Page 85 of Maybe in Another Life

I look over at the nurses and then peek through the windows as we move farther down the hall. It’s mostly toddlers and elementary-school-age kids. I see a few teenagers. Almost all of them are in hospital beds, hooked up to machines, as I have been. A lot of them wear stockings or caps. It occurs to me that they are covering their bald heads.

“OK,” Gabby says. “You’re right. We’re lost.”

I pull over to the side of the hallway.

“I’m just going to go ask a nurse for a map,” Gabby says.

“OK,” I say.

From my vantage point, I can see into one room with two kids in it. The kids are talking. Two preteen girls in separate beds. A doctor is standing to the side, talking to a set of parents. Both parents look confused and distraught. The doctor leaves. As he does, I can see there is a nurse standing with them. The nurse starts to leave, too, and the parents catch her at the door. They are close enough to me now that I can make out the conversation.

“What did all of that mean?” the mom says.

The nurse speaks gently. “As Dr. Mackenzie said, it’s a bone cancer mostly found in adolescents. It can sometimes occur in families. It’s rare, but possible, that multiple siblings may develop it. That’s why he wants to see your younger daughter, too. Just to be sure.”

The mom starts crying. The dad rubs her back. “OK, thank you,” the dad says.

The nurse doesn’t leave then, though. She stays. “Sophia is a fighter. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. And Dr. Mackenzie is an exceptional pediatric oncologist. I mean, exceptional. If it was my daughter here—my daughter is eight, her name is Madeleine—I’m telling you, I’d be doing exactly what you are doing. I’d put her in the hands of Dr. Mackenzie.”

“Thank you,” the mom says. “Thanks.”

The nurse nods. “If you need anything, if you have any questions, just page me. I’ll answer any I can, and if I can’t”—she looks them in the eye, assuring them—“I will get Dr. Mackenzie to explain. In simple terms, if he can manage it,” she says, making a joke.

The dad smiles. The mom, I notice, has stopped crying.

They end their conversation just as Gabby comes back with the map. Both Gabby and the nurse can now tell I’ve been eavesdropping. I quickly look away, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been caught.

Gabby pushes my chair down the hallway.

“I can do it,” I say. I take the wheels. When we are far enough away, I ask her, “Was that the kids’ cancer ward?”

“It says ‘Pediatric Oncology Department,’ ” she says. “So yeah.”

I don’t say anything for a moment, and neither does she.

“We’re actually not that far from your room,” she says. “I just missed a left.”

“Being a nurse... seems like a hard job. But fulfilling,” I say.

“My dad has always said it’s the nurses who provide the care,” she says. “I always thought it was kind of a cheesy double entendre, but his point always made sense.”

I laugh. “Yeah, he could just say, ‘Nurses might not be the ones who cure you, but they certainly make you feel better.’ ”

Gabby laughs. “Tell him that, will you? Maybe he’ll use that one from now on.”

Idon’t know what you’re supposed to wear to tell your new boyfriend, who used to be your ex-boyfriend and is the man you are pretty much convinced is the love of your life, that you are having a baby with another man.

I decide on jeans and a gray sweater.

I brush my hair so many times it develops a shine to it, and then I put it up in my very best high bun.

Before I head out the door, I offer, one more time, to stay home with Charlemagne and Gabby.

“Oh, no,” Gabby says. “Absolutely not.”

“But I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says. “I mean, you know, I won’t be fine. That was a lie. But I’ll be fine in the sense that I’m not going to burn the house down or anything. I’ll be just as sad when you get back. If it’s any consolation.”

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