Under the Cypress Moon

by Wallace, Jason

  When the doctor entered, Mark thought that he looked strangely familiar. "Hiya, Mark."

  "I know you, don't I?"

  "You should. I'm a friend of your dad's. You met me a handful of times at the country club."

  "It's been forever since I've been there. I know I know you and should remember you better. Sorry."

  "Well, Mark," the doctor continued, "You were probably in high school the last time you saw me." Turning to Shylah and extending his hand, the doctor added, "Hi. I'm Dr. Abrams."

  Shylah eagerly accepted the offered hand. "I'm Shylah."

  "You're Mark's lady, I take it."

  "The last I checked, and I better be his only one!" Shylah's smile had the same effect on the doctor that it did on most others, bringing an even bigger smile to the doctor's face.

  "Well, I gotta say, Mark, she's a snappy one. You better watch out. I think this little lady is gonna keep you in line." Turning back to Shylah, he added, "You sure are beautiful. I see why Mark is with you. You are a breath of fresh air a man finds once in a very rare while, if he's only so lucky."

  Shylah could not help but blush once more. All of the compliments, she thought, might begin to go to her head if she were not careful.

  As Mark positioned himself better on the table, the doctor stepped toward him. While carefully moving Mark's hair around to check the wounds from the bar fight, he attempted to keep the situation light. "So, Mark, how is your dad lately? I haven't seen him much in quite a while. Is he still as stubborn as ever?"

  "You know it. He's always been like that, but I guess you haven't heard."

  "Heard what," the good doctor asked, parting a patch on the upper part of the back of Mark's head, moving a light closer for better examination as he did.

  "He has cancer, pretty bad."

  "Cancer? My God! How bad?"

  "Bad. Inoperable."

  "You mean to tell me ol' Tommy Crady... I mean... Well, honestly, Mark, I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry."

  "Thank you, Sir."

  "If there is anything I can do at all, you let me know. I owe that man."

  "Owe him?"

  "I guess he never really told you about our Army days, did he? We were in 'Nam together. That's where I got the first of my medical training. I was just a kid, didn't know much then, but I saved his life when he got shot. He'd saved my life more than once before that and once again after. The last I remember, our tally was one save for me, and four, I believe, for him. So, like I said, I owe that man more than I could repay."

  "Well, he's in the hospital just down the road right now. He doesn't have much time left." Mark felt like bawling his eyes out as he said this.

  "If I wasn't so busy, I'd go over and see him, but if you don't mind, I could drop by the house soon, whenever he goes home."

  "I'm sure he'd like that. I don't know when they're sendin' him home, but they gave him a month, maybe less."

  "Damnit. Damnit. Damnit. Your dad has a lot of meanness in him, but he's still a good man. Maybe I've just seen the better parts of him, more than most have. I wish there was somethin' I could do for him. Well, I hate to have to change the subject, but you are here for treatment, so we need to discuss you." The doctor sighed heavily and turned away. "Sorry. Give me a second here. Whoo. I'm tryin' to be totally professional. It's not easy hearin' bad news about a good friend, ya know?" After a few seconds of facing the wall and several more sighs, the doctor turned back. "Ok. I'm good now. Anyway, have you been taking your antibiotics?"

  "I've been tryin' to."

  "What do you mean, 'tryin' to'?"

  "I forget some. Like, this morning, I forgot. I meant to take 'em, but I forgot."

  "You gotta take 'em, Mark, all of 'em. You can't miss doses or stop taking the pills at any point. Take them until the bottle is completely empty. Otherwise, not only could they not work fully, but your body will build up immunities to them. The next time that you have to take antibiotics, they may not do anything at all."

  "Yeah. I know," Mark assured the doctor. "I've heard that before. I'll take 'em. I promise. I just have so much trouble remembering things lately. With my head injury and with all the stress, I forget the littlest things."

  Through all of this, Shylah sat silently but finally, she felt a need to join the conversation. "Doctor, I'll make sure he takes his pills."

