19. Lissa
Lissa
The next morning is Saturday, and the day of our appointment at the hospital. I lie in bed with Henry beside me, the swelling of his belly all the more prominent when he’s on his back.
He’s been complaining about discomfort most mornings, and although we have pain meds for when it’s really sore, I’m relieved that the surgery will happen quickly after this appointment.
He’s so peaceful, I don’t want to wake him.
I hate the idea of him going into surgery without me. I want to be with him the whole time, holding his hand, telling him that he’s going to be okay.
Henry stirs, rolling over as his eyes flutter open, and he gives me the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen.
“Hey, Mommy.”
“Hey, baby, did you sleep okay?”
He nods, yawning and sitting up, rubbing his eyes. “Are we having pancakes for breakfast?” he asks hopefully.
“You can’t have pancakes every day, Hen. We need to make sure you get good food, remember?”
“Just one?”
I sigh. I really am a pushover with this kid. “Alright, but we have to leave soon for the hospital.”
His little face doesn’t change; he just nods. It makes my heart ache to think how brave he is. Ever since we found out what was wrong, and he knew he was going to have surgery, he’s been quiet and thoughtful about it all.
I roll out of bed, smiling at the sound of his little footsteps pattering behind me.
“The puppy’s name is Steve,” he says as I start pulling the ingredients for pancakes out of the cabinets.
“The yellow puppy you told me about?”
He nods, sitting down at the table. “Gregory said it went to the bathroom behind the TV and the TV exploded.”
“Wow,” I say, laughing. “I think we’d need a bigger place if we got a dog, Hen. It would be kind of tiny in here, don’t you think?”
He looks around the apartment and smiles. “I like it here.”
“I’m glad, sweetie, I like it here, too,” I lie. I hate this apartment. I hate the smell as you walk in the front door, I hate our neighbor who smokes all day, and I hate the couple upstairs who scream at each other from dawn until dusk.
But I love my son, and being away from his father is better for both of us.
I swallow hard as I try to fight the fear in my chest. I can’t get the thought of a lonely operating room out of my mind, Henry’s tiny body lying on the bed with men and women staring down at him as they cut him open.
I wipe at my eyes, hiding my tears from him as I whisk the pancake batter.
“Can we have chocolate chips?” he asks.
“I don’t think we have milk chocolate, sweetie, just dark, last time you didn’t like that as much.”
“You like them, Mom. Put chocolate chips in for you.”
I twist around and blow him a kiss. He beams at me, and I add so much chocolate into the pancakes that we’ll probably both be in a sugar coma by the time we see the doctor.
The hospital lobby is enormous, with thick metal struts across the roof, bustling staff walking over the floor, and a high, glossy finish to everything.
Henry and I travel up to the third floor to meet with the doctor, but the closer we get, the quieter Henry becomes.
I can’t even imagine what it’s like for a six-year-old to process what he’s about to go through, if he even can. I feel useless and stupid for not having prepared him better, wishing I could make all this go away and just take him home.
His face is pale as we leave the elevator, but the hallway we step into has a huge picture of three cheerful bullfrogs in front of us. One of them has a speech bubble next to his mouth welcoming us to “The Jungle Wing,” and they’re all giving a thumbs-up.
Henry looks at them, then up at me.
“They look silly,” he says. “Bullfrogs don’t have thumbs.”
“Is that right?” I ask, smiling.
“And that one has a cowboy hat on.”
“Oh, well, all bullfrogs have cowboy hats, Hen,” I say, winking down at him as he giggles. “How else can they ride the dragonflies?”
Some of the color is returning to his cheeks as we walk up to the receptionist, who shows us where to go. There are two small waiting rooms to her right, both painted in bright colors with red and green chairs.
Henry gravitates toward the toys in the corner, and I sit down alongside three other sets of parents and their kids.
One girl is next to her mother playing with a fidget spinner that lights up around the edges, and I stare at its mesmerizing colors for a moment, breathing slowly to try to calm my nerves.
I’m the only single parent in the room. All the other groups look like real families. Worried thoughts plague me as I watch them.
Maybe I should tell James. This is his son! Is it terrible of me to keep his son’s health issues from him?
But I know too well what will happen if he finds out the truth. All my power will be removed, and he’ll insist on using his health insurance plan to help Henry. I won’t be given any say in what happens to my son after that.
Insurers and hospitals follow the money in cases like this. If James can prove he can pay the bills, he will do what he always does, slowly but surely limit my contact with Henry, take over his care, and eventually take him away from me altogether.
