From Ant to Eagle(44)

He’d reached up and touched the top of his head.

“You’ve still got lots left,” I said, which I don’t think was the right thing to say because in only a few short days he didn’t.

BY THE FIFTEENTH day of treatment, Sammy’s tummy pain was getting so bad that he couldn’t eat. When I asked Dr. Parker why, he told me it was because the army of cells the cancer was building was fast so the medicines he gave had to kill fast-multiplying cells. Unfortunately those medicines couldn’t tell which cells were cancer and which were normal. So the normal cells that grew quickly—like mouth and stomach and hair—all got killed. That’s why his hair was falling out and why he needed a feeding tube—a yellow straw that went in his nose like all the other kids had. It reminded me of a gas pump—except the tube put food into Sammy’s tummy rather than gasoline.

When the next weekend started I wasn’t feeling as optimistic as the one before. Either the hole I’d created during the summer was too big or Sammy’s symptoms were too much for medicines to help—because nothing seemed to make him feel any better.

I came to a new conclusion—Sammy was depressed.

I’d heard of people being depressed from school. One of the kids had said they couldn’t live with their dad anymore because he was depressed. I’d asked Mom what he’d meant and she’d said, “Depressed is when someone is so sad that they just don’t feel like doing anything anymore.”

And that was Sammy.

He was so sad he didn’t feel like doing anything anymore.

He was sad about his cancer, he was sad about his hair, he was sad about his brother abandoning him, and lately, he was sad about how much Mom and Dad fought. Or at least, I was sad about that.

Before Sammy’s cancer Mom and Dad never fought. Well—not never—but almost never. I can think of one or two times they had gotten into an argument about something before Dad had made a joke and Mom had laughed and they’d figured it out. Now that the jokes were over, there was no end to their arguing.

On that particular day it was about Dad reading magazines when Mom wanted him to start reading a cancer book she’d just finished.

“Don’t you want to have some idea of what’s going on around here?” Mom asked.

“I do. I listen to the doctors,” Dad replied, over his magazine. “They’ve spent years reading books so we don’t have to. If it makes you feel better to read up on the names of all the different medicines, go ahead. But that’s not my way and I don’t need you telling me what’s the right way or the wrong way.”

“It’s not just about learning the names of the medicines, it’s about having some idea of what’s going on. It’s about taking some interest in your son. You arrive here late, you leave here early—how do you think that makes Sammy feel?”

“Oh Christ, Liz,” Dad said, throwing his magazine onto the bed next to him. “I’m trying, okay? I really am.”

Their voices had started at a whisper but had grown louder as their argument went on.

Sammy was pretending to be asleep but I knew he was awake. I could always tell when he was awake.

“Maybe if you’d—” Mom started to say something else but I cut her off.

“Sammy’s awake, you know,” I said, and pointed at his bed. Sure enough the lump beneath the covers moved and a little head poked out.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Mom said, looking really guilty. She walked over to his bed. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

She cast a furious glance back at Dad.

“Yeah, sorry, sport,” Dad said. “We’ll try to keep our voices down.”

“Because it would be really nice for once if we didn’t have to listen to your fighting,” I said sharply, standing up in an angry huff and walking to the door. “I’m going to the games room.”

I don’t think they heard. Or at least I don’t think they cared. I had become a shadow on the wall. The healthy son who would still be there next year and the year after that. And I know it was selfish but I felt rejected. The basketball league Dad had promised was gone, school events of any kind weren’t an option, and my parents had already cancelled our Thanksgiving trip to Vermont. Life outside the hospital had been put on hold and I couldn’t help but feel upset.

Mom, Dad, me—we were all feeling the effects of Sammy’s cancer. Day 27 needed to come soon for more reasons than one. We needed answers. More than anything we needed to know that Sammy would be okay—otherwise, we wouldn’t be.





CHAPTER 28

AFTER STORMING OUT OF THE ROOM I’D PLANNED ON GOING TO THE games room and sulking. I was angry and needed to cool off but as I walked past Oliver’s room I heard him call my name. I looked inside to find the whole room crowded with people. By the window there were four women sitting on the bed and they all looked strikingly similar to Oliver’s mom. They wore the same long black dresses with white polka dots and white shirts beneath. Their brown hair was braided into two tight braids across their foreheads and tucked beneath their funny hats or bandanas or whatever you want to call them.

Standing at the end of Oliver’s bed was a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, dark pants and a sooty white shirt. He looked like he’d walked straight off a farm or the set of an old Western movie. Beside the man, like little clones, two boys stood in the exact same outfits.