  "Good. Good woman! See, Mark. That's why we need the fairer sex. They keep us men in line when we need it most, no matter how much it might get on our nerves. Without them, who knows what kinda bad stuff a man would get into? You got you a good one there. Just don't forget to invite me to your wedding," the doctor hastily added, winking at Shylah.

  "Wedding," Mark asked, exasperatedly.

  "What's that supposed to mean," Shylah chimed. "You think we won't ever..."

  "No. Not that. Just seems weird when you hear it out loud, and we haven't been together that long," Mark added.

  "It could happen," Shylah plied. "It could definitely happen, and don't be thinkin' otherwise."

  "Not sayin' it can't, Hon. I'm not against it. You're takin' this all wrong."

  The doctor sat by, laughing the entire time, always amused at the chattering of couples. "If that day comes... just sayin' if. Don't forget to invite me. Now, about your head, Mark. Do you know what a cyst is?"

  "A cyst?"

  "Yeah. It's a vesicle, kind of a sac, enclosed and protected. It fills with fluid. People most often get them in obvious places, but sometimes, they form internally. Some people get them on their brain. It's not necessarily a threatening or even very serious matter. A lot of people get them, and unless they grow substantially or burst, there is usually not much to worry about."

  "So, I have one on my brain," Mark asked, very concerned and staggered.

  "Yes. I looked over the results of the M.R.I. and found that you have a rather small cyst on your left temporal lobe. It may not grow at all, but I can't say for sure. Even if it grows, it will probably not be a threat. I do, however, want you to check up with me on a regular basis to check it and make sure that it's not growing or bursting. If it grows too big or starts to seep in any way, we'll have to do surgery to suck the fluid out so that it won't present you with any problems. Otherwise, it could begin to affect your hearing and your eyesight. I'd say that it's nothing to worry about yet, but that's why you need to come back fairly soon and let me take another look. Ok?"

  "Ok."

  "Alright," Dr. Abrams happily added, hoping to now lighten the mood once again. "You'll be ok. I can promise you that. I'm not tryin' to toot my own horn, but I am good at what I do, and you'll always be in good hands. I won't charge you for any of this. I owe your father so much."

  "No. I can't let you. I don't care how much you owe him. I can afford it, no problem. It wouldn't be right. Plus, I have insurance anyway."

  "Ok, well I know you were prescribed pain pills when you were released from the hospital, but if for any reason they don't seem to be working, you call my office, and I'll prescribe you somethin' stronger. You can substitute your pills with over-the-counter pain medicines, if you like. Have you had any severe headaches since all this?"

  "A few," Mark replied, rubbing his head.

  "Why are you rubbing your head? You got one now?"

  "It's starting but not major."

  "Ok. Well, just take it easy. Try not to exert yourself too much until you start feeling back to your old self. You are probably gonna experience bouts of fatigue and extreme dizziness, just so you know. You can try taking sea sickness pills for the dizziness. You're on enough prescription meds right now that I don't wanna add to them with more. Well, you're good to go. Tell your dad that John Abrams said hi and that he'll be by to see him after he's home. I really am sorry." The doctor felt a huge lump in his throat, making it difficult to continue speaking. Choking it down, he fought back tears and proceeded, "Take care of him. He's the only dad you're gonna have, and he's a good guy, maybe too set in his ways and too warped in his opi
nions about people, but still a good guy."

  "Believe it or not, he's changed since he found out he had cancer. He's not the same guy."

  "Wow. Yeah, I thought it would probably get on his nerves that you're with a woman who is, let's say, not what your father would prefer, but I didn't wanna say anything. I think it's great, honestly. The world has far too many problems the way it is without people adding to it with old-fashioned, outdated theories on others when they can't fix the things wrong in their own lives. You two look good together, and if you're happy, that's what matters. I wish it didn't take dying to make your dad see things that way, but that's one of the funny things about life. Death is the one inevitability and a real eye-opener. Anyway, good to see you again, Mark, and you take care of that beautiful woman you got there."

  Shylah had hardly ceased from blushing, now blushing even harder, her cheeks so deeply colored that it made Mark take notice and laugh.

  "Will do, Doc. I'll let Dad know you were askin' about him. I'm sure he'll be home soon."

