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I stand and offer my hand. I mean to introduce myself, but what comes out is, “Is that the standard-issue uniform?”
She looks down at her clothes, a piece of prematurely gray hair falling across her forehead. “My scrubs? Unfortunately not. If they were, I wouldn’t have had to pay so much for them.”
“I’m Saine Sinclair. I’m a friend of Trevor Michaels.” I hold up my camera. “I’m making a documentary and was hoping you had five minutes for an interview?”
She glances uneasily at the camera. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out specific information about a patient. It violates HIPAA—you know, patient confidentiality.”
I feel my chance slipping between my fingers. “Is there a way we can just speak vaguely about the type of leukemia he has? No specifics about Trevor himself?”
“Possibly.” She brushes aside that stray hair. “What are your questions?”
After getting her to say on film who she is and that she consents, I fire them off and she gives me textbook answers, no emotions, just things I could Google myself if I couldn’t fall asleep and needed to bore myself. It’s frustrating, but probably the best I’m going to get. As we’re wrapping up, I do somethingI’m not supposed to. It’s against the unspoken code of documentarians, morally gray as fuck, and I know I shouldn’t do it—but if only the Temple University admissions department is going to see it...
“Okay, thank you.” I pretend to hit the record button, so she thinks I’ve stopped, and I fold my arms across my chest, the camera angled at her face as best as I can manage, even though I’ll most likely use this as a voiceover. “Off the record”—a downright lie—“is Trevor going to be okay?”
“It changes day by day.” She smiles weakly. “It’s hard to watch sometimes, but the good days make it worth it, and there seem to be more good than bad lately.”
“Is there... I mean, just tell it to me straight. Is there a chance he could die?” I’m looking for the logical answer. TheWell, duh, it’s a statistical fact that everyone diesanswer. I’m the worst, but she is the best.
“Everyone dies eventually.” She sets a hand gently on my elbow. “His chances are probably higher than yours, but it doesn’t mean we give up hope. We’re all really hopeful for Trevor. He’s a fighter and things are looking better each day.”
With a squeeze, she lets go. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go. I hope your documentary turns out well.”
Once she’s rounded the corner and her footsteps retreat down the hall, I finish recording, feeling only a little guilty. She said he’ll most likely be okay and I refuse to believe anything else, but stories about overcoming cancer play well; there are built-in stakes. I can work with this—at least I’m not faking the story anymore.
Nope. and friends
Today 11:41 AM
Kayla
Heeeeyyyyy
11:41 AM
DMS
Thanks for the reminder
11:41 AM
DMS has left the group chat.
Ew. Bye bitch
11:45 AM
Corrine
Good riddance, honestly
11:46 AM
Juniper
Should I have left the chat instead?
11:47 AM
