Kwan told me you were scheduled for another bone marrow procedure next week.”

  He shakes his head. “No way am I letting that asshole near me again. I told him so this morning. Don’t you guys ever talk to each other?”

  I shrug. “I saw it in his notes. And I thought you might refuse to go through it again.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s nothing worse than being alone on that table, is there? So much time for those sneaky thoughts to attack.”

  “You’re a psycho, Nessa.”

  I laugh. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks, Rohan. But I’m serious. I know a thing or two about sneaky thoughts.” Like right now, they’re whispering Aron doesn’t want you. You can’t help him.

  “What the hell is a ‘sneaky thought’? I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  “We all have them, dude. Even you. The trick is to recognize them and kick them to the curb instead of letting them fool you into believing they speak the truth, and that requires serious smarts.”

  His chin lifts, like he’s daring me to say he’s not smart. But he’s too insecure to actually do it. And too afraid it’s true. Which it’s not—Rohan is sharp, and he’s got so much fight. I look into his red-rimmed grey eyes shining with challenge. “If you could find the right enemy,” I say to him, “you could totally kick ass. It’s just hard when the enemy’s not a person.” I almost laugh. I might as well be talking about my own life. “And it’s even harder than that when that enemy’s taken up residence in your own head. So much easier to fight people, isn’t it?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” He slumps back in bed.

  “Okay, I will. I’m not going to fight you. Heaven knows I wouldn’t win. But I’d love to fight on your side, because I do like winning.”

  “If you think I’m winning, you really are a psycho.”

  “Even someone as strong as you has to pick his battles. Right now you’re fighting on too many fronts. It would tire anyone out.”

  “Whatever.” He stares at the black screen of the TV. But he doesn’t turn it back on.

  “Fair enough—fighting people is easier, but you’re wasting your energy. Especially when those sneaky thoughts are much more dangerous, powerful enemies. You’d have to be a virtual ninja to deal with them.”

  “You’re an idiot.” He gives me that fearful-defiant look again.

  “I’m an idiot with ninja training,” I tell him. “So there’s that. Do you want me to leave?”

  He fiddles with his remote. “I don’t care what you do.”

  My heart aches for this kid. He’s so lonely and angry, but he wants to be with people. He’s not one of those kids who isolates himself, though his behavior pushes people away. I lean back and hook my ankle over my knee. “Cool. I’ll stay for a bit.”

  And I do, sitting quietly and simply being there, until Rohan’s breathing evens out and I know he’s asleep. I write him a note and leave it on his bedside table. I’ll be back tomorrow to see if you want to start ninja training.

  I check my phone as I leave the unit. It’s nearly six, and I have a new text from Mark. I’m with him and he’s ok. Thought you might want to know.

  I call him, and he picks up quickly. “Hey, Nessa.”

  “Are you at his apartment?”

  “Yeah,” he says in a hushed voice. “He’s asleep.”

  “What?” Not exactly what I expected to hear, given how wound up he was earlier.

  “Dr. Gershon gave him Clonazepam to bring him down, and it’s just kicked in. She said it was hypomania, that he wasn’t fully manic, but was concerned enough to give him something so it didn’t get worse. She upped his Lithium, too.”

  “How is he?”

  Mark sighs. “Pretty upset. I was glad he called me.”

  “He told me he didn’t want me there,” I say quietly, letting the hurt bleed into my voice.

  “But you know why, Nessa. He doesn’t feel so in control around you, and he doesn’t want to ruin things.”

  “I want to be there for him, Mark, but he’s not letting me.”

  �
��Give it time. I don’t know what else to tell you. Be patient with him?”

  “I’m trying.”

  He tells me he’s going to hang out on Aron’s couch for the night, in case Aron wakes up and needs something. I thank him, grateful that someone is there for Aron, all the while wishing it could be me. I go back to the intern office and chat with Lisa, pretending that nothing is wrong. I don’t talk about how my boyfriend is in a battle for his sanity, for control over his brilliant, precious mind. I don’t tell her how helpless I feel. I don’t mention the hurt or the terror. I keep my fear that I’m part of the problem to myself. In fact, I smile and laugh. I compliment her on her latest knitting project, a baby blanket for a friend of hers who’s expecting. I walk her to the train.

