The Last Letter(11)

Ada brought clean clothes, took Colt for walks, kept me up to date on the business. How odd it was that my obsession with Solitude had been my number three priority behind Colt and Maisie for the last five years, but at this moment felt utterly unimportant.

Days blended together, and my fingers were damn near raw from the internet searching I’d done since Dr. Anderson dropped the C word. Of course they’d told me to stay off the net.

Yeah, right.

I couldn’t remember a damn thing they said half the time. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate, it was as if my brain had shields up and was only taking in what it thought I could handle. Using the internet filled in the gaps that my memory and my notebook couldn’t.

On the fifth day, we gathered in the conference room once again, but this time I had Ada next to me.

“We still don’t know what’s causing it. We’ve tested for all the usual culprits, and they’ve come back negative.”

“Why doesn’t that sound like a good thing?” Ada asked. “You’re saying you haven’t found cancer, but you sound disappointed.”

“Because there’s something there. They just can’t find it,” I said, my voice turning sharp. “The same as Dr. Franklin. Maisie said she hurt, and she was sent home with a diagnosis of growing pains. Then they called it psychosomatic. Now you’re telling me that her blood says one thing, her bones say another, and you’re just out of ideas.”

The men had the good sense to look embarrassed. They should be. They’d gone to years and years of school for this very moment, and they were failing.

“Well, what are you going to do? Because there has to be something. You’re not going to send my little girl home.”

Dr. Anderson opened his mouth, and I knew from the set of his face, the next excuse was coming.

“Oh, hell no,” I snapped before he could get a word out. “We’re not leaving here until you give me a diagnosis. Do you understand me? You will not wash your hands of her, or me. You will not treat her as a mystery you simply couldn’t solve. I didn’t go to medical school, but I can tell you that she’s sick. Her blood work says it. Her hip says it. You did go to medical school, so figure. It. Out.”

Silence roared louder than any excuse they could have given me.

“Ms. MacKenzie.” Dr. Hughes appeared, taking a seat next to Dr. Anderson. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been here, but I split my time between this hospital and Denver Children’s and just returned this morning. I’ve seen your daughter’s test results, and I think I might have one more thing we can test for. It’s incredibly rare, especially in a child this old. And if it is what I think it might be, then we need to act quickly.” A clipboard appeared in front of me with yet another consent. “One signature is all I need.”

“Do it.” My name scrawled across the paper as my hand moved, but it wasn’t a conscious effort. Nothing felt like a choice at the moment.

Two hours later Dr. Hughes appeared in the doorway, and I stepped out, leaving Colt and Maisie wrapped around each other in front of Harry Potter.

“What did you find?”

“It’s neuroblastoma.”

…

Ada followed in my car, Colt strapped into his car seat behind her as we made our way through the curves and bends of I-70 toward Denver. I’d never been in the back of an ambulance, not even when I went into labor with the twins. Now my first trip in one lasted five hours.

They took us immediately to the pediatric cancer floor at the Children’s Hospital. There was no amount of festive cartoon murals on the walls that could have possibly lightened my mood.

Colt walked beside me, his hand in mine, as they wheeled Maisie down the wide hallway. Little heads peeked out of the doors or raced by, some bald, others not. There were kids dressed as superheroes and princesses, and one very charming Charlie Chaplin. A mother with a cup of coffee gave me a tentative, understanding smile as we passed where she sat.

It was Halloween. How had I forgotten? The kids loved Halloween, and they hadn’t said a single word. No costumes, no trick-or-treating, just tests and hospitals, and a mom who couldn’t remember what day it was.

I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want this to be happening.

But it was.

The nurse who checked Maisie into her room made sure we had everything we needed, including a pullout bed that she said both Colt and I were welcome to sleep on.

“Do you have costumes?” she asked, too chipper to like and too kind to dislike.

“I…I forgot it was Halloween.” Was that my voice? So small and wounded? “I’m so sorry, guys,” I said to the twins as they looked up at me with a mix of excitement and disappointment. “I forgot your costumes at home.”

Just another way I’d let them down.

“I’ve got them, no worries,” Ada said, plopping a duffel bag onto the couch. “Wasn’t sure how long we’d be away, so I grabbed what I could think of. Colt, you’re our resident soldier, right?” She handed Colt the plastic-wrapped costume I’d purchased a few weeks ago.

“Yes! Just like Uncle Ryan.”

“And Maisie, our little angel. Want to put these on now, or wait?” Ada asked.

“They’re welcome to get dressed. We actually do a little trick-or-treat around five, so they’ll be all set,” the nurse said. I couldn’t remember her name. I barely remembered my name.