Read Online Losing Streak (The Lane) by Kristine Wyllys - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristine Wyllys
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sense. He sighed again, deeper this time, and ran a hand through his thinning hair before giving me a look of pity. “It’s not the end, Ms. Young. Not nearly. We have her admitted. A day, maybe two. Three at the most. We get some fluids in her. Some antinausea meds to help keep it all down. She’s on the brink of dehydration and that’s dangerous enough for a healthy person. For your mother? It could be fatal. Hospital stays aren’t uncommon for cancer patients, and I’d feel a lot better signing off on her next go at chemo knowing she has a few days’ worth of fluids in her.”
“I can’t afford that.” It came out small, weak. I sounded ashamed and I hated that. Mama had always, always said there was no shame in being poor, only in behaving poorly, and here I was saying it like it was the most awful thing in the world. Because it was. It was the worst.
Mama also used to say money couldn’t buy happiness. Maybe she was right. But it could buy health, damn it, and that was enough for me.
I felt, rather than saw, that look of pity intensify. The cup in my hand had become too interesting to look away from.
“I know it will be hard—”
My head snapped up to glare at him. More faux understanding and put-on compassion. People were full of it.
“Impossible,” I corrected sharply. “It will be impossible.”
“It feels that way right now, I know.”
Now my hands were shaking for a different reason. Everyone acted like they knew, everyone pretended that they understood. No one did. How easy to have sympathy when you were the one delegating the solutions and not the one working on them.
“You don’t. You don’t know even a portion. And I wish everyone would stop saying they did.”
“Believe it or not, Ms. Young, you are not the first to come into my office with financial difficulties. That, much like the hospital visits, is common.” He let out a breath that sounded a little ragged and brought the thick file in his hand up to his chest as if it were a shield.
My eyes were immediately drawn to it. It was Mama’s and it was impossibly thick.
“Do you know why I got into this?”
Money
, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
The cancer business is good.
I shrugged instead.
“My father died from it before I was old enough to shave. He’d been a lawyer, a successful one. My sister and I hadn’t wanted for anything. When he died, we were all but homeless. Cancer, he’d said near the end, is the great equalizer. It doesn’t care who you are or what kind of salary you make. It doesn’t give one damn if you are a good person or a bad one. It’s the ultimate villain because it’s not capable of mercy. It only knows how to destroy and that’s exactly what it does. Destroys everything.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had a hard-on for it.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Rather than look irritated, however, Dr. Shallaby chuckled.
“Not even a little. I hate it. I despise it. And I’ve made it my life’s mission to fight it. But to do that I need my patients, and their families, to fight too. I really do understand. I know exactly where you’re at. But we have to fight. And this is our only option at this point. Your mother needs to be admitted.”
“There’re always other options.”
“Pardon?”
I cleared my throat and met his eye. “There is always another option. Always. I want to know it before I bet on the one you’re proposing. You said you understand, gave me your
Chicken Soup for the Soul
story to back it up. If you truly understand then you know that I need to know every option available.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I don’t like most things.”
He looked up, as if asking the saints or maybe the ceiling for patience to deal with difficult daughters.
“You sign a waiver refusing further treatment and we let nature take its course.”
“Why on earth would I do that? That’s not an option at all! That’s condemning my mama
“I can’t afford that.” It came out small, weak. I sounded ashamed and I hated that. Mama had always, always said there was no shame in being poor, only in behaving poorly, and here I was saying it like it was the most awful thing in the world. Because it was. It was the worst.
Mama also used to say money couldn’t buy happiness. Maybe she was right. But it could buy health, damn it, and that was enough for me.
I felt, rather than saw, that look of pity intensify. The cup in my hand had become too interesting to look away from.
“I know it will be hard—”
My head snapped up to glare at him. More faux understanding and put-on compassion. People were full of it.
“Impossible,” I corrected sharply. “It will be impossible.”
“It feels that way right now, I know.”
Now my hands were shaking for a different reason. Everyone acted like they knew, everyone pretended that they understood. No one did. How easy to have sympathy when you were the one delegating the solutions and not the one working on them.
“You don’t. You don’t know even a portion. And I wish everyone would stop saying they did.”
“Believe it or not, Ms. Young, you are not the first to come into my office with financial difficulties. That, much like the hospital visits, is common.” He let out a breath that sounded a little ragged and brought the thick file in his hand up to his chest as if it were a shield.
My eyes were immediately drawn to it. It was Mama’s and it was impossibly thick.
“Do you know why I got into this?”
Money
, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
The cancer business is good.
I shrugged instead.
“My father died from it before I was old enough to shave. He’d been a lawyer, a successful one. My sister and I hadn’t wanted for anything. When he died, we were all but homeless. Cancer, he’d said near the end, is the great equalizer. It doesn’t care who you are or what kind of salary you make. It doesn’t give one damn if you are a good person or a bad one. It’s the ultimate villain because it’s not capable of mercy. It only knows how to destroy and that’s exactly what it does. Destroys everything.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had a hard-on for it.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Rather than look irritated, however, Dr. Shallaby chuckled.
“Not even a little. I hate it. I despise it. And I’ve made it my life’s mission to fight it. But to do that I need my patients, and their families, to fight too. I really do understand. I know exactly where you’re at. But we have to fight. And this is our only option at this point. Your mother needs to be admitted.”
“There’re always other options.”
“Pardon?”
I cleared my throat and met his eye. “There is always another option. Always. I want to know it before I bet on the one you’re proposing. You said you understand, gave me your
Chicken Soup for the Soul
story to back it up. If you truly understand then you know that I need to know every option available.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I don’t like most things.”
He looked up, as if asking the saints or maybe the ceiling for patience to deal with difficult daughters.
“You sign a waiver refusing further treatment and we let nature take its course.”
“Why on earth would I do that? That’s not an option at all! That’s condemning my mama
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