Chapter 6
Changes – Part 2
17 April
The fibres of the oversized tennis ball dig into my palm. All I can manage is squeezing it and rolling it absent-mindedly back and forth across my desk. Anything flashier and I'd probably bust some glass. Coordination tends to suck when you're getting less than an hour of sleep a night.
"This is pitiful." Amber stops the ball. "Embarrassing."
I barely glance at her, pulling the bottle of oxy from my jacket, tilting it and watching the pills roll into the cap.
"Promised Cuddy you wouldn't run away again," she says. "But you're still running away."
"I screwed up." My eyes meet hers for a moment, then flick to the closed blinds. A janitor rustles by with a mop on the other side. "I almost killed her."
"So, what, you're just going to hide in here and pout like a scared little boy?"
I slam the oxycodone bottle on my desk. My hand flies to my cane and pounds the tip to the carpet. "I'm not hiding, dammit."
Amber picks up the ball. "What else do you call this?" She tosses it into the air, then catches it with her other hand.
"Letting the nurses do their job. She's better off without me right now."
"Hmm." Amber pitches the ball up again, snatches it without breaking her visual lock on me. "Maybe. But that, in itself, is pathetic. How many patients have you saved from the brink of death? How many others have you seen die? You should be able to handle this. The fact you can't is beyond sad."
I raise from my chair, muscles tight. "No. This is logical. Rational. I'm too close to this. I'm stepping back. I'm doing what any normal person would do."
She catches the ball again. "But you're not a normal person."
My jaw clenches."It doesn't matter."
She twirls the ball in her palm, studying it. "The reason a normal person would step back is entirely different from the reason you're stepping back."
"Reasons don't matter. The outcome is the same."
"Not necessarily." She sets the ball back on the desk. "You're so emotionally constipated you're hooked on opioids again and arguing with your best friend's dead girlfriend. You think there won't be any other consequences?"
"No." My eyes fix on the pill bottle. "But they won't be because of you." I sweep it into the trash can with my cane.
"Oh, right." She smirks. "Give it half a day, every nerve will be on fire, you'll be sweating like it's 100 degrees and puking every hour."
I glare unflinchingly. "If it gets rid of you, bring it on."
The door swings open behind her. The team walk in, seeming to notice my aggressive stance. I loosen up.
"Not so lucky, after all. Three completely unrelated cancers at once," Chase says. "Could be Von Hippel Lindau."
I sit in my chair. "Wouldn't have touched his colon."
"The patient could be missing a tumour-suppressor gene." Thirteen takes another step closer.
"How would we even find it?" Cameron asks.
"Platelet count's through the floor." Chase stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Can't start him on chemo."
"Even worse it'd contain his cancers." I lean my chair on its rear legs. "If we want to know what they have in common, we've gotta see where they spread next."
The team exchange glances. "You want to wait six months while the cancer spreads and his seizures and paralysis get worse?"
"Well, now, that's crazy talk. But if we pump the patient full of vascular endothelial growth factor..."
"You want to grow more and bigger cancers?"
"We can't figure out what three small ones have in common, maybe we can figure out what eight big ones have in common."
"Don't think Foreman's gonna like that idea," Chase says.
"Too bad. Go get lotto boy's consent, and turn his cancers up to 11."
The team leave and I turn on my computer. There's another solution.
"Interesting." Amber leans against my chair, hovering over my shoulder as I flip to another tab in the browser. Studies involving muscle regrowth. There's a lab here in Jersey running a trial.
"Too bad you can't sign up."
"No, but I can do something just as good." I jot down the phone number and address on a notepad, tear the page, and stuff it into my jeans pocket.
Amber shifts out of the way as I stand. "Can't wait to see how this is going to go wrong."
I ignore her and grab my jacket off the back of my chair. Before I can slip my arm into the sleeve, something pokes my leg from behind. A finger.
Rachel looks up at me. A moment of surprise passes.
"How cute." Amber clacks her nails on my desk.
"How did you get in here?" I ask.
