by Gina Azzi
I kick my foot against the bench I’m sitting on, the metal bar striking my heel and sending a vibration up my leg.
Do I even want to be a doctor?
It’s been his dream—my dad’s—forever. He had hoped that Brandon would follow in his footsteps: Harvard Medical School, cardio-thoracic surgeon, candidate for a prestigious fellowship, the recipient of some important award. When Brandon applied to law school instead, his dreams were momentarily crushed until he laid his sights on me, the gangly, awkward adolescent that wanted nothing more than to be the reason his face lit up in pride. He would spend hours pouring over medical journals with me, counseling me on how to pick the most advantageous course schedule, discussing various internship options and opportunities with me, visiting medical schools. It used to be our dream, but lately it seems like it’s just his.
And how lame is that? Here I am, going along with my father’s wishes because I don’t know what else I would do, what else I could be, if I’m not a doctor. And Cade is sitting in a hospital bed, about to have his leg cut in to, mourning the loss of a dream, of a passion, that’s been exclusively his for a lifetime.
Ugh. I just wish I had an answer.
Or the courage to search for one.
I toss my empty coffee cup in the trashcan and head back to the hospital entrance, keeping my head down so no one makes eye contact with me. Maybe there’s something I can do here for a few more hours.
* * *
I’m leaving the hospital four hours later when I notice a text message from Cade asking me to stop by before I head out for the day. I check the time and note that visiting hours are ending in thirty minutes. A pit of tension settles in my stomach and my mind races almost as quickly as my legs, carrying me to his room. Did something happen? Did he receive more bad news? Is he coping okay?
I knock on his bedroom door.
“Come in,” his gravely voice calls out.
“Hey.” I push the door open and look him over.
He’s sitting up in bed, a gray T-shirt stretched tightly over his solid chest and broad shoulders. His knee is propped up on a pillow. He’s clicking through TV channels with the remote control in one hand and casually flipping through magazine pages with his other hand. He pauses when his eyes lock on mine.
“Hey, Li! I didn’t know if you would finish in time to stop by.”
“I would have snuck in anyway.”
He laughs, the slow rumble emanating from his chest. I love hearing his laugh.
“Especially after receiving a message like that,” I continue, shaking my cell phone in my hand. “Is everything okay?”
Cade’s face falls, his smile disappearing. “Yeah. Everything is fine, Lila. I just thought we could hang out for a bit.”
Immediately I cringe, guilt reddening my neck and cheeks. I nod at him. Of course, not everything is a disaster. Here he is, bored out of his mind, just wanting to have someone to chill with and I turn it into a negative.
“Sorry.” I pull the chair closer beside his bed and sit down. “It’s been a long day.”
He takes my hand in his and squeezes. “Want to tell me about it?”
I laugh, the absurdity of it striking me suddenly. Yes, let me please cry on your shoulder, Cade. Let me tell you all about my dysfunctional family and how I don’t know if I even want to be in the program I’m currently enrolled in while you lie in this lumpy hospital bed and contemplate if you’ll ever play football again, or walk, or even live.
I shake my head.
“Lila.” He squeezes my hand again until I look up and meet his eyes. His irises are a turbulent gray, made stormier by the color of his T-shirt. I’m reminded of the first time I ever saw him, the day I met him in the airport terminal. It seems like a lifetime ago. “Just because I’m in here, it doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, or care about what’s going on in your life. Hell, I know everyone, all my friends, feel weird about talking to me about anything right now. Like suddenly football is trivial compared to my illness, or relationship problems are lame, or funny stories aren’t so funny. But please…” he squeezes again to emphasize his point “…please don’t start treating me differently too. Just talk to me about your day, what’s going on in your life. Let me still be normal with you. Please.” His eyes are pleading me and the grip of his hand reminds me of how just weeks earlier, he stormed the football field like a warrior, his body strong and powerful.
He’s losing too much.
I won’t let him lose this, this connection we have, in addition to everything else.
I squeeze back. “Okay.”
Cade’s shoulders relax and he leans back into his pillows. “Okay then. How was your day?”
“Ugh, it sucked,” I lament, dropping my head onto our clasped hands.
He laughs heartily and I think it’s partially in relief.
“What happened?”
I raise my head back up and get comfortable in my chair, slipping my shoes off to prop my legs up on his bed. “Several things. Which would you like first: the drama or the funny bits?”
“Definitely the drama.” Cade snuggles deeper into his pillows, his thumb pressing silent gratitude into the back of my hand.
“Okay.” I nod. “Well, it seems that Ms. Mia is confused over a tall, dark, and handsome Italiano. And unsure about a smart, funny, and witty American student. She can’t seem to figure out where she stands with either one of them.”
Cade wags his eyebrows at me suggestively.
“No, no, nothing like that. Mia is super reserved and kind of shy. But she’s suddenly overwhelmed by the attention of not one, but two hot guys. Apparently, she had a night out and some intense conversations, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen her flustered by boys.” I laugh, thinking about Mia’s wide eyes and panicked expression on Skype when she spoke about her current predicament.
“Juicy.” Cade smiles. “How are your other friends from Philly? Maura and Emma?”
