“What is wrong with you, my friend?” Dr. Weissmuller says to BBB, shaking his paw like formal men in suits do whenever they meet.
“Bobby Big Boy has been tired lately,” Donna says, “he’s not eating much, he threw up yesterday, he’s had diarrhea—and today he collapsed while we were taking a walk.”
Dr. Weissmuller feels BBB’s belly.
“What do you feel?” I ask.
“His abdomen is distended.”
“Is that bad?” I ask.
“I don’t know yet,” he says, and then removes a long needle from a drawer. “I am going to stick this into the place where I think there is a tumor, and if blood comes out—then we’ll know something.”
Dr. Weissmuller inserts the needle into BBB’s belly.
Blood comes out, but BBB doesn’t move or even whimper.
“You see the blood?” he asks.
Donna and I both nod.
“So we should do an ultrasound to see if the tumor is on the spleen or liver.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask.
“If the tumor is on the liver—there is nothing I can do for your dog. If it’s on the spleen, we can operate.”
“How much is the ultrasound?” Donna asks.
“Seventy-five dollars.”
Donna nods once and says, “Do it.”
Dr. Weissmuller picks BBB up so gently and takes my doggie into another room, leaving Donna and me alone.
“I don’t have any money to pay for this,” I say. “I blew through my Rita’s money back in January.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Can I borrow the money from you?”
“I’ll pay, don’t worry, Amber.”
“What about the surgery?”
“If BBB needs surgery, I think I can afford it,” Donna says.
I shake my head—and I even cross my arms. I know that I mooch off Donna all the time, but taking responsibility for BBB has sort of become symbolic to me after all that has happened: it’s one of the few things that I can control, and so I simply say, “No.”
“No?”
“BBB is my responsibility. I’m going to pay for the surgery if he needs it,” I say.
“How?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Amber, you just need to worry about getting yourself together now and—”
“Stop,” I say, and then we wait in silence.
After a few long minutes, Dr. Weissmuller returns and gently places BBB down on the silver table. “The tumor is on the spleen.”
“So what now?” Donna asks.
“The tumor is bleeding into the abdomen. I will remove the spleen and we’ll do a biopsy. They send me the results in less than a week. If the tumor is benign—your dog will live.”
“I can’t take two deaths in one year,” I say to Donna, crying.
Dr. Weissmuller says, “I recommend surgery. Again, I will take out his spleen, and if the tumor is benign, your dog will live.”
“What if it is benign, and we do nothing?” Donna asks.
“Your dog will eventually bleed to death—internally.”
“How much is the surgery?” I ask.
“There can be complications, and maybe your dog will need blood transfusions—all told, the cost should be around two thousand dollars. Should I leave you alone to discuss this matter?”
Donna nods and Dr. Weissmuller leaves the room.
“Can I borrow the money?” I ask Donna.
“I’ll pay for all of it, Amber.”
“No. I just want a loan. I want to take care of this myself.”
I can see that Donna wants to help me. Her eyes are kind and her face is compassionate, but she doesn’t understand that charity is for old people and cripples.
I bury my face in BBB’s fur.
“Dr. Weissmuller’s going to get you feeling better, and then I’m going to get better too. I’m going to take you to see Ms. Jenny just as soon as you are healthy. You stay alive, BBB, and I’m going to be a better pet owner. I promise.”
I cry harder like a chick as I hold BBB close to my cheek.
“Dr. Weissmuller?” Donna says.
Even though Donna protests, I sign all of the forms; I agree to pay for the operation in installments over the next few years, Donna co-signs, and then we leave.
As we are driving home, suddenly, I’m saying, “Will you drop me off at Private Jackson’s house?”
“Why?” she asks.
“I really need to see him.”
“So does this mean you’re officially out of your room?” she asks, sorta surprised and maybe even hopefully.
“Something like that,” I say.
“Okay,” Donna says.
I give her directions and she drives me to PJ’s house.
When Donna drops me off on the curb, she asks if I want her to come pick me up, and when I tell her I’ll walk home, she says, “Amber, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just need to spend some time with PJ. I’m cool. Really.”
“Okay,” she says. “But call if you want me to pick you up. Cool?”
I nod once and then walk toward PJ’s house.
CHAPTER 52
It’s dark, so I know that Ms. Jenny has already gone for her run.