by Cameron Lowe
“I know, sweetie. Potatoes trump corn. But hey, Dad deserves a treat, don’t you think?”
Whether she did or not, Gwen didn’t know. Winnie was, at that age, stubbornly obstinate about sharing her opinion about the world around her and instead chose to jabber away in a complex language mostly made up of “ba baa ba baaa” noises.
When she got to the register, Gwen loaded up the conveyor belt and dug out her wallet. The young female clerk, looking as harried as she felt, gave her the knowing, commiserative smile of the Young Mothers’ Club. Gwen often thought they should have a secret handshake to go with it, probably while they gripped cleaning wipes.
Blink.
The clerk was staring at her, the smile gone. “Ma’am? You all right?”
“Huh?” Gwen asked.
“You kinda blanked out on me there. Little one keeping you up at night?”
Oh no. No no no. Gwen’s heart plummeted. “I. Uh. Yeah,” she said, and laughed nervously. “You bet.” She dug out her wallet, counted out the bills with a shaky hand, and asked, “Is there a pay phone somewhere nearby?”
“Uh, not that I know of.”
“Can I use the store phone?”
Now the woman’s smile was firmly gone, and she was beginning to look cautious. “Um, we’re really not-”
“Forget it,” Gwen said, and began sweeping her groceries into plastic bags. She burst out of the store and into the sunlight, her lungs suddenly constricted so tightly she couldn’t get enough air. She never fainted before but now her vision swam, and before she fell, she clutched her hands behind her head, sucking in deep lungfuls of oxygen, staring up at the mocking cloudless sky.
* * *
With Winnie on his lap, Malcolm waited with Gwen for Ditmore to finish reviewing her case notes. The doctor snapped a piece of gum between his teeth as he read the latest battery of tests, and every time the gum popped, Malcolm envisioned his fist whapping the doctor across the cheeks. He was not a violent man by nature but every time he saw Ditmore, the doctor infuriated him more and more. Maybe if he treated Gwen with an ounce of gravitas, Malcolm would have thought differently, but if there was any other specialist in the city they could afford or get in to visit, he would have only been too happy to leave Ditmore in the dust.
“Hurmmm,” Ditmore grunted, and cracked the gum again. “Hrmmm, hrm, hrm.” He turned and spat the gum into a wastebasket, perhaps avoiding a chair to the back of his skull by doing so. “Well… crap, Gwen.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” Malcolm asked coldly. Gwen silenced him with a hand on his knee.
Ditmore paid Malcolm no mind. By this point, he had to be used to the naked jibes. “Our tests aren’t showing anything new. Which is good, I suppose, but the medication you’re on should be just as effective. I’m going to recommend two things. First is a mildly higher dose. We’ll see if that doesn’t nip future seizures in the bud.”
“But the nausea and the anxiety,” Gwen protested. “And I’m worried about winding up like…”
“Like her brother,” Malcolm said quietly. The doctor was well aware of Hugh’s substance abuse problems.
Ditmore nodded. “I know. And you’re right to be worried. We’re going to start with just a marginally adjusted dose, and I can prescribe something for the nausea. But what I’d really like to do is send you on to a specialist out of Denver to have a full twenty-four-hour EEG done up on you.”
“That’s not something we can do here?” Gwen asked.
“Ye-es,” Ditmore said, stretching it out. “But I’d like a second look at this, and Denver’s got some of the finest doctors in the field. They’ll probably want to run their own tests as well, so it may be something of an extended stay.”
“I can’t. We can’t,” Gwen said, leaning forward and staring at the ground.
“There’s financial assistance available,” Ditmore said soothingly. “And there’s free housing on site for patients and their immediate family coming in from out of town for tests.”
But Gwen was already shaking her head. Malcolm wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Baby. We should do this.”
“But what if they don’t find anything? What if we waste so much time and money and I just… I just…”
“What if they do?” Malcolm asked. “What if there’s something we can treat now? We’ve gotta try.”