  After Mark and Dr. Abrams shook hands once more, the doctor stepped from the room, leaving Mark and Shylah alone.

  "Ready to go, Babe," Mark asked.

  "Yep. He's a really nice guy. I don't normally like doctors much, but he's one of the nicest guys I ever met. He's a real charmer."

  Mark didn't think much at all about Shylah's remarks. Taking her hand, he strode from the room and back to the front counter of the office to set up his next appointment. Now, it was time to go visit Thomas and bring him the good tidings from a friend.

  "Ready to go see your dad," Shylah casually sounded as she led the car out of the parking lot.

  "Yep. Better get to it."

  Thomas had been awake for a couple of hours, awaiting the visit of his son, knowing that time was now waning away and that he had so little else to look forward to. His eyes widened with joy as he saw Mark stroll into the room, followed by Shylah.

  "Hey," Thomas tried to shout, rasped and nearly inaudible.

  "Hey, Dad. Thought you might like to see a pretty face today, and Shylah's, too."

  Thomas laughed so hard that his body shook, seeming to be in far greater spirits than the previous day, though the laughter was painful.

  "Don't put too much on him, Mark," Shylah warned. "He's got enough trouble as it is without stressing his body out."

  "It's... o... k.," Thomas raspingly replied.

  "Dad, I just saw John Abrams," Mark initiated. "Turns out he's my doctor. I didn't realize who he was til he said it. I guess I hadn't seen him in a long time. I told him about you. He said to tell you hi and that he's really sorry, but he wants to come by the house and see you after you get home. He was almost in tears when I told him about your cancer."

  These words brought such a smile to Thomas' face that it began to brighten Shylah's and Mark's faces as well.

  "You're lookin' a little better, Dad," Mark happily added.

  "They... say... I... could..." Thomas fought so hard for words that he had to stop where he was until he could regain his breath. "could... go... home."

  "That's good," Mark acknowledged, feeling deeply saddened and still fighting to keep from crying. "Well, you know we'll take good care of you if you do. I don't know how much you'd like my cookin', but Shylah here is a real good cook."

  "Hire... nurse," Thomas gasped.

  "You don't want us to take care of you, Dad?"

  "No. You... have... enough. Get ... nurse... for... house."

  "Ok, Daddy. Whatever you want. I'll make a call and get somebody." No sooner than Mark said this, Thomas' doctor entered.

  The doctor was a small, wormy-looking man with a faint, thin moustache covering his dark skin. "Hi. I'm Dr. Alsedaa. I'm Mr. Crady's oncologist. Might I discuss his condition with you in private? You are his son, correct?"

  "Yes. I'm his son."

  "If you would follow me, please, Sir, we can discuss your father's condition."

  Mark feared the worst. The deep dread within him was overwhelming, stagnant, and creating a pit in his stomach that he was sure would not disappear any time soon.

  "What's the deal, Doctor," Mark asked, hoping to get it all over as soon as possible.

  "Your father," began the doctor, a bit reluctant to share bad news but knowing that it was part of the job and hoping just as much as Mark to get it all finished, continued, "Your father is in a very advanced stage of cancer."

  "Yeah. He told me."

  "Well, you see," the doctor now fighting to find the right words replied, feeling it almost in vain, "His condition is not only advanced but quite complicated. Not only does he have the cancer that likely began in his stomach but has now spread throughout his organs and has even moved to his lungs, which is all inoperable, but he also has a brain tumor that is rather large. The tumor is operable, though the surgery would be risky, and I'm afraid that removing it would do nothing really. The other cancer has spread too far. The tumor could begin to affect many of his functions, including his memory. The most that can be done for him is to make his remaining days as comfortable as possible and to make sure that he has plenty of pain medicines to counter the crippling effects of the cancer. If you notice that he has difficulty remembering things or even trouble with his vision or other functions, you must keep in mind that it is all a part of his state. He could go at any moment. I would give him no more than two months, but I think that that is probably far too optimistic. He could have hardly any time left at all. Some patients shock their doctors by surviving longer than their estimated time, yet many others go well before that. All that you can do is be there for him and assist him in whatever he required. I... I am sorry. I apologize that I have to be the bearer of such news, but I'm sure you understand that it must be done. I wish that I could do more for your father. There really is nothing more that can be done, however."

