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“We can’t fully determine the stage without biopsies of the tumors and further scans to determine if the cancer has spread. We can do those this week. After that, we’ll discuss treatment options—medications, surgery, that sort of thing. We’ll need to be aggressive in our treatment plan.”
Mom shook her head in frustration. “I don’t have insurance.”
Doctor Lockhart nodded. “I understand. My nurse can help you find funding through different foundations, and she can help you apply for grants and medical trials. There are some promising things happening in Boston these days.” As he spoke, someone knocked at his door, the sharp sound on the wood echoing through the little office. “Ah, there she is now. Come in.”
The nurse from earlier entered the room, that same sad smile on her face. “Here are the brochures you requested, doctor.” She passed him a small stack of pamphlets and he handed those directly to Mom.
“I’m sure Sarah can help you with questions you may have about these options.” He waved his hand in a gesture that seemed to mean “go away now.”
Sarah, the nurse, nodded and exhaled sharply. “Come with me, please.” As we followed her back to the waiting room, she went over the pages she held and how they could help. “It’s bestto apply as soon as possible. Sometimes these foundations take a while to decide and…” She didn’t finish her sentence.
The lump in my throat matched the heavy knot in my stomach. I snatched the papers away from Sarah more abruptly than I’d intended to. “Thanks. We’ll review these as soon as possible.”
On the way to the car, Mom took the papers from me. “I’ll just throw these away.” She said, her voice firm.
“Mom, don’t be ridiculous. You need the money to get treatment.”
“I won’t take a handout. I never did when you two were younger, and I’m not about to start now.”
“Mom,” Tamara said slowly, with her unending patience. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you’re going to apply for the funding.”
Mom shook her head stubbornly. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
I groaned, frustrated. “This isn’t like needing cash for lunches or money for new shoes. This isn’t school supplies. Mom, this is your life. You don’t have health insurance because your job sucks. You need this.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, young man. I know what I’m doing and I know what I need. I’m not about to take a handout. I won’t do it.”
“It’s not a handout, it’s—”
“It’s charity and someone else needs it more than we do.” She brushed her hands together as if washing them clean of the conversation. “I’ll consider the medical trials, maybe, if there’s one that seems to fit my needs, but I won’t accept charity money and that’s that.”
In silence, we all loaded into my car, a beaten-up dark green sedan, and I took them home. Tamara still lived with her while she finished grad school. I’d offered to drive the two of them to the appointment, partially because I wanted to be there andpartially because Mom didn’t like driving in the rain. Once she was comfortable in the house, I climbed back into my car and sat, watching the raindrops splatter on the windshield and the wipers sweep them away.
Splat, wipe. Splat, wipe. Splat, wipe. It seemed like a metaphor, but I’d never been good in English class. I could’ve gone home, but I didn’t want to be alone. I sent out a group text and put my phone on silent. With a shaky sigh, fighting back tears, I put the car in drive, going straight for Jock Strap, the best sports bar in Port Grandlin, or at least the one my friends and I frequented most often. By the time I’d arrived, it was nearly five in the evening. It was relatively empty, a few small groups here and there quietly watching basketball on the big screens. The biggest, loudest group of patrons drew my attention quickly. My friends.
Warmth settled over me as I headed for the table and took a seat. Several of the guys clapped me on the back and a few others offered their fists for bumping with my own. Once I was seated and had ordered a beer, Parker turned toward me.
“How’s your mom, man?”
The lump in my throat and the rock in my stomach were back. I swallowed, fighting back tears, and shook my head. “Cancer,” I mumbled. “Colon.” Tears threatened to spill over my eyelids, and I blinked rapidly, bringing my beer glass to my face to take a deep swig. The guys murmured their sympathy, rounds of “Oh, shit” rising from the table.
Parker grimaced and put his hand on my arm. “You going to be okay?”
I shrugged and looked at my beer glass. “I guess that remains to be seen. Can we talk about something else? Anything else? I don’t want to think about it right now.”
They nodded, and the conversation turned to kickball. We were all part of a gay kickball team in a very queer-friendlyleague. We played two seasons, spring and fall. Spring season was upon us, and we were two guys short. The six of us, best friends, were all returning. Ethan was returning, too, a guy who sometimes dropped in and sometimes took seasons off. But with the six of us and Ethan, that still left an empty space on the team. The talk turned to the husbands. Theo, Cam, and Parker, all having gotten married in the past year, brought three potential players to Out and Kickin’.
“No way will Oliver play,” Cam said. “He’s way too busy with the restaurant.”
Theo shrugged. “Maybe I can talk Nate into it. He already sponsors us with equipment. Why not rope him into playing?”
“And I’ll ask Travis,” Parker said.
Jared nodded. “Good. If one of them joins, we’re good. Unless Ethan knows someone,” he said.
Levi shrugged and took a fry from the basket on the table. “Who says Ethan’s even playing again this year?”
I turned off my thoughts and let their conversation wash over me, warm and familiar, as I tried to forget about my mom’s fresh diagnosis for a little while, but all I could think about were those grants. I was determined to secure the funding for her treatment, no matter what.
