There was nothing else I could do for my brother. There was nothing else to pull from my arsenal except for pleas to get him up and moving. He was already in therapy and on depression meds. I couldn’t get him into an inpatient program unless he agreed to go, which he wouldn’t. He couldn’t be forced unless he was a danger to others or himself—which he wasn’t. I didn’t worry that Benny was going to hurt himself. Not directly, anyway. He was just going to give up on trying to stay alive.
He didn’t want to live in this body. Not broken the way it was.
I knew many, many patients with disabilities and chronic illnesses who lived their lives with dignity and joy and purpose. I knew people in end-stage renal failure, just like Benny, who didn’t even slow down. They took vacations and raised their families and had fun and made memories and plans. Jacob was right about dialysis. It was a gift. It gave you time. And I had hoped that Benny would get there, that he’d accept his new normal and find a way to keep loving life. But he wasn’t. He was withering. It had all happened too fast and taken too much from him. He couldn’t pivot. And the dialysis was the constant reminder that the worst possible thing had happened. Every time he sat down for it, he lost more of himself. Only a kidney could change this in any fast and meaningful way. And I couldn’t get him a kidney. I couldn’t even give him hope.
“Who you writing to?” he asked again, breaking into my thoughts. His tone was conciliatory. He probably felt bad for snapping at me.
I sniffed. “I’m writing to a friend. That doctor who came into your room that day in the ER.”
“I thought you didn’t like that guy.”
I shrugged. “I like him. He’s nice.”
“Are you trying to date him or something?”
“No. We’re just friends.” I put the letter facedown and pushed up from my seat. “I’m going to fill up the tub for you.”
He groaned. “What? Nooo.”
“Yes. I’ll grab some clothes to change into when you’re done.”
He let out a resigned noise from the back of his throat. “No tub. I’ll just…take a shower,” he muttered.
“Cool. And shave. Then we’ll go for a quick walk and watch a movie while we do your dialysis,” I said, trying to keep my tone bright.
He sighed deeply and then got up and went upstairs. I watched him go and deflated as soon as he was gone.
It was hard to be strong for us both. I barely had enough for me.
The next morning, I left the letter peeking out from under the keyboard of Jacob’s charting computer the second I got in.
Jacob,
Okay, but would you really enjoy the tiny horse? Really? I mean what do they even do? You can’t ride them unless you’re like seven or something. They’re cute, but it’s totally not practical.
It’s like those little pet monkeys that wear the diapers. They seem so cool, but they bathe in their own urine and fling poo and unscrew all your lightbulbs.
I think I knew exactly the moment that he’d read this part because I heard a laugh come out of the supply closet. He liked to take his breaks in there.
Hey, you don’t have a girlfriend, do you? It just occurred to me I never asked and me slipping letters into your locker might not be appropriate. I’m not hitting on you, in case you or your girlfriend are worried. I just want to be clear about that. I’m single and off the market, so no one can tell me who can write me letters or what kind of exotic pets I’m allowed to bring home. Might get wild and start realizing my dream of running a skunk rehab. They’re supposed to be good to cuddle once their scent glands are removed.
I’d signed it with a terrible drawing of a skunk.
I figured I should make it clear that none of this back-and-forth was in anything other than the spirit of friendship, just in case he thought I was flirting.
I didn’t date men I worked with. That was a personal rule for me—even if he was exceptionally attractive. Maybe especially because he was exceptionally attractive…
His personality really took it up a notch.
By lunch, I had a letter on my charting computer. It was on the stationery he used when he wrote from home, which meant he brought it to work just to write me. I grinned.
Dearest Briana,
I’m single as well. My ex and I broke up last year. I didn’t mistake your friendship for anything other than what it was, but I suppose it’s good we clarify, especially since we work together.
I think I could handle a Shetland pony. I have a bit of experience with hard to manage animals. Lieutenant Dan was a rescue with behavioral problems, and I grew up with a parrot. A thirty-year-old African gray named Jafar. He’s a bit of a jerk. He knocks things over and then blames the cat. He also likes the word (and you’re going to have to excuse the language here) “motherfucker,” so sometimes we’re treated to the sound of shattering glass followed by “The cat did it, motherfucker!”
I was laughing SO HARD.
Jafar just added “bullshit,” “cocksucker,” and “you’re sitting on the remote” to his twisted repertoire. We have no idea who taught him this, though I suspect it was my grandfather, who seems to enjoy a certain level of chaos at elegant family gatherings.
I replied on my lunch break with a hurried story about a patient I’d had that day who cut off his own pinky toe to prove to his friend we could reattach it. We did, so I guess he was right, but still.
Jacob wrote back by five about a guy who won a bet that he couldn’t eat a whole container of sugar-free gummy bears. He had severe diarrhea. Jacob had to prescribe him Desitin for his diaper rash, and the guy’s friends were cracking up so hard Jacob had to kick them out.
Then our shifts were over. We went home and now both had four days off because Jacob and I had the same schedule: twelve-hour shifts for one week with four days on and three days off. Then the next week it was three days on and four days off.
Four days, no letter. It sucked.
Now I really had nothing to do. I was so bored.
My first day off, the weather was nice so I took Benny out for ice cream, which I hoped would cheer him up, since he hadn’t been able to have any for the last six months. He just poked at it and said it tasted weird. Probably his meds affecting his taste buds. I stopped at a park on the way home and made him walk with me around the lake. He acted like he’d been kidnapped, and he looked miserable the whole time. When we got back, he went straight to his room.
If I didn’t have to be here, I’d probably drive down to see Alexis for the long weekend. I guessed I still could. Do Benny’s dialysis now, get back by tomorrow night in time for it again. But I didn’t really feel good about leaving him alone, even if he didn’t care if I was here. So I just stayed. Doing nothing.
The next day off, I did laundry. I did the dishes. I cleaned the litter box. Then I lay on the sofa and started scrolling through TikTok.
I realized that the only thing that I looked forward to these days were the letters with Jacob. He was so interesting. And fun.
I wondered what he did on his days off. Maybe his letter would be about how he spent the long weekend?