  And then I go home and spend the rest of the night alone, fighting off the sneaky thoughts that are trying to tear me apart from the inside.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next morning, having battled the enemies in my own head and emerged wounded but victorious for the moment, I pick up bagels, coffee for Mark, and green tea for Aron, and go to his apartment. Mark answers the door, looking scruffy in jeans and a t-shirt, with sparse, patchy stubble on his chin and cheeks. He accepts the coffee with a look of pure gratitude.

  “How was the night?”

  “Quiet.”

  I look him in the eye. “Should I drop this off or stay?”

  “You can stay,” says Aron quietly as he steps out of the kitchen. He’s showered and shaved; his hair is wet and disheveled. He’s wearing sweats.

  “I was about to take off anyway,” Mark says, fetching his bag from the living room and then pawing through the bagel sack and taking a blueberry one to go. “See you later, man,” he calls to Aron, who waves as Mark walks out the door.

  I hand the green tea to Aron and offer him the sack, which he puts on his counter. “How are you?”

  “Still a little sleepy, but it’s better than feeling jittery. I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, his cheeks suffusing with pink.

  I stroke my hand down his arm, and he stiffens slightly. “Aron, you don’t have to be sorry. Or embarrassed. I was right there with you, remember?”

  He moves his arm away from my grasp and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “I’ve called out of work today, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Do you want to talk about the med changes? Are you okay with them?”

  His jaw flexes. “I have to be, don’t I? Apparently six hundred milligrams isn’t a high enough dosage to keep me on an even keel. We’ll see how much my hands shake with eight hundred, I guess.” He looks down at his open palms, his trembling fingers.

  I am dying to take him in my arms, but I don’t know if he wants me to. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

  He lets his hands fall to his sides. “It could be worse,” he says, giving me a sad smile. “Those kids on the unit have it tougher than I do, so I don’t know why I’m whining.”

  You are so brave, I think as my eyes burn with tears. “You can whine. I would listen.”

  He lets out a huff of laughter. “I know you would. But I don’t know why you’d want to.”

  “Please don’t push me away,” I blurt.

  He frowns when he sees my expression, then slowly reaches out and skims my hair off my cheek. It falls over his knuckles instantly, and I close my eyes and memorize the sensation of his fingertips, scared that this will be the last time he touches me. “Come here, Nessa,” he whispers into my darkness. He tucks me against his chest and kisses the top of my head. “I just need to keep things slow. Yesterday was …” He trails off, and my brain fills in all the possible words: scary amazing terrifying hot crazy wild awful out-of-control.

  “Aron, this is going to go however you need it to. I’m in it with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t let me go, either. In fact, he arms tighten around me like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear. We stand there for the longest time, holding onto each other, clinging for dear life.

  Kai Uchenna has another round of intrathecal chemotherapy scheduled for the next Monday, and I’m determined, for the sake of all involved, to help things go as smoothly as possible. It’s going to happen in a treatment room so Kai doesn’t associate what’s happening with his bed, where he’s supposed to rest. I’ve coached both parents about how to talk to their son. Kai and I made a social story about what’s going to happen, and all the ways he can show how courageous he is at each step. He decided to call it the Brave Book.

  That morning, I stay with Brenda, Kai’s mother, as a nurse preps him. Kai’s father, Louis, is outside, pacing. It was an intense discussion about which of them would be with Kai for the procedure, but it had to happen, because there was no way Aron was going to allow both of them to be present while he worked. So Louis took the bullet and agreed to wait outside while Brenda went in. We had to have a whole session just about this, about how, despite his hatred of Brenda, she’s still able to support his son through this, and if it’s good for Kai, it’s worth tolerating.