  "No, Doc. I get it. I understand. I'm glad he has a doctor that cares this much and is lookin' out for him. So, does that mean that he's goin' home or what?"

  "Well," the doctor said, musing over the situation, "Ideally, he should be here where he can be well taken care of by hospital staff, yet, as there is so little that can be done, he could go home whenever he wishes, so long as he will have proper home care."

  "He said he wants me to hire him a nurse. I planned on callin' for one right away."

  "That is a good idea, Sir. I would do that immediately. I would suggest calling Hospice. They are very good at providing home care for terminally ill patients. You would be responsible for some of your father's care, but as there is so little that would be needed to do, it should be easily manageable by you and the nurse. I will send in a nurse with your father's discharge instructions, as well as the phone number for Hospice. We can arrange a bed for your father, if you like."

  "I think he'd be happy in his own bed, to tell you the truth, Doc. But whatever needs to be done, I'll do it. I'll call Hospice as soon as I get the number. What do we do as far as arranging supplies and things?"

  "I will write prescriptions for all of the equipment needed and other things. Your father's insurance should pick up the bill for most of it, I would say, including the nurse. There will likely be very little of any out-of-pocket expense. I am sorry, Sir. I wish you and your father all of the best. This is really the part of my job that I hate. If I had seen your father long before all of this, I believe that I could easily have treated him, and he would recover well and not be where he is today. That is what I hope for every day, finding the cases that are still in early enough stages." The doctor's face looked truly worried and saddened. Mark had no idea what to say to comfort the man but wasn't sure that he needed to try. The doctor had obviously dealt with similar cases.

  "Thank you, Doc. I appreciate it. I'll take good care of him and do all I can to keep him comfortable and happy. It means a lot you takin' this time like this."

  "That is what I do, Sir. I save lives when I can, and when I can't, it pains me." The doctor, not knowing of anythi
ng to add, walked away, his head hanging low, muttering to himself about the shortness of life and the terrible ordeals of so many innocent people.

  Mark re-entered the room to find Shylah holding Thomas' hand and singing to him in her angelic voice. Thomas was smiling intently, staring at Shylah's beautiful face. Mark marveled at how truly amazing Shylah was, how giving of her time and energy she was, and how she could bring such joy to so many, but not wanting to interrupt, Mark only stood in the doorway, watching and listening.

  When Shylah finished her song, Thomas leaned forward the best that he could, and whispering so low that Mark could not hear him, told Shylah, "You... have... my... bless... blessing. Mar... Marry... my... son."

  "One day, Sir," Shylah happily informed the old man. "One day, I think I might just have to." Shylah's smile at the thought of that happy occasion and the thought of the uplifting she had brought to Thomas in his final days filled the woman with immense and immeasurable contentment. She felt at peace and very glad that she had been welcomed into the Crady family. It was not a family that would have been easy to be a part of had Thomas not found himself nearly to slip from this world, and Shylah greatly regretted that it had to be so, but nonetheless, Thomas had accepted Shylah, and Mark loved them both. Shylah thought to herself how wonderful it would be if a miracle could be worked, allowing Thomas to survive and maintain his change of heart. Mark would be happy, not to mention that he and Shylah could continue their relationship with a blessing, and she would have a new friend.

  Mark stepped forward, taking his place beside Shylah next to Thomas' bed. "Dad, they're gonna let you go home today. We have to wait for a nurse. She's gonna bring us your papers and the number for Hospice. I'm gonna call them and get you a nurse for the house. The doctor is gonna prescribe all the stuff we'll need, and I'll have to go by the medical supply store to get it all. We'll get you home as soon as we can and get you all set up."

  "Good," Thomas rasped back. "Son?"

  "Yeah, Pop?"

  "When.. I'm.. gone..."

  "Dad, just rest."

  "No. When... I'm... gone... go... see... St...Stan... Stan Walker."