I sigh. “I’m worried about Maura. Something is going on with her. When the four of us were last on Google hangout, she was drinking wine, which is super out of character for her, especially during training. She seemed sad and out of sorts.” I shake my head. “Emma seems like herself. I haven’t really gotten any scoop on her. Hopefully, she’ll send a long email this week.”
“You miss them.”
“Very much. They’re really amazing. We’ve all been living together for the past three years, spending summers visiting each other and taking vacations. It’s strange to suddenly be so far away from them.”
Cade nods in understanding. “At least you know they’re all doing things that make them happy. And I’m sure they’re happy knowing you’ve scored this incredible internship opportunity.”
Ugh. Dumb internship again.
“Yeah.” I smile.
Cade’s eyes narrow. “You don’t think they’re happy for you?”
“No, that’s not it.” I release his hand and play with the cuff on my sweater.
Cade shifts in bed, sitting up straighter. He tosses the magazine on his bedside table. “What is it?”
“I don’t …” I sigh. “I’m not sure—”
Cade smiles lightly. “Lila, just say it.”
“I don’t know if this is what I want to be doing.” I hold my arms out to encompass the hospital room.
“The internship?”
“Any of it. I don’t know if I want to go to med school, or be a doctor, or even be enrolled in this program right now.”
“Are you not enjoying the internship? Did something happen between you and some of the other interns?”
“What? No, not at all.”
Cade frowns. “What made you have this realization so suddenly? I mean, I guess it’s a good thing for you to realize this now, before you’re halfway through medical school and feel stuck.”
Ah, stuck. I feel stuck now. Already. And I haven’t even applied to medical school. I mean, I’m a senior. I can’t just change my major now. And
even if I could, what would I change it to? I have no idea what I’m good at.
“I don’t think it’s that sudden of a realization,” I whisper.
“Then why did you apply to the program?”
I shrug. “My dad thought it would look good on my med school applications.”
“But you don’t even know if you want to go to medical school.”
“I know that. But …” I twist the cuff harder in my fingers. “Look, I’m not sure what I want, okay? I’ve always been good at science classes. The whole thing came easy to me, and I’m good at it so I figured why not? Except now, being here and doing the program, seeing you lying in this hospital bed, watching the interactions between the doctors, I just don’t know if it’s how I want my life to be.”
Cade’s brow furrows. “Okay,” he says slowly, reaching out to pull me closer to him and taking hold of my hand once again. “That’s okay, Lila. You’re allowed to change your mind.” He smiles gently. “That’s why people go to college. To be exposed to new outlooks and ideas. No one says that just because you said pre-med when you were eighteen years old that you have to do that. It’s fine.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is! I mean, you may have to finish the internship since you’re already here and all, but you can graduate with a degree in biology and then do something else. Loads of people pursue careers in fields they never studied.”
“I don’t think I can tell him.”
“Your dad?”
I nod, chewing on the cuff.
Cade pulls the sweater out of my mouth. “Why not? I’m sure he’ll be proud of you not matter what. You’re incredible.”
I blush at his compliment, looking away again. “I don’t think he’ll see it that way. Like a positive because I sorted out that I don’t want this to be my future. I think he’ll see it as me giving up. Quitting before I ever really got started.”
“But you’re not.”
I shrug again. “Anyway, enough of the drama. How about the funny bits?”
Cade watches me quietly for a moment and then nods, deciding not to press me on the issue.
“What else happened today?” he asks.
“I got thrown up on twice and peed on once.”
He throws his head back and laughs, a true Cade laugh, from his belly.
I laugh with him, the weight of my dad’s disappointment and my uncertainty over my future profession disappearing, replaced by a lightness that spreads throughout my chest.
At least I can make Cade laugh.
That counts for something, right?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cade
I’m released from the hospital the next morning. Dr. Somers arranged a meeting with me to explain that my results indicate Osteosarcoma. Type IIB. I met the team of doctors that will be working on my case. A strategy was developed: ten weeks chemotherapy, surgery, testing the outer edges of the tumor, additional chemotherapy, follow-ups, rehabilitation, and physical therapy.
It seems like the next year is going to be hell.
I’m packed and ready to go, waiting for Miers to come pick me up. I still have to call Mamma and Dad and tell them everything, but every time I start dialing our home number, the ice in my chest freezes in place, restricting my breath and causing pressure to build behind my eyelids.
This is going to destroy them.
Especially Mamma.
I remember the day she learned that Jared was killed. I can recall the details like they happened seconds ago. The way her body folded in on itself like a gift box closing. Her clenched fist lifted to her mouth and she bit into it to stifle her sobs. She made horrifying sounds I’ve only heard once before. The time Jared took me deer hunting. The dying deer his buddy Ray shot cried in such agony and anguish that I never went hunting again, wishing I could spare anyone from ever hearing that sound. But when it’s a person, and that person is your mother, it’s a million times worse. The sound of her cries cut through me like a million paper cuts at once. Her body felt smaller in my arms, lighter, weaker, as if the news of Jared’s death immediately robbed her of her strength and resiliency. For months she existed as a shell of her former self.
