Page 2 of The Heartbreakers
“Same as usual,” Drew said as he stood up and stretched. “You?”
“I’m doing well, thanks. Just here to check up on Cara.” To her she said, “You need anything, dear?” but Cara shook her head.
“Are you kicking us out?” I asked. Visiting hours would be over soon and that meant it was time for Cara’s nightly meds, which included penicillin and a long list of other stuff I couldn’t pronounce.
“No,” Jillian said. “You still have time, but I figured you’d want to run down to the cafeteria before it closes.”
The thought of food made my stomach rumble. I’d gone straight to the hospital from the sculpture garden, so I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. “That’s probably a good idea.” I wrapped my camera strap around my neck and stood up. “See you tomorrow, punk.”
I wanted to lean over and give her a kiss, but I couldn’t.
Cara had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It was a type of cancer that originates in lymphocytes—white blood cells—which are part of the body’s immune system. Normally, people with non-Hodgkin’s were treated as outpatients. They would come to the hospital on a daily basis to receive treatment before going home, and during her first two bouts of cancer, Cara was an outpatient too. Every day my mom would drive her to the hospital and her drugs were administered through an IV. It normally took about an hour, and sometimes Drew and I would tag along and do homework in the waiting room.
But Cara recently had complications with her appendix and it had to be removed. Since her white blood cell count was so low, her doctors were concerned she was at risk of infection, and she had to stay at the hospital for a few weeks. When we visited, we were required to wear masks over our mouths, and we couldn’t touch Cara because there was a chance we could get her sick.
I knew being away from home was hard for her, and it was frustrating that I couldn’t even comfort her with a hug.
“You know where to find me,” she said and rolled her eyes.
“Get some rest for me, okay?” Drew said in parting. Then he turned to me. “Ready? I’m hungry.”
“Yup,” I responded. “Me too.” We said one last quick good-bye, and then we were out the door, heading in the direction of the cafeteria.
“Think they’ll have those caramel pudding cups today?” Drew asked as we made our way down the familiar hospital halls.
“Man, I love those things,” I said, “but I doubt it. Haven’t seen any in a while.”
“Lame.”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking about our day. “Pretty lame is right.”
• • •
Every day, Drew and I would mention one positive thing that had happened during the time we spent with Cara. The thing about hospitals is that they’re breeding grounds for fear. If you don’t constantly remind yourself about the good, the bad will seep in and take over. Because when one of your family members gets cancer, you all get cancer. It might not be the same kind, but it will still eat at you until there’s nothing left inside.
The tradition started when Cara was diagnosed the first time, back when we were freshmen in high school. It hadn’t really hit me that my sister was sick, that I could actually lose her, until she had a diagnostic treatment and stayed in the hospital while her doctors identified the location, extent, and stage of her cancer. Our mom brought Drew and me in to see her, and all around us were children in various stages of decline, some further along than others.
That was the first time I felt the fear. It buried its nails in my chest, lifted me clear off the ground, and said, “See those kids? Those kids are actually dying.” And that made me wonder—if my sister was here, did that make her one of those kids too?
“What’s your positive?” I asked Drew when we reached his old Honda Civic on the far side of the hospital parking lot. He was fiddling with his keys, and even though I knew my door was still locked, I yanked on the handle.
“The caramel pudding cup,” he said. The locks popped up with a click when he found the right key. “That shit was delicious.”
“A pudding cup?” I repeated as we both climbed into the car. “That’s your positive?”
“It’s that or the fact that the Wi-Fi was in an obliging mood today.”
I was battling with my seat belt, trying to untangle it and pull it forward, but Drew was being so odd that I let it fly back into place. “Are you being serious?” I asked as I stared at him. “Because I honestly can’t tell right now.”
“What does that mean?” he said. “Pudding cups are serious business.”
I blinked slowly and deliberately. Up until today, our positives had always been meaningful, something to keep us going. If pudding became the only redeeming part of our day, then we were in trouble.
Drew started laughing, and I smacked him on the shoulder. “Not funny,” I grumbled.
“I was only teasing, Stella. Lighten up.”
“Sorry,” I said, reaching for my seat belt a second time. “I only narrowly avoided making Cara cry today.”