“I can get you the number for their clinic. They can walk you through the financial aspects.”
Gwen stood up. “What about travel costs? What about food and time from work? No. We’ll try the higher dosage. That’s fine. It’s fine. I…”
Then Malcolm was on his feet, shifting Winnie to one arm and pulling Gwen to him with the other. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. We always do, right?”
Chapter 31
Gwen finally agreed when the higher dosage didn’t work. Another seizure kicked in at work, and she wound up having a coworker drive her home that evening. Her need embarrassed her, despite her coworker’s protests that it was no big deal at all and she’d be happy to carpool if Gwen wanted to help chip in for gas. It was an offer she’d eventually have to take up, her metaphorical hat in hand.
That night, she and Malcolm talked quietly about how they could manage this. Gwen was okay to take time off from work, but as she was still on probation, she feared for her job when she came back. Malcolm had vacation hours but so long as this didn’t develop into an emergency situation, they agreed he should hang onto them in case they needed to use the time for something more desperate down the line. It killed Malcolm to agree to that, but he understood the necessity. That also meant that he couldn’t drive her down to Denver so she’d have to fly. Another credit card was probably in order, though both of them loathed the idea after their trouble when she broke her leg. Still, they could see no other way. Asking her parents for help while they were getting Hugh back on his feet seemed far too unfair. Malcolm’s parents were a possibility, but they knew Adam and Janet would be stretched thin by their own responsibilities and both thought they could swing the credit card payments if they further tightened their belts.
When they got the card, they made the arrangements through Dr. Ditmore’s office. The new specialist out of Denver, Dr. Palumbo, chimed in on a joint conference call to tell them what to expect. It was largely a repeat of a lot of the labs done by Ditmore’s office, but they had some fancier tools and Gwen made plans for a weeklong stay there at the hospital to get fully evaluated.
A week. A week without a second income. It dawned on them that the new apartment would have to be the cost to cut, and soon, though both of them were too afraid to say it to the other.
* * *
Gwen flew down on a Sunday. Her tests started early the next morning. Given their situation and the fact that she was a danger behind the wheel with the seizures looming, Gwen opted not to rent a car. Instead, she paid a family friend local to the Thornton area ten bucks for a ride to the hospital apartments where she’d be staying. Of course they managed to get the wrong address, and wound up circling halfway around the medical complex before they found the right place. It was about a mile walk from the apartments to the neurologist’s clinic, and another half mile beyond that to the lab. Gwen walked it out her first hour there, trying to make sure she wouldn’t be late for any of her appointments.
The apartment was small, but cozy and decorated pleasantly, like a hotel. Gwen returned there after circling the neighborhood and getting a lay of the immediate city. Growing hungry, she decided it was time to finally unpack. Along with clothes, she’d filled her mother’s old battered suitcase full of granola bars and miniature bags of nuts, her planned sustenance for the week. But when she unzipped the suitcase, she found an envelope tucked in among the boxes of food. Inside was a note and two hundred dollars in twenties.
Gwen,
I know we agreed not to unless it was an emergency, but I decided to talk to my parents about your tests. They sent this along. Not going to
tell you what to do with it, but I hope you decide to take care of yourself while you’re there.
I love you.
Malcolm Ignatius Crabapple the Mighty
P.S. Farts Tooterstuff says whassup.
Gwen folded the note up, pressed it to her nose hoping to catch a hint of his shaving cream or the sporty soap he liked. Then she laid back on the bed and stared at the sheaf of money in her hand. It was the most cash she’d seen since she won a Business Professionals of America 50/50 they supported a few years back.
They could use that money. It could pay for most of the flight there. They could have the credit card paid off in a third the amount of time.
She thought about the cute café just two blocks away, curled up in a ball, and munched on a granola bar.
* * *
With Gwen missing so much work and Daphne willing to watch Winnifred, Malcolm decided to take a long string of double shifts that week, working from opening to closing every night. Despite the exhausting hours, he was so used to the work by now he could do it blindfolded and the shifts went by surprisingly quickly. He returned to Daphne and Elliot’s each night to pick up Winnie.