"Over there." Rachel points at the conference room door.
"Yeah, not what I meant. How did you get away from your aunt?"
She just stares.
My beeper sounds at my waist. I check it. That didn't take long.
As I step into Cuddy's, now Foreman's, office—for now, at least—the team turn from Foreman to me with curious eyes.
"Oh, this little thing attached to me?" I lift Rachel's hand. "Don't mind her."
She giggles. They smile at her, minus Foreman, who maintains a straight, if not somewhat constipated expression as he keeps both arms on top of the desk. He's hooked to a blood pressure monitor.
"More interesting is the thing attached to you." I motion to him with my cane.
"What's that?" Rachel points.
"Chase claims I'm dealing with more than I can handle. Bet me a hundred bucks I couldn't keep my systolic below 140 for a week."
"Which was stupid." Cameron nudges Chase. "You're going to lose. And then I'll have to punish you for wasting money."
"Awkward," Amber announces behind me. It went without saying, but she had to remind me she's here.
"So, why are we all congregating to watch your BP?" I bounce my cane and Rachel lets go of my other hand.
Foreman sighs. His systolic goes up two points. "I'm not letting you make a patient's cancer worse just so you can solve a puzzle."
Pop.
Rachel's capping and uncapping a marker. Must have swiped it when she sneaked through the conference room to my office earlier. Hate it when people touch my markers.
"Great," I say. "Let him die slowly and mysteriously, then. Because that's so much more ethical and that's clearly all that matters."
Rachel toddles to Foreman's desk, stops beside the BP monitor, everyone watching.
"You're not going to cure him by making his tumours grow." Foreman's gaze lingers on her for a moment as she taps the capped marker against the desk corner, then he looks at me.
She drops to the carpet, staring at his expensive looking loafers with a glint in her eyes.
I pretend not to notice. "Might. Won't know unless we try."
He scoffs. "Great point." His BP rises to 138/90. Dangerously close to the cut off.
"Typical." Amber's breath makes my neck hairs stand on end. "Kill a patient to distract yourself from almost killing Cuddy because you're incapable of talking to anyone about it."
She's wrong. That's not what I'm doing. And talking about it won't change what happened. If it won't change what happened, then it's pointless.
The team look between themselves, before Thirteen speaks up. "We actually don't have any other options at this point."
"So..." Foreman's brows arch. "Whenever we run out of options, we should just do whatever will kill the patient fastest?"
"Playing it safe. I get it." I take a few steps forwards to distance myself from Amber. "Wouldn't want any malpractice suits in your first three weeks in the big chair. Literally, big, by the way. Had to be."
"Wow." Amber gives voice to the various shades of misgiving represented in the room. "Still joking about Cuddy's ass."
"Look, you're dealing with a lot right now." Foreman shifts his arms on the desk. "I don't think you should be involved with this case. Or any case right now."
"You can't be serious." Cameron marches over and plants both hands on the desk top. "You know he needs to do this to function."
"Aww..." I step up beside her and touch her shoulder, give it a squeeze. Her eyes meet mine with apprehension. "Thanks for sticking up for me like that."
"Cameron's right." Chase crosses his arms.
Sarcasm oozes out of me. "You two are so adorable." I pull my hand back from Cameron while she straightens up, then glance at Thirteen. "No support from you? You're hurting my feelings."
Her face remains inscrutable as she leans to the side, both hands in the pockets of her slacks.
"This is ridiculous." Foreman raises in his chair, almost squirming, teeth gleaming in a bitter smile. "So, we should endanger a patient just so House can get through another day?"
"He's gonna die anyway if we don't find the cause of his cancer," Thirteen finally says.
"Yeah, and he most likely will no matter what." Foreman clasps his fingers together and leans back, feigning relaxation. "No reason to speed it up."
"It could be treatable," Chase agrees.
"Either way, it's his call." Cameron bores through Foreman with a pouty stare.
His BP is holding. But just barely. "Fine. If he wants to go for it