“I’m not a child, Doc. I’ve been properly looking after myself since I was twelve,” Yoss spat out.
I reached over and put my hand on his arm, not caring that Dr. Howell was in the room. “He only means that with your diagnosis, you have to be somewhere clean. Somewhere that lowers the risk of a possible infection. We don’t want anything to happen to you, Yoss,” I said softly.
Yoss met my eyes. He wasn’t just angry.
He was terrified.
“But again, I want you to stay in hospital for another two to three days at the very least. You still need some rest and until you secure housing, I think it’s best to keep you here. Okay?” Dr. Howell said, his eyes flitting from Yoss to me and then back again.
Yoss nodded, his gaze drifting to the window. The sun was dipping below the horizon and it was mostly dark. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his face drawn.
“All right, we will talk more about this tomorrow. It’s almost dinnertime; make sure you’re eating as much as you’re able to. Especially now that the nausea is subsiding.” Dr. Howell stood up. “Imogen, a word.”
I let go of Yoss’s arm and just as I was about to move away, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
I squeezed his fingers.
He squeezed back.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I assured him.
“Can I watch the rest of the movie?” Yoss asked, his voice small.
“Sure.” I pulled the table back around and clicked the mouse.
“Thanks,” Yoss murmured. “I have to see if they ever find the lady. It’ll bother me all night otherwise.”
“You’ve seen this movie before. You know what happens,” I chuckled.
“I just like to make sure some things don’t change,” he said with a strained smile as his eyes drifted back to the screen.
I joined Dr. Howell out in the hallway where he was updating Jill Rogers, the head nurse on duty, about Yoss’s medications.
When he was finished, Dr. Howell turned to me. “I’m very concerned about Mr. Frazier.”
“I know his condition is very serious—”
“It’s not just his illness, it’s his situation. Have you been able to secure him a place at the Salvation Army?” Dr. Howell asked.
“He doesn’t want to go to the shelter. He’s had some bad experiences there and he is adamant he doesn’t want to go back,” I explained.
“Then it’s important that another place is found for him. He has a rough road ahead of him. It’s an uphill battle for those that don’t have all of the other risk factors that Yoss faces. This has to be a priority, Imogen.” Dr. Howell peered at me closely.
I swallowed thickly and only nodded. “How likely is he to get a transplant?” I asked.
“The waiting list is almost a year long. Given the gravity of his health, it will give him a higher priority, but like I told him, he could still be waiting for weeks. Or months. And I’m not sure Yossarian has months to wait.”
A punch to the gut.
The wind was knocked out of me.
I couldn’t breathe.
My knees threatened to buckle underneath me.
“Are you saying that he could…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence.
I couldn’t say it.
I wouldn’t.
“Imogen, Yoss’s liver is failing. He has already lost the function of almost 80% of his liver cells. His situation is precarious at best.”
“I understand,” I choked out. Lies.
I didn’t understand anything.
Least of all how I could find Yoss only to lose him again.
It was my greatest fear.
It paralyzed me.
“We can’t keep him in the hospital. We simply don’t have the funds for that, even with the government grants. You know that. And the truth is, he doesn’t need to stay in the hospital. He can function somewhat normally. He should carry on with his life. But it’s our job to ensure that life doesn’t include him living on the streets. Or carrying on with the lifestyle that got him to this point in the first place. Have you spoken to him about any of this? Perhaps there’s a support group for that sort of thing.”
That sort of thing.
What a polite way to refer to Yoss being a hustler.
“We haven’t spoken about it. Not yet anyway. I’ll do some research to see what support and services are available that deal with homeless issues. I had planned to talk to Lee Cutler, he’s a therapist with the grieving center and has met with some of my clients in the past,” I suggested.
Dr. Howell clicked his pen a few times. “That sounds good. Thank you, Imogen. I appreciate your dedication to Yoss’s situation.”
“It’s my job, Dr. Howell,” I replied.
Dr. Howell patted my arm, but didn’t say anything else.
I held it together until the doctor walked away. I turned towards Yoss’s room, my hand on the doorknob.
Yoss was dying.
It was the plain and simple truth.
I tried not to get angry with him for doing this to himself, but it was difficult.
I remembered all those nights I’d lie awake at The Pit, wondering where he was. Imagining what he was doing.
My mind went back to another night. A night when I had seen entirely too much.