From Ant to Eagle(53)

CHAPTER 32

THE LAST WEEK BEFORE DAY 27 SEEMED TO CRAWL BY. IT WAS like waiting for a birthday or Christmas—the more I thought about it, the longer it took.

In truth, it wasn’t so much that I wanted Day 27 to come as I needed Day 27 to come. Sure, I wanted answers. I wanted to know that Sammy’s cancer was better and that soon he could come home, but more so, my parents needed to know.

The tension between Mom and Dad had continued to climb the closer Day 27 got. It got to the point that they couldn’t even be in the same room. When Dad came, Mom made an excuse to leave—a fundraiser meeting, a coffee, a walk—something to get out. Then when Dad went home Mom returned and sat next to Sammy on the bed, running her fingers across his head, just like she used to when he had hair, reading another book about cancer. She must have read every book on cancer possible. Which meant that she knew just about everything there was to know about Sammy’s cancer. It also meant she understood when the doctors jabbered on in the mornings about platelets and red blood cells and medicines with fancy names. She knew what Sammy needed when he was throwing up or had a tummy ache or couldn’t sleep. She knew tons, which meant she could answer my questions. Well, most of them.

“Mom, how long will Sammy have to stay in the hospital?” I asked one evening while I ate my cafeteria dinner on the cot.

“That depends, honey,” she said, not looking up from her book.

Sammy was asleep next to her so I thought it was an okay time to ask about his cancer.

“Depends on what?” I asked.

“Well, it depends on how the cancer responds to the chemotherapy.”

I knew that already. I knew we were waiting for the answer from the bone needle, but I wanted to know how long after the bone needle.

“No, I mean, like, if Sammy’s bones don’t have any more cancer, how long after that? Do we get to go home right away?”

Mom put her book down on her knee and looked at me. “No, it doesn’t work like that. These first twenty-seven days are called induction therapy,”—I repeated the word induction in my head—“after that Sammy will need a few more months of chemotherapy to be sure it doesn’t come back.”

“How many more months?”

“Two, maybe three. I’m not sure exactly.”

“So, no matter what, he’ll still be here at least another two or three months,” I whined.

“No, he could probably come home for those two or three months. He would only have to come back once a week for the chemotherapy. It’s only during the induction therapy that he has to stay in the hospital.”

“Why?”

“Because the chemotherapy they use during the induction therapy is very strong. His body is so wiped out that if he went home he’d be at risk for picking up an infection.”

“Like the flu?”

“Yes, like the flu.”

“So that’s why we can’t come to the hospital if we have a cold or something?”

Mom nodded.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Jenny walk into the room. She began adjusting something on Sammy’s IV pump. The nurses were always coming in and out.

“And what happens if his bone needle shows that the chemotherapy didn’t work?”

Mom’s face looked a little stern. “Let’s not worry about that.”

“But would he have to stay in the hospital for six hundred days?”

“Six hundred days?” Mom said. “Why would you think that?”

“Because the chemotherapy didn’t work for Oliver and he’s been here for 670-something days.”

“Oh,” Mom said. She looked like she was thinking but I guess she couldn’t think of anything to say because we just sat looking at each other.

Finally, Jenny spoke from where she was still adjusting the IV pump. “You don’t have to worry about Sammy being here as long as Oliver. Oliver could have left here a long time ago if he wanted.”

Jenny turned and looked at the door as if she was nervous about what she’d just said. Oliver’s room was right next door, I guess she was worried he might have heard.

“Oliver isn’t here because he wants to be,” I said a little angrily. “Oliver can’t eat without his IV or else he throws up. He’s here because he needs the medicine.”

Jenny lifted one eyebrow. “Really?” she asked, still going about fixing Sammy’s tubing. “Have you ever seen Oliver gag or throw up?”

I was about to respond but had to stop and think. I scanned my memories for a time I’d seen Oliver throwing up. I hadn’t. I hadn’t even seen him look nauseous before, and I knew what that looked like because Sammy was always nauseous.

“Then why is he still here?” I asked.

Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know. Only Oliver does. Anyway, I really shouldn’t be telling you all of this. I just didn’t want you worrying that Sammy would be here that long. Oliver is a bit of an anomaly. Not that we mind, we love having him here.”

The next day at school I told Aleta about what Jenny had told me. We tried to figure out why anyone would want to stay that long in the hospital. It didn’t make sense. Especially after everything Oliver had told us about wanting to see the world. You’d think if that were true he would be itching to get out. I wanted to ask him but Jenny had made me promise not to say anything.