Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
collywobbles (n.): intense anxiety, especially with queasiness
What is taking so long? I brush Chase’s mop of hair off his forehead, desperate for the doctor to return with the result of his scan. Chase winces in his sleep. Does he need more drugs? I can’t have my son in pain like this.
Especially when it’s my fault.
As I imagine the writhing abdominal pain I’m told Chase endured for hours, the pit in my own stomach grows bigger, hotter.
It sears. To think, while I was sloshing around a bucolic lake and canoodling with a man, my child lay in agony on a cot in some office while ranch staff attempted (and failed!) to reach me.
A text comes in. Wyatt again. I pocket my phone without responding.
I’ll forever be grateful for the way he took action without asking questions, wordlessly flinging his pack in the truck bed and starting the motor while I frantically waited for Nina to answer my call.
Vaguely I recall him reaching over to fasten my seat belt as we blasted down the mountain in a cloud of volcanic dust.
But now it’s shame, not dust, billowing around me.
Chase deserves a mother who will put his needs first every time, not some self-centered flirt trying to resurrect her schoolgirl days, entertaining a crush.
I’m done with it. Done with all the moony-eyed, adolescent dreaming about where my life might lead, and whose loving arms I might fall into every night.
That woman no longer exists.
I memorize Chase’s freckles. Drink in the curve of his mouth. How much longer will his cheeks hold this baby fat? By hell and by high water, my story led me here, to this beautiful young man before me. And it is enough.
Oh, God! Make Chase okay, and I promise I will cherish him and treasure every moment you give us. Let him go back to being my beloved alien planet, and me to being his sun.
Nina offered to stay, of course, when at last we arrived at the hospital. But I couldn’t have her shelling out money she didn’t have on a babysitter. “You go on,” I insisted. “I’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t fine, and we both knew it. But I needed to be not fine alone.
I insisted Wyatt leave as well, as he’s on duty at the station tonight. I couldn’t worry about other people, couldn’t handle seeing the concern in their eyes. Not now. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t pray.
I just need my son to be okay.
I watch Chase sleep the deepest sleep of his lifetime and whisper over him, “Oh, sweetheart.”
A screeching sound startles me. The curtain surrounding Chase’s hospital bed being yanked open. The doctor enters, carrying a clipboard and speaking at full volume. Chase doesn’t so much as twitch.
“We’re still waiting on the radiologist’s report,” he says. “But toxicology looks good.”
Am I supposed to respond? My mouth is parched. What questions would a good mother ask?
They spotted something in the CT scan, he explains, speaking so fast I can barely track. I hear “inconclusive.” Something about ordering an MRI. “I certainly don’t want to do any unnecessary biopsying,” he says.
Biopsy?
The word squeezes bile up my throat. It burns there. I might vomit.
Mikey.
Is this how it started with my little brother? This rings a bell, or more like a siren. We’ve always known there was a chance of there being a genetic component to his rare type of cancer.
Cancer.
Am I supposed to bring this to the doctor’s attention?
The question stays lodged in my throat like a chicken bone that could slice me from the inside out if I dare speak it. A better mom would, of course. A braver mom.
Chase’s frequent tummy aches. Repeatedly I was assured by his pediatrician that digestive complaints are common in autistic children.
I’m such a fool. A better mother would have pushed for better answers. Oh, God. If Chase is sick, it’s my doing!
The doctor leans over Chase. Clicks on his penlight. Shines it in one eye, then the other.
If only Mom were here. Why won’t she answer my calls?
But no. I’m supposed to know how to handle this without my parents’ help. I chose this. Chose to go it alone, as if I wouldn’t ever need the support of family.
Still, she would know what to do, the right questions to ask.
The doctor is stoic, his expression inscrutable. Is he withholding something?
Did my parents get their first dose of bad news about Mikey, news that would forever rock their lives, from a bunch of strangers in a strange, sterile little room?
What if this is the last moment of the before. I refuse to live through the after. The knowing. A diagnosis.
No. I refuse!
God, do you hear me? I refuse!
My breaths come rapid-fire. A hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t even heard the nurse come in. I focus on her mouth, but her words make no sense. Lips, thin. Parting, forming a question. Her bottom teeth are crowded.
“. . . something to drink?”
“I . . .” There’s so much thumping, thumping between my ears. A tree trunk across my chest. “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay. I’ll just bring you some water. Do you prefer carbonated?”
“Sure,” I say. Make it all stop.
It’s too cold. Too impersonal. I can’t do this alone.
God, help. I’m out of my depth. I’m not strong enough to be alone in this.
What else do you require of me? Take everything, God!
Take anything but my son.
***
Carly
After participating in a morning roundtable discussion here in St. Louis, I couldn’t be more relieved to be returning to the hotel . . . blessedly, this time to Roger.
A tone sounds when I wave the door key card over the scanner, and the light turns green. Before I can open the door, though, Roger opens it for me.
And I’m not keen on the way he’s looking at me. That forcible calm of his. The kind of look meant to keep me from freaking out.
“What is it?” I say. “What’s wrong?”
“Come sit down, hon.”
“You know I won’t sit down. Whatever it is, out with it. I’m sure it’s going to be okay.”
He reaches out, clasps my upper arms. A steadying grip. “We got a call from Lucy’s neighbor. Chase is at the emergency room being evaluated.”
“Evaluated? What for?”
“Abdominal pain.”
“Pain? How bad?”
“Apparently excruciating.”
“Oh, my poor boy. What do they think? Is it his appendix? Remember that happened with Vanessa? Actually, right around his age.”
“It’s not his appendix. We’ll know more soon.”
Time slows. Then stops. “Oh. I see.” Then, an interminable silence. My mind, flooded with details long suppressed. Every sound, every smell of the hospital where we spent so much time.
Mikey.
I’m seized by nausea. Cover my mouth with my hand. “Are you thinking . . . ?”
“I’m not thinking, Carly. I’m waiting for more information. And you’d be wise to do the same.”
All I know is that my girl has got to be terrorized by the same thoughts that now terrorize me.
And I won’t let her go through this alone.
“I’m sure there’s nothing we can do at this t—”
“You’re right! You’re absolutely right. There is absolutely nothing we can do from here, but . . .” On a ragged exhale, for no one’s ears but mine, I hear myself whimper, “But she needs her mother.”
“I knew you’d say that. Which is why I’ve booked us a flight. But we need to leave right away.”
Only now do I notice my suitcases already sitting by the door.
This I can do. I can do “go” mode. “I’ll call Yvonne. Let her handle the repercussions. But, babe, we can’t go empty-handed. What’s that candy bar Chase loves?” I’m babbling. Walking in circles. “Would they have them at Walmart?”
Roger draws me into his arms. “Hey . . . hey now,” he coos, then pulls back, looks deep into my eyes. “Courage, dear heart.”
Words meant to penetrate.
“Okay, but let’s . . .”
Oh.
Oh my.
Oh my, what a tender God.
Only now do the tears come.