I couldn’t believe I was even considering the idea. She was right, I was a mess.
“When don’t I listen to you?” she asked, incensed.
“The painting is one of those pretentious mantelpiece portraits of his brother,” I confessed.
“This shit just keeps getting weirder.”
“I’ll find out what it’s all about when I meet him. KP says he’s special. The way he said it was loving and kind of protective, so I think there’s something going on there. Also, I’ve drawn my line in the sand. He knows where I stand. So, if anything gets dangerous, I have you on speed dial and there’s always 911. I’ll be fine.”
She was quiet for so long that I looked at my phone to see if we’d been disconnected. “Tam?”
“Holy fuck girl, you’re a millionaire!” she yelled.
“I know, right!” I yelled back.
Tammy was my soul mate. I only wished we were attracted to one another because she got me and I got her. We had the kind of indelible friendship that would outlast any man. She was planning on marrying Jamal Price, a local football hero. In addition to being a star athlete, he was also in his first year of law school. With Tammy being an engineer and Jamal a soon-to-be lawyer, they were just biding their time until they were established enough in their careers to get married. They both wanted a solid foundation to build on. I tried to learn from Tammy and Jamal, but I always seemed to be scrambling. That was why all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours had not yet sunk in.
The next person I had to tell was Gran, so I got my ass up, got ready, and headed to the hospital hoping Gran would be improved. When I arrived, Gran seemed to be in better spirits. She was sitting up and eating, which was a first. In the last few days, she had been either sleepy or incoherent. Today, she was her usual chipper, irreverent self.
“Hi, gorgeous,” I said as I walked into the room.
She winked. “Back at ya.”
“So, how’s the green jello today?”
“It’s a hit.” She cocked a solid white eyebrow. “So, when are you busting me out of here?”
“You seem to be doing better today. I’ll just go get my cape and we’ll jet.”
“Dr. Pushkin is out with Nurse Ratchet. You should go get a medical release first,” she instructed.
“I think I will. That nurse treatin’ yous bad, Gran?” I said in my best mobster voice. “Cause I’s knows a guy…yous knows whadda mean?”
“She likes to stick me with needles, the bitch.”
Relief washed over me. “She was really back to her old self. Time to liberate.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a flash and no more needles,” I promised.
“No need for them now, I got this,” she said as she showed me the PICC line in her side.
My heart sank. Gran had one when she was originally diagnosed with cancer. Now that she had the line again, it confirmed my worst fears. Her cancer had returned. Dr. Pushkin had been vague about the masses they found, but this almost certainly proved they were back.
I walked out into the hall to find Dr. Pushkin at the nurses’ station as Gran suggested he would be. I waved to him, letting him know that I was there. He gave me a “one minute” sign with his finger and signed some papers before heading my way.
“I’m glad you’re here, I was about to call you,” he said, all businesslike.
“What’s up?” I was trying to sound lighthearted, but it came out crazy and desperate.
“I think we should discuss this in my office,” he said as he shuttled me into the small cubical behind the nurses’ station. He offered me a seat and I sat down, terrified.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my fingers wringing together.
He sighed. “We have the preliminary reports back from the lab, and the results are not as promising as I’d hope they’d be.”
“Um…” My tongue was too thick too talk.
“Your grandmother’s cancer has returned, and it is a very aggressive recurrence. There is metastasis in almost every organ of her body. We can offer chemo again, but at her age, I don’t think it wise. We have some other treatment options, which we can go over. I’ve mentioned them to her already, and she’s not interested in pursuing any form of treatment. I wanted to discuss this with you because I could help you get power of attorney for her care if that is your wish. But I do feel that Eula is in full command of her faculties, and I think she might know what’s best for her at this stage. It’s her decision to make.” He essentially delivered a death sentence for Gran as if he was reading a cake recipe.
“So, you’re just going to let her die?” I asked on the verge of tears.
“We can keep her comfortable. She would be allowed to go home if she wanted, and we would assist her with pain management.” He offered me a tissue almost as robotically as he had announced Gran’s “execution.”
“And you guys aren’t going to do anything at all?” I nearly screamed.
“We’ve done all we can at this stage. The treatment options left will either compromise your grandmother’s quality of life or endanger it.” I hated the matter of fact way he approached her murder.
“How long does she have?” I hated the question, but I needed to know.
“A week, possibly six. Less, most likely. It’s hard to say exactly.”
“Oh my god! Are you saying she could die any day now?” I grabbed my hair in both fists. I needed to hit something, hard.
“We’ll do our best to provide pain management,” he repeated.
“Fuck you!” I said through gritted teeth, jumping to my feet. I stuck a finger out at him. “Fuck you and your fucking pain management. I want you to do your job and fucking save her life!”
When I stormed out of his office, he didn’t follow me.
I burst into Gran’s room and tried to plaster a smile on my face. “We’re getting you out of here. Let’s go!” I pulled the blanket down her legs and lowered the rails, my hands trembling so hard I could barely press the lever.
“Okay.” She looked confused, but was already swinging her legs off the side.
Nurse Ratchet rushed in. “Ms. Ashcroft, we need Ms. Darning to sign some forms and arrange for a hospice care provider. The hospital hasn’t released your grandmother yet.”
I whirled on her. “Oh yes they have. They released her the minute they said they wouldn’t do anything more for her!”
“Pumpkin…” Gran’s small voice broke through my haze of grief and anger. When I turned, she was patting the bed beside her. “Come, sit with me.
I didn’t think I could do it. It was like a million pounds were strapped to my shoulders, but I managed to take a place beside her without bursting into tears or puking my guts up.
“Gran, it’s okay. I… just… we need to find another hospital or something.”
“Ah, this one’s alright,” she said, stroking my hair. “The bastards have grown on me.”
I leaned into the touch. “Well, that’s generous of you, but we need a second opinion.”
“How many people does it take to screw in a light bulb?” she asked.