She was blossoming into a happy baby, with a smile that made Malcolm melt. He knew she’d be trouble when she was older and could demand things of him, because he was already a sucker for her fussing tricks. She was still a night owl, which was just fine by him that week due to his own late hours. Back home, he set about adding some of Gwen’s stored breast milk to baby cereal while she hammered at her high chair’s table with a spoon.
“All right, my little fart blossom, we’ve got a week to get this down pat. Da-da.”
Winnie banged away, delightedly ignoring him.
“Da-da.”
Nope. Nothing. Malcolm grabbed a banana from the counter and settled in next to his daughter to spoon feed her the cereal before he gave her the milk she preferred. Winnie turned stormy when he took the spoon away from her, but she petulantly ate a few bites of baby cereal and was soon cooing away happily again.
“Yeah, I feel the same way when I have cereal. You’re gonna go nuts when you can finally eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”
He peeled the banana, and took a couple bites as he pushed another small bite of cereal at her. Winnie, though, was transfixed by the banana, and although they had rotten luck the few times they tried to get her to eat mashed banana, he ripped off a little bit, put it onto her table, mashed it up with his fingers, and spooned up a bite. Winnie grabbed the spoon as he aimed it at her mouth, and to his delight, she took a monstrous bite, working it slowly with her nose wrinkled. At first he thought she might spit it out, but then she was waggling her arms at him again, Winnie-sign language for, “Gimme more, damn it.”
The phone rang, and Malcolm leapt up to get it, chuckling to himself. Winnie was already a fussy eater and any win with her was a small step forward. He answered the phone as she grabbed at the mashed banana left on the table, plastering it all over her face.
“Hello?” he asked, grinning as his daughter tried diligently to reach for the cereal. She was a hungry girl that night.
“Hey,” Gwen said. She sounded exhausted and nasal. Crying again. She rarely cried when they first got together, but she damn well had her reasons now. His heart clenched and he immediately felt terrible.
“Winnie, guess who? Ma-ma. We’ve been practicing your name all week.”
Gwen laughed. “Such a liar.”
“Who, me?” Conspiratorially, he whispered, “I think I’ve just about got her trained. It’ll be ‘da-da’ this and ‘da-da’ that by the time you get home. How’s it going there?”
As he crossed back to Winnie and settled in, Gwen reported on the day’s blood, urine, and vision tests. The last one wasn’t so simple as just reading letters off a lit chart in a dark room. After numbing her eyes, they’d taken a pen-like instrument and run it over the surface of her corneas to map the structure.
“So like… an ultrasound?” Malcolm asked, mashing up more banana for Winnie.
“Kind of? I don’t really know, to be honest with you.”
“Sounds… well, gross.”
“Honestly, it was kind of cool. I didn’t feel anything. Well, the numbing drops made my eyes feel all red and dried out, and the dilating drops suck, but that test was really neat. There was a depth perception test they did earlier that I hated, though. They had me look through these goggles, and any time I saw a pinprick of light, I had to click this little joystick thing. It went on forever and they had to do it twice.”
“Oof. No fun.”
“No, it really wasn’t. Good coffee though and I think I’m going to run away with the nurse. Big and muscly and long beach bum hair. Mmm mmm mmm.”
“Hey now, if you’re going to be cheating on me, at least do it with someone old and fat and bald. That way I can at least say you’re crazy.”
“Nah, I think you’re stuck with me. Besides, he had a boyfriend.”
“Whew. I was worried,” Malcolm said, anything but. Sure, they’d both occasionally glanced at other people, but at the end of the day, he still greatly adored Gwen and she him, and their sex life, apart from the interruptions by one Ms. Fussypants, was still fun and frequent, especially now that he wasn’t working two jobs.
“How is Winnie?”
“Great!” he said, putting more of the banana on the spoon. “We’re enjoying a banana and some top-notch cereal.”
