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“Aiden’s blood oxygen is a little low so were going to give him some oxygen assistance.”
“And this was ordered by Dr. Yoffe?”
Lori shakes her head. “Dr. Rand, the hospitalist, although Dr. Yoffe will be in soon. I saw him on the floor already making rounds.”
Lilly and I watch as Lori hooks up the tubing, sets the oxygen level and helps Aiden seat the cannula in his nose. She efficiently adjusts the tube over his ears and secures it under his chin. These last few months that I’ve been up here to visit Aiden, I’ve never seen him have to wear oxygen. It’s disconcerting.
There’s a knock on the door and Dr. Yoffe walks in. I’ve met him a few times while visiting not only Aiden, but some of the other kids. He’s an older doctor but in my opinion, he seems to have the best relationship with the children. There’s just this aura about him that’s so calm and reassuring, Lilly calls it the Yoffe Vibe.
Lilly steps away from Aiden’s bed while Lori administers medication. When she reaches Dr. Yoffe, she murmurs, “Can we talk in private?”
This surprises me, but I stay by Aiden’s bed. Dr. Yoffe nods and my gaze cuts to Aiden who isn’t paying attention as Lori is checking one of his IV lines.
“Let’s step out into the hall,” Dr. Yoffe says, sweeping his arm toward the door.
Lilly shoots me a look that says to stay and keep Aiden occupied, which is what I would do no matter what. I plan on spending all day up here hanging with the kid. I’m going to suggest to Lilly that she get out of the hospital for a while and go do something that’s just for herself. Maybe shopping, get a massage, her nails done. Whatever it is that might be an important self-care ritual for her, although I know she won’t do it.
Not with the issues going on with Aiden.
Lilly and Dr. Yoffe disappear from the room and after Lori finishes checking the IV bags, she slips out as well. I move over to the recliner, the most sought-after piece of furniture in this room, and kick it back after angling it to face Aiden. It often sits beside his bed facing the TV, but that’s not conducive to conversation.
“So what did you think of the game last night?” I ask, crossing one ankle over the other.
Aiden settles back into his pillows. “You guys played better than you had the prior two games,” he says, and I internally wince over the statement that comes with the truth only a twelve-year-old can dish out. But he’s not wrong. “I think it would’ve been a different ending had you guys been playing on home turf though. So I fully expect you to win tomorrow.”
I can’t help but give him a bit of grief back since he’s not sparing my feelings. “And I expect you to stay awake during the entire game.”
Aiden snickers. “I don’t even remember falling asleep. One minute I was silently cursing when the Wildcats scored and the next minute I was being woken up my dad this morning. I didn’t even think I was tired but man, I crashed fast and hard.”
“You’re just a little run-down with this pneumonia. You’ll bounce back.”
Something flickers across Aiden’s face and it unsettles me. Because it looks like something steeped in a wisdom I cannot hope to ever understand.
“I don’t know if I’m going to bounce back.” His voice is soft as a breeze and yet incredibly oppressive.
I grab the recliner handle to return the chair to an upright position and move to the edge. “Why would you say that?”
Aiden shakes his head as if he doesn’t have a good answer. “I just feel like whatever’s going on inside me, I can’t fight.”
I am stumped about what to say. Aiden is one of the strongest kids I know and he’s fought with the strength of Superman in his battle against leukemia. I don’t understand how this infection can change his attitude unless it’s really not his attitude that’s changed. What if he just knows inherently something we can’t possibly know?
The thought is too unbearable, so I go back to the positive spin. “You are in one of the best children’s hospitals in this country. Have the best oncologist, from what I understand, and they caught the infection right away. You’re on all the proper medications. And don’t forget, Aiden… the leukemia is gone. They have successfully eradicated the cancer. All we’ve got to do is get you past this little hump and then kid, you have a normal life. An amazing life.”
His eyes bore into mine and he does not look like he just turned twelve. He looks like he’s been living forever. “I hope you’re right.”
There’s another knock and the door swings open. A big burly aide in green scrubs with tattoos up his neck stands there with a wheelchair. “I’ve got one hot-rod ride for an Aiden Hoffman,” he announces as he looks down at a piece of paper in his hand.
“Chest X-ray,” Aiden advises me. “They’re doing one every morning to compare and see what’s going on.”
I stand and help Aiden out of the bed. Once he’s settled into the wheelchair, I’m able to take a thorough look at him. And I don’t like what I see. I know it’s only been four days since I’ve seen him, but he looks sick.
Paler.
Eyes a little dull.
Face gaunt.
Am I imagining those things because the smile he gives me is bright? He offers his fist to bump as he passes me, his shoulders thrown back with confidence. Aiden chatters away at the aide as they exit the room and I have to shake off the foreboding.
