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“Okay. Tired, not really hungry, but okay.”
“What kinds of food are you able to keep down?”
“Almost everything I eat.”
“She’s been drinking,” I chime in, and my mom narrows her eyes at me. “Well, you have, and I don’t think it’s smart.”
“How often are you drinking?” he asks her, his tone changing from playful to serious.
“Not often, a glass of bourbon every now and then,” she lies.
“Mom,” I scold.
“Fine, a glass of bourbon in the evenings before bed.”
His tone softens as he asks, “Can I ask why you’re drinking?”
“It helps me sleep,” she says quietly, looking at me like she doesn’t want to say more with me in the room with her.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, pressing into her stomach once more. “How’s your pain?”
“About a seven most of the time,” she confesses, and I bite my lip. She has never said she’s in pain, and I feel guilty for not asking that question myself. I honestly forget most of the time that she is even sick because she acts like she always has.
“Have you been taking the medication I prescribed?”
“I haven’t. It makes me feel tired…or more tired than I already am.”
“Mom—”
“I don’t want to sleep my days away.” She pats my hand that’s resting near her hip.
“I hate that you’re in pain.” I wrap my hand around hers and run my fingers over her skin, noticing how thin it feels, how fragile she is.
“I would like to talk to another doctor about pain management and hospice care,” Dr. Rubin says gently.
“Do you really think it’s time for that?”
“Yes,” he says softly, pulling her shirt down, covering her stomach.
“How much longer?” she asks.
“You know I don’t know for sure Josie.”
“Give me your best guess.” She tells him
His eyes come to me then go back to my mom before he says, “A month or two.”
“Wait…a month or two for what?” My voice sounds hysterical to my own ears, but I can’t control it. I feel like my world is crumbling from under my feet.
Her head swings my way and her face goes soft. “Honey—”
“No,” I shake my head, feeling tears pool in my eyes, “I thought you said a few months, not one or two. What about chemo?”
“At this stage, I don’t believe it would help,” Dr. Rubin replies calmly looking as sad as I feel.
“So this is it?” I tilt my head back towards the ceiling, so the tears I feel filling my eyes don’t fall.
“We will do everything within our power to make sure she is comfortable.”
“But she’s not, she’s in pain now,” I retort.
“I’m fine,” she cuts in, and my eyes slice into her.
“You’re dying; you’re not fine. Why don’t you see that?”
“I’m still breathing.”
She is…she is still breathing, while I’m fighting for every breath I take. I know she is dying; I know I will need to accept it, but this is too much. Knowing she will be leaving me sooner than later kills me.
“I’m not ready. I need you here with me.” I choke on the tears that are now falling freely. “It’s not fair,” I whisper, closing my eyes, and her arms wrap around me.
“I know it’s not honey.”
I pull away and rest my forehead against hers, much the same way she used to do when I was little, and whisper, “At least take the pills. I hate the idea of you being in pain.”
“I’ll take them if the pain is unbearable.”
“Your pain’s at a seven, Mom.”
“It’s manageable.”
“You’re so stubborn.” I shake my head.
“And you love me.” She smiles, and I can’t help but to give her a watery smile.
“Dr. Rubin.” She pulls away, looking at him. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”
“I don’t,” he replies, looking at her softly.
“Well, you do now.”
“Do I?” He smiles and I feel my body go tight.
“Dinner tonight, and tomorrow, you can turn me into a zombie with the pills.”
“Mom,” I warn.
“Oh, hush,” she says, and Dr. Rubin starts to laugh.
“Are we having dinner at the usual spot?” he asks her, and I frown, because she has never once mentioned him, and ‘the usual spot’ implies they have gone there more than once. There seems to be a lot of stuff my mom has never mentioned, and that thought makes me uneasy, especially when I think about the comment Austin made.
“Yep, how about six?” she suggests.
“That will give me enough time to get done here. I’ll pick you ladies up.”
“Perfect, and tomorrow, we’ll put my plan in place with Rhonda,” Mom says, and she and Dr. Rubin talk for a few more minutes before we leave the hospital. Once we get into the car, I turn it on then turn my head to look at my mom.
“You know there will be nothing between me and Dr. Rubin, right?”
“Of course,” she says, but her eyes twinkle with mischief.
“I’m serious, Mom.”
“I know you are, honey.”
“Good,” I mutter, put the car in drive, and take us home. The whole way there, I’m trying to think of ways to get out of tonight but nothing comes to mind.
*
“Are you ready?” I ask my mom, walking into her room, where she’s lying on the bed.
“I have a headache.”
“How bad is it?” I question, going to her side.
“Not that bad, but I think it’s a migraine.”
“Did you take something?”
“Yes, I took one of my pills; I’m just waiting for it to kick in.” She sighs, covering her eyes, so I walk to the light switch and flip it off.
“Where’s your phone, so I can call Dr. Rubin and cancel?” I ask, using the light from the doorway to see if I can find it.
“Oh no, you two should go,” she mutters, and I take a breath, knowing exactly what this is.
“Mom, I’m not going out with him without you.”