“Wait. A banana? She’s eating a banana?”
“Don’t worry, it’s mashed.”
“No, I trust you there, but I mean… she’s actually eating it? Willingly? No tricks?”
Malcolm grinned. “Yup.” Winnie shook her head as if to deny this, and he shook his in response before she giggled and made grabby fingers at the spoon again. “We are what we eat, huh baby girl? That makes us…. bananas!” She giggled again at the goofy word coming from her dad’s mouth, and gave him a raspberry.
Only moments later, his smile faded as he listened to the silence. “Gwen? You still there?”
“Yeah. I just… I wish I was there. To see. I never got her to… it’s her first time eating them and…”
“Aw, hell, Gwen, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m happy. I just…” She sighed. “I didn’t mean for that to sound petty or selfish or whatever. Just wish I was home with you two, that’s all.”
“Well,” Malcolm said, injecting a degree of false cheer back into his voice. “We’ll get this figured out and kicked in the butt, and then you will be. Now, what did you do for dinner tonight?”
Hesitation, then, “A chicken parm from a deli up the street.”
“Now who’s the liar?” He asked the question meaning to sound gentle, but there was exhaustion in it too.
“Baby, we can use the money.”
“Gwen?”
“Yes?”
“For once in our life together, enjoy yourself. Please. Nothing would make me happier right now than knowing you got a chance to go get a big liver and onion dinner.”
She mock gagged, and they both laughed quietly. Wistfully, she said, “There is this little café down the street. I don’t think they’re open now, but… maybe in the morning?”
“Perfect. Please, sweetheart,” Malcolm said, wiping away mashed banana from his daughter’s face, “just… be you. For a little while.”
Another hesitation, then Gwen whispered, “I love you. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to show you how much that’s true.”
“I love you-”
“Baaaaa baaaaaa baaaa!” Winnie hollered.
“-and Winnifred von Tootenheimer loves you too.”
“Give her a kiss for me?”
“I will. Call me tomorrow.”
“All right, Tomorrow, but I don’t think I like the name as much as Malcolm.”
“Har har. Bye hon.”
* * *
Sated on the biggest breakfast she thought she’d ever had and two cups of slap-your-
face-right-off dark roast, Gwen made her next appointment with a smile. The guilt over using the money had abated – it wasn’t gone, but she decided to pocket a hundred and keep the other in her suitcase. That was a good compromise. Maybe she’d use twenty more on some bras and panties at a going-out-of-business sale down the street that night. Once upon a time her happiness about the prospect of new underwear might have amused her, but now she realized a simple gratitude for the littlest things like that.
The tests resumed, and Gwen faced them all down quietly. If the doctors or techs found anything, they weren’t saying yet, and the silence scared her more than anything else. But there would be a certain sort of relief if she knew it was cancer, or a brain injury, or something identifiable, because there was power to naming something. Certainly, cancer would be catastrophic and possibly fatal, but at least she could be relieved of the not knowing.
They repeated a few of the week’s earliest tests, and reminded her not to eat before her big EEG test in the morning. She had a free late afternoon and decided to hop the Denver light rail to the 16th Street Mall and wander around for an hour or two, just window shopping and taking in the atmosphere. The mile-long strip of shops was lively, even that early, and she stopped to listen to a street musician play a string of banjo covers. It all reminded her so much of the first time she went to Minneapolis with Malcolm. She tipped the man two dollars, and he smiled at her with hasty, distracted gratitude. Before she had to go on her no-food restriction, Gwen stopped for a strawberry milkshake, and sipped it on the way back to the hospital apartment.
She felt… okay. Lonely. Scared. But okay. Whatever was coming with this EEG, she could face it.
What she wasn’t prepared for was nothing.
* * *
Malcolm could sense Dinah watching him out of the corner of his eye. The owner of Matto Furio’s liked to come down and keep tabs on things, even if she seemed to trust him as the manager. It wasn’t the only chain of the franchise she owned, but this one was closest to her home and she thought of it as her head office.