  Aron strides in with Samuel Kimble, a resident who looks like he still belongs in high school. They’re both masked and gloved. Kimble’s going to do the procedure with Aron’s supervision, because Aron’s hands are too unsteady for him to do it himself. He told me he was okay with it, but I could tell it was bothering him.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen Aron today, because he texted me this morning to say he was a little under the weather and didn’t feel up to working out, so I watch him closely. His green eyes sweep across the room, probably making sure there’s not a war going on. When he sees Kai lying quietly on the table with his mother reading the Brave Book to him, relief floods his expression, and he looks at me like I deserve all the credit. I smile, but it falters as I notice how pale Aron is. Trying not to worry too much, I pat Kai on the leg and make my exit, promising I won’t be far.

  I join Louis in the hall. “Kai’s doing great. They were reading his book. So far so good, and they’re about to start.”

  Louis nods. “Is Brenda doing everything she said she would do? You know she doesn’t always follow through.”

  “She’s doing exactly what we discussed, because she loves Kai, and she knows he’s counting on her.”

  Louis runs his hand over his scrub of receding ebony hair. “How long will the procedure be?”

  “I think Dr. Lindstrom said about twenty minutes. Long enough for you to grab a cup of coffee.” I lean forward, eyeing his clenched fists and tapping toes. “I remember our conversation about how walking helps you stay calm.”

  He looks down at his feet and laughs. “Okay. But you have my number? I’ll be called if anything happens?”

  “Absolutely. And Louis? I know you’re angry at Brenda, but remember how we talked about peace offerings? She’s been here since really early this morning, and she might like some coffee when she comes out. Only a buck in the cafeteria, but it would be worth more than that. Trust me.”

  He nods solemnly and departs for a quick trip to the cafeteria. I stay in the hallway, hoping Kai is staying calm, and that his mother is, too. When Louis returns about ten minutes later, he’s got two cups of coffee in his hands. “All is well,” I say softly. “I think—”

  “—page Dr. Feldman to take over now that it’s in,” Aron is saying to the nurse as he walks quickly out of the procedure room.

  “Dr. Lindstrom?” I say, because we’re in front of patients, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. He strides unsteadily down the hall and around a corner, his shoulder bouncing off the wall as he turns. I stand there for a second, frozen by confusion, but am jarred into action when I hear the unmistakable sound of retching. “Louis, Dr. Kimble and the nurses are capable of handling this just fine, and the attending physician is going to be here any second, so Kai is in really good hands. I have to go and help the other doctor now.” I lock eyes with him even as my heart speeds. “Remember how important it
is for Kai to have a peaceful recovery time? No fighting or yelling? You can make that happen, right?”

  Louis’s eyebrows are nearly at his hairline as he listens to the sound of his child’s doctor puking his guts out only one hallway away, but he nods. As soon as he does, I tell him I’ll check in later and jog after Aron. He’s in the staff hallway and was clearly trying to make it to the bathroom when he got sick. When I get to him, he’s leaning against the wall, his mask dangling from one ear, looking like he’s about to collapse into the puddle of vomit at his feet. I wrap my arms around his chest to keep him upright.

  His temple brushes my chin, and it’s cold and clammy and makes my heart ache for him. “Oh God. Sorry,” he moans.

  “Can I have a doc, please?” I shout down the hall, and Dr. Poehler, one of the attendings, opens his office door and pokes his head out.

  “Let me call for a clean-up,” he says when he sees the mess. “Aron, want to come in and sit down?”

  I help Aron make it to the doorway, and he braces himself against it. “Dizzy,” he says, holding onto me like I’m his lifeline. I help him sit down in one of the chairs in front of Dr. Poehler’s desk. He is pale as a ghost, and he looks so dazed. Fear for him blossoms in my chest. He sets his elbows on his knees, but leans into me when I stroke his hair, resting his head against my hip.

  “Are you going to be sick again? I could grab an emesis basin and some water ...” I look down at him. His eyes are closed as he draws deep breaths through his nose. This could be a stomach virus, but—“Aron, have you had your lithium level checked since your psychiatrist upped the dosage?” I ask quietly.

  He nods.

  “When exactly?”

  “Last year. Last week. Tomorrow. I don’t know.”

  My stomach clenches with fear. He’s confused. Dizzy. And sick. Dr. Poehler strides back into the room with a glass of water. “How we doing? Did you catch that bug that’s been going around?”