Recently, she’s seemed better. Dad has been instrumental in helping Mamma cope. He’s been her rock and I think a big reason why he hasn’t fallen apart is because she needs him too much. The grief counselor told us it usually takes at least a year to experience the different stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Jared’s birthday on March 18 marked the first day when her depression really set in. But at his one-year memorial service, I saw signs of acceptance in her demeanor, her behavior. I even overheard her share a funny story about the first time Jared got drunk with some of his Marine buddies.
Now I’m going to set back all of her progress. I’m going to put her back in hell. I’m going to break her heart all over again. I’m going to place Dad right back in between a rock and a hard place, where he will be forced to ignore his own pain, suppress his own emotions, in order to help Mamma heal.
And knowing that breaks my heart.
I sigh, flipping on the television. I check my watch. Miers should be here any minute. I don’t have enough time now to have this conversation with my parents.
I turn the channel to ESPN and lean back in the bed, crossing my arms behind my head.
Three announcers on screen are sitting behind a white table discussing the latest projected rankings for the NFL draft. Bobby Palmer comments, “Yeah that was some sad news about Astor University wide receiver Cade Wilkins. If you recall the game on September 28, Astor-Stanford, Wilkins sustained a tough tackle near the twenty-yard line. Originally believed to have caused a knee injury, we can now confirm that Wilkins is suffering a fractured tibia, which is believed to be caused, in part, from a tumor discovered in his bone. Wilkins has been diagnosed with Stage IIB Osteosarcoma and is currently receiving treatment at Henry Harper Medical Center outside of Los Angeles. No comments have been released by Astor University, Coach Milford, or Wilkins at this time.”
Joe Simmons shakes his head sympathetically. “That’s tough news to hear Bobby. Just two weeks ago, Wilkins was at the top of the world, projected as number four. We’ve consistently seen Wilkins cover impressive yardage, increase his number of touchdowns, and become a key leader for the Mustangs since he started at Astor as a freshman. He commands the respect of his team and school for both his performance as well as his leadership skills. Stories out of the Astor camp portray Wilkins as a good kid with a solid head on his shoulders. This is a tough loss for the Mustangs, but must be a devastating personal blow for Wilkins. We wish him the best with his diagnosis and a full recovery.”
I switch off the TV and close my eyes.
Nothing like the final nail in the coffin.
“You’re going to be a professional football player one day, Jar. I know it!” I yelled to Jared across the field after catching a forty-yard pass. “The QB!”
Jared lopes over to me, smiling. He ruffles my hair. “Nah, little buddy, that’s going to be all you. Keep catching like that, work on your speed, stay hungry, stay focused and the dream is all yours.”
“Do you really think so?” My eyes widen at his statement, his belief in me.
“Absolutely. Small dreams never let you reach your full potential. That’s what big dreams are for.”
“What are your dreams, Jar?”
“Me? I’m going to be a Marine. I’m going to train and sacrifice and serve my country.”
“That’s a pretty big dream.”
“They’re the only dreams that count.”
I smile to myself at the memory. Jared joined the Marines two years later when he turned eighteen. Even back then he knew what he wanted and made it happen.
Looks like I’m falling short of my dream.
* * *
I’ve been home for two hours. The house is eerily quiet. The team is at practice so I’m the only person home except for Gog’
s girlfriend, who’s still sleeping off a wicked hangover in his bed. Time to call my parents.
I take a deep breath and select home from my contact list. Dad answers on the third ring and I’m immediately relieved. Telling him first is the better option because he can help Mamma cope. He will be her pillar, just like he was when she learned about Jared’s death, just like he has been for all twenty-seven years of their marriage.
“Hello?” Dad repeats and I realize I never answered.
“Dad.” My voice croaks and I clear my throat.
“Cade. It’s okay. How bad, Champ?”
“Bad. It’s bad.”
“Like cancer bad?” he asks. He knows, but he doesn’t know.
“Osteosarcoma. Type IIB,” I confirm.
Dad sighs heavily, his breathing deep. Then silence. I can tell he is holding the receiver away from his face, taking a minute to control his emotions.
After a few moments he clears his throat. “And the prognosis?” His voice is thick with emotion, with pain, with worry.
“Positive. I start chemo in a few days and will have surgery to remove the entire tumor in mid-December. The doctors are confident that they can salvage my limb and insert a prosthesis.”
Dad coughs, clearing his throat again. “Where’s your head at?”
I laugh wryly. “Trying to catch up. Just trying to wrap my mind around all of this.”
“Cade, you will be okay. You will fight this and you will get through this. Your mamma and I will be there for whatever you need, whenever you need it. We can be on the next plane. Just tell me what you want, how you want to handle this, and I will make sure it happens, okay? I love you, Champ. I’ll do anything and everything I can to make this better for you.”
I nod, tears clogging my throat. Dad isn’t exactly the sensitive type. He never discusses his feelings. He’s strong and tough and copes with his own feelings by hiding them from everyone else. His concern chokes me up momentarily, and I make a non-committal sound into the phone.
“Okay,” he says. “Would you like to speak to Mamma now or later?”