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“They gave him a sedative,” I said, to explain his silliness.
And, because Dr. Grant has absolutely no sense of humor, he didn’t get it. He frowned as though I’d tattled on the nursing staff and said, “That’s perfectly all right. That was probably in his best interests, anyway. No sense in letting him worry his head off.”
“Yeah, I...” I waved my hand. I fully gave up trying to communicate with Dr. Grant like a human being. “Do you want me out now?”
“They’re bringing up the cells as we speak. They’ve been in a bath all morning to thaw them out.” Dr. Grant gestured with his thumb toward the door. “You can stay with him if, you like.”
“Really?” I exchanged a look with Neil. “Um... do you want me to stay, or do you want me to go? Or I could get Emma.”
“You could both be here,” Neil suggested, looking hopefully to Dr. Grant.
“Provided they’re not ill. It’s a simple matter of putting the cells back in, it’s nothing too complicated,” Dr. Grant assured me, showing human warmth for the first time since I’d met him.
In the waiting room, Emma was perched on the edge of her chair, drumming the fingernails of one hand against her teeth.
“All systems are go, if you want to come back,” I told her, and her eyes widened.
“I can be in there with him?” She gestured to the door. “Are you sure you want me in there?”
“Sure, it’s just a simple procedure. If it goes anything like the chemo, he’ll be spectacularly sick everywhere. You don’t want to miss that.”
As we walked back to Neil’s room, Emma caught my hand and gave it a squeeze before dropping it again. “Thank you. For being there for him.”
“You’re there for him, too,” I said, still a little stunned by her gesture of friendship.
“It’s not the same.” She shook her head. “He’s happier with you around. If you hadn’t been here, who would have sat up with him all night, or taken care of him when he was wretchedly sick? Rudy? My mom?”
The thought raised my hackles. Down girl, you’re supposed to be okay with Valerie now. “Well, I’m not doing it to win any prizes. I’m doing it because I love him.”
“I know you do.” She looked me in the eye with a direct stare she’d inherited from her mother. “I don’t have any doubt what your intentions are here, Sophie.”
Back in Neil’s room, we waited in suspenseful silence as they brought up the thawed cells.
“What if they drop them?” Neil asked with a nervous laugh. “Wouldn’t that be the story of my life?”
“They’re not going to drop them,” Emma said.
Still, when the nurse walked in carrying the cooler, my throat closed up a little bit. Neil’s life was in there.
I held my breath as she pulled out the bag, and I noticed Emma was doing the same.
It took no time and absolutely no fanfare to hook him up and get the cells pumping back in. After about twenty minutes, Dr. Grant came back, examined the bag, told us things were going “splendidly,” and reassured Neil that the pervasive taste and odor of fish he was experiencing was perfectly normal.
And that was that. He was transplanted.
For the first time in months, it looked like things could really go back to the way they had been before.
Until blood tests showed that Neil was producing his own white blood cells— proof that the stem cells had taken root— he had to stay in the hospital. And while he was technically “getting better,” the side effects of the transplant were very similar to the side effects of chemo, which he still suffered from. He was just as miserable, tired and sleepless as ever.
I tried to stay at the hospital as much as I could, wearing a mask, scrubbing down everything with antibacterial wipes, and washing my hands until they cracked. It was worth it to stay with Neil; Dr. Grant had warned us that he might need total isolation, should he show signs of infection, but so far, so good.
About a week after the transplant, I woke to find Neil sitting up in bed, watching something on his iPad. I frowned. “Baby, it’s the middle of the night. You should be resting.”
He looked up with a distracted smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Do you need more pain meds? Do you want me to get the nurse?” I swung my legs over the side of the converted recliner to stand.
“I’m fine, really. Just sleepless.” He turned the iPad around so I could see what he was looking at. “Watching a very inspirational video.”
My face heated with embarrassment. There I was on the screen, my legs spread open as I sat in the chair in our bedroom. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize you were going to take that file out of the house.”
