Jasmine lets him have his mini triumph, but she takes the precaution of mentioning the odd turn to Gillian when they are alone.
“Did you ask the doctor about it?” she asks.
“I wanted to, but Petey thought it was nothing. Just one of those things, like when you stand up too quickly. And it might have been, but it lasted too long. I think he was worried they wouldn’t give him more chemo. I know I was.”
“But he’s okay now?”
Jasmine nods. “Seems to be.”
“And his bloodwork came back okay?”
“Well, they said they would go ahead with the chemo.” She shrugs but resolves to call Anna that evening.
Jasmine messages first. Anna’s hours seem to be impossible to predict, although she is only a medical student and not yet a doctor. But she is almost qualified. Another couple of months and Anna will be treating patients. Moreover, Jasmine knows how clever her sister is. And she has a faith in Anna’s expertise that would surprise her sister.
Anna calls back immediately.
“You’re up late,” she greets Jasmine.
“I wanted to speak to you. And sometimes it seems you keep vampire time.”
Anna chuckles. “Go you. You’ll be quotingSupernaturalnext.”
“What’s that?”
“A TV programme, m’lud. Honestly, call yourself a student?”
“Well, I’m not getting much studying done. I’m too worried.” Jasmine describes Petey’s turn.
Anna sighs. “What did the doctor say about his bloodwork?”
“All he said was the tumour markers were high but the chemo could go ahead.”
Anna is silent.
“Anna?” she prompts.
“The good news is it’s not anaemia. Otherwise, the chemo would be delayed.” Anna’s voice softens. “The bad news is high tumour markers mean the chemo isn’t working, Jasmine. He’s doing another round just to see, but the outlook isn’t good.”
“Oh.” Jasmine collapses back on the bed, stunned. This is one piece of news she doesn’t intend to share with Petey or his mum.
She sees Anna turn away and can hear her light tapping. Anna comes back to the screen. “I’ve just checked. The drug they are using is effective in seventy-five per cent of cases.”
“That still means it doesn't work for one person out of every four. How is that even possible?”
“Oncology is a different world.”
When she disconnects from talking to Anna, Jasmine lies down in her bed, but sleep is elusive. She needs to stop thinking about cancer, so she opens her laptop and starts reading through some academic papers, preparing to take notes. But somehow, an analysis of voting patterns in young adults seems irrelevant compared to the momentous news her sister has just given her. That chemotherapy drugs don’t work on everyone. For some reason, she had assumed they always work but lose their effectiveness over time. She cannot understand how she missed this obvious issue. And she cannot bring herself to care about politics tonight.
Petey starts the cycle of chemotherapy. He sleeps more often in the reclining armchair in the front room. Drifting in and out of wakefulness, watching the world go by without him. The school bus stops across the road, letting the local kids dismount and scatter. Jasmine realises it was only five years before that Petey himself was one of them. The anti-sickness drugs help but still he is losing weight, despite the steroids. His appetite disappears. Gillian even re-introduces meat into the house, in case a morsel of bacon can revive his taste buds, but it is to no avail. She capitulates and buys him a couple of tracksuit bottoms with smaller waist sizes, but his height hasn’t diminished and his legs seem to stick way beyond the ends of them.
The day before her exams begin, Jasmine is upstairs trying to revise when she hears Gillian call from below, her voice urgent and fearful. Jasmine swings out of her chair and dashes down the stairs. Petey is lying angled across the kitchen floor, flat on his back, with Gillian straddling his body, pushing down on his chest with all her might. Jasmine doesn’t need Gillian’s instruction to call an ambulance. She already has her phone out of her pocket and is dialling the emergency services.
When the operative asks, “Is the patient breathing?”, she replies, “No. His mother is doing CPR.” Jasmine watches Gillian pause to hold Petey’s nose and puff into his mouth before she goes back to the compressions. She wonders when and where Gillian learnt to do resuscitation, but the operative interrupts her thought, asking her to open the front door. They stay on the line while Jasmine waits in the front garden.
Two minutes later, flashing lights give warning before an estate car emblazoned in yellow-and-green checkerboard stickers pulls to a halt on the road outside. A man gets out, a green-clad angel. He moves with fast but definite movements, extracting a case and striding to the door. Jasmine shows him to the kitchen and watches as he opens his case and removes a pair of scissors. He cuts the front of Petey’s T-shirt, hem to neck, and peels the edges apart to expose a pale, hairless chest. With a start, Jasmine notices how thin Petey has become, how his ribs are the only thing stopping his skin from collapsing.
One by one, the paramedic places the pads. Beside her, Jasmine can hear Gillian praying, “Don’t let this be it! Please, dear God, don’t let this be it!” Jasmine feels like a traitor herself, because she is thinking,Maybe this is best. If the chemo isn’t working, a quick, painless death might be better. Maybe, this is the best we can hope for.
