Page 108 of Finding Jack
Hospice meant…
I didn’t want to think about it.
But when my patient’s dad came back, I stopped by Shelley’s desk again. “Hospice means they decided to stop treatment?”
“It means there was nothing else to do. And now the family can focus on making him comfortable in the time he has left.” Her eyes softened. “This is the first one you’ve lost?”
I nodded, my throat too tight to push words through.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It doesn’t get easier. But we appreciate you being willing to come in here and do this. It’s a godsend for these parents.”
I could only nod again, afraid that if the knot in my throat loosened it would flood out in tears, and I moved on to the next patient.
When I got home that night, I searched Facebook for Tate’s name and found a group his mom had set up to share his journey. I requested to join it, and the next morning before I went to work, I got a notification I’d been approved.
I scrolled through the group whenever I had a free moment at work, going all the way back to the first post where his mom had explained that they’d received a tough diagnosis for Tate, but he was a fighter and they were optimistic that with the love and prayers of the people who loved him and the elite team t Benioff, he was going to beat his illness. I could feel the sincerity and determination in every sentence and in the grinning photos she posted of him from his baseball team and with his little sister.
I checked it every single morning over breakfast before I left for work. Six days later, she posted a picture of Tate asleep in a hospital bed in what looked like a living room, a little girl, maybe three, napping beside him. It said, “Lucy won’t leave his side.”
I set my phone face down and stared at it.
Sean had arrived two days before, and now he sat down across from me with a toasted bagel in front of him.
“Want to go for a run later?”
His words barely registered as I stared at my phone.
“Whoa,” he said, concern creeping into his voice. “You okay?”
I opened the picture and handed it to him. He knew I was volunteering at the hospital because I’d put him down as a reference. “He went on hospice care.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, handing it back. “Did you work with him much?”
“Not really. Just a couple of times.” I made the screen go dark. “I can’t believe how bad this feels.”
He didn’t say anything.
“How did you do this?” I asked.
“That’s the thing. I couldn’t after a while. It never got easier.”
“I committed to a six-month volunteer term,” I said. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this for six months.”
“Ask for a transfer to a different department,” he said. “I’m not going to try to tell you to stick this out, and they’re used to it. They know oncology isn’t for everyone. They’ll understand.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “I didn’t understand.” All I could see was the exhaustion on Tate’s mom’s face when she would slip out to grab a quick dinner, then the memory of the exhaustion on Jack’s during our last conversation. And his words.I hate that you can’t see it for what it is.I’d blithely told him that I did, proud of myself for coming up with such a good argument-ending comeback before I’d walked away from him.
His words played over and over in my head. He was right. I hadn’t seen his retreat for what it was: survival.
It hadn’t even been my job to save Tate, and now his name was carved into my heart. How would I feel if it had been my job to cure him? How would it feel if I carried dozens of names the way I would always carry his?
I didn’t sleep well, and the next night, when it was my shift at the hospital, I stopped and asked Shelley the question that I should have been asking Jack. “Shelley? How do you do this job when you keep losing kids?” How had Jack been able to do it for as long as he did?
She set down the tablet she’d been working on and gave me a resigned look. “Because sometimes we win. Not enough. But sometimes.”
I nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” I started down the hall to find the restroom and splash some cold water on my face before I found my next patient.
“Emily?” Shelley called.
