Page 107 of What Should Have Been Ours

42

Cameron

Coming back to New York for my residency was supposed to be a fresh start. And it was. For a while, I gave this hospital a new purpose in my mind. I started to make new memories here to replace any of the bad ones. Instead of being a sick kid here, it became my work, the place where I walked the halls in a white coat, where I comforted parents, cracked jokes with patients, and strategized treatments with colleagues.

But now? Now, it’s a place I’m fighting to get out of again. A place I’m stuck in, even when I’m not in-patient.

I glance at the to-go cup in my hand, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping through my fingers. It doesn’t taste as good as when Gabrielle is sharing one with me, but it’s enough to keep me a little grounded right now. Because the truth is, my mind isn’t in a good place.

My check-up appointment had gone as expected. More tests. Adjusting my pain meds. More discussions about the transplant. I should be relieved that they think I have a good shot. That the chemo has done enough to at least get me to the transplant stage. But it doesn’t change the fact that they still haven’t found a match. Sometimes it just takes a while, they said, like I don’t already know how this all goes.

The thing is—I don’t have a while. My body isn’t as strong as it used to be. And sometimes, when I wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck, I wonder if I’m strong enough to do it this time around. When I was younger, my body could put up more of a fight. Now, after it’s already been through this before, my body is done putting up a fight. It doesn’t want to anymore.

Finishing up my appointment, I’m supposed to be heading back home, but—I don’t want to go home—not yet. I just need something to bring my spirits back up a little. Instead, I find myself on the peds oncology floor.

The second I step out of the elevator, it’s like muscle memory. The familiar hum of machines, the distant sounds of cartoons playing on TVs, and the quiet murmurs of nurses moving in and out of each room. It’s strange, being here without a purpose. Without a white coat.

I stop by a few patient rooms, saying hi to the kids I’ve worked with, cracking jokes, pretending like I’m not fighting the same battle they are now.

It’s not until I find Maya’s room that I finally slow down. She’s curled up in her hospital bed, wearing a pink headscarf covered in cartoon pandas, and her parents perk up when they see me, their tired smiles warming a little.

“Dr. Hayes!” Maya beams, sitting up straighter.

“Hey, superstar,” I say, stepping inside. “How’s my favorite seven-year-old doing today?”

Her mom chuckles. “She’s been giving the nurses a hard time, so I’d say she’s doing just fine.”

“Good,” I smirk. “Keep ‘em on their toes.”

Maya eyes the cup in my hand. “Are you drinking hot chocolate without me?”

I hold it up. “Listen, I didn’t know if you were in the mood, and I wasn’t about to risk being yelled at if you weren’t.”

She huffs. “You should’ve risked it.”

I grin, then settle into the chair beside her bed. “I’ll make it up to you. What’s the going rate for forgiveness these days?”

Maya leans back, crossing her arms dramatically. “One game of Uno.”

I shake my head. “Maya, I can’t keep letting you destroy my dignity like this.”

“You don’t let me,” she corrects. “You just suck at Uno.”

Her parents laugh, and before I know it, I’m shuffling a deck of cards and settling in.

It’s easy, falling into this. Letting the world outside this room disappear for a little while. I don’t think about the transplant, or the match I still don’t have, or how my body feels like it’s constantly telling me to give in. I just focus on Maya absolutely annihilating me in Uno.

Over an hour passes before I hear footsteps at the door.

“Alright, I know I’m exhausted, but I swear I just saw a ghost.”

I look up to find Wes standing there, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Maya grins. “He’s not a ghost, just a bad Uno player.”

Wes snorts. “That tracks.”

I sigh, setting my cards down. “What are you doing here?”