He’s done this to me so many times already. That’s how he began to control my finances, how he convinced me to come off the pill, how he trapped me when I got pregnant. James is a master manipulator, and he’s used to getting his way.
If he finds out about Henry, it will only be a matter of time before I have to choose between James’s fists and watching my son grow up.
“Mrs. Davenport?”
I look up to see Dr. Erkhart standing in the doorway. She’s in her mid-forties, with laugh lines around her eyes. She looks like a person who smiles constantly, and as her gaze moves to Henry, I can see why.
She grins at him mischievously as she approaches us, holding her hand out, not to me, but to him.
“You must be Henry,” she says as he looks at me uncertainly.
“Yes,” he says, and the doctor nods, taking something from the paperwork in front of her and handing it to him.
“They told me you were coming. You’re very important.”
Henry looks down at the little sticker she has given him. By a happy twist of fate, it’s a yellow golden retriever wagging its tail that says “you’re so brave” underneath.
Henry doesn’t say anything before he peels it off its backing and moves to stick it to his shirt. Then, at the last second, he changes his mind and hands it to me.
“My mom is brave,” he says firmly. “She should have it.”
My gaze meets the doctor’s, and she smiles sadly at me as she shows us into the room. The office is bright and airy with a little window open on the far wall that lets in the smell of freshly mown grass and the faint sound of traffic below.
I sit at the desk as Henry walks to the edge of the room, where there is a pile of stuffed toys in the corner.
“Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Davenport. Did you find us okay?” the doctor asks.
“Yes, fine, thank you. I appreciate you making the time, and for all the information you gave me on the phone.”
“I know that this is scary for you both, but he’s in good hands. This disease is something I’ve worked with for most of my career, and with the right treatment, Henry has a very good chance of a full recovery.”
I nod, clinging to her words like a lifeline. “That’s great.”
“I’d like to get Henry in for surgery as early as we can. The good news is, we have an opening. Prep would be today, and he’d be with us for the next couple of nights with an early-morning surgery on Monday. Does that work for you?”
I stare at her, totally blindsided by the speed at which it’s happening. I was expecting a week or so before it took place, and the idea that it’s going to be in less than forty-eight hours is overwhelming, to say the least.
“Uh… I … I have to work Monday,” I say lamely, thinking feverishly about whether I’ll be able to get the time off. I’ve just started the job, not to mention the horribly awkward moment with Oliver yesterday.
What if he’s already decided to fire me over that?
“Of course, I understand, and I appreciate the circumstances with your ex-husband. Later next week is also an option, just let me know when might work, but the sooner we can get him into surgery, the sooner the follow-up treatment can start.”
“How long will the surgery last?”
“Usually about three to four hours. Sometimes it can be longer, but I’m hopeful that Henry’s won’t be a complex procedure. If we can get him in later today, we can run the bloodwork, CT Scan and MRI, and that’ll put us in good shape for the surgery.”
I nod, glancing over at my son, feeling totally freaked out.
“The details I have on file say you’re self-pay. Is that correct? We don’t have any insurance listed for you.” Dr. Erkhart’s voice is wary.
I swallow. “That’s right.”
“Lissa, I want you to focus on Henry’s care right now, but the cost of this surgery could go over a hundred thousand dollars.”
“I know,” I say, attempting to sound as confident as possible. “I can pay for it.”
She eyes me with concern, glancing at Henry. “Alright. We would usually ask for a deposit with self-pay accounts. I can get that down to ten thousand for you, but that will need to be paid before you bring him in.”
“That’s fine.”
Dr. Erkhart looks at me again, her dark brown eyes soft and questioning. She gives me a tiny nod and begins typing on the computer.
“Do you need me to bring Henry in later today, then?” I ask, trying to get a handle on my racing heartbeat.
“That would be great, if you can. We can get him set up over the weekend. He should be ready to go home in under a week, as long as everything goes well, and then we can start the chemo. But focus on the surgery for now. He’s a little fighter. We’ll get him better.”
I smile faintly at her, already planning in my head what I might need over the next few days.
I can only pray that after less than a week on the job, Oliver and Adelaide will allow me a day to be with my son.
I can’t afford to take more, and the thought of him recovering alone splits my heart in two.
But I have no other choice. If I’m going to pay for this treatment, I have to work.
As Dr. Erkhart shows me the documents and I begin to read through them, I ignore the little voice in my head telling me how stupid I was for touching Oliver yesterday.
I shouldn’t have done it, and it clearly made him uncomfortable. I’ll apologize, and hopefully he’ll give me the benefit of the doubt. I can’t afford to lose this job.
I’m not too proud to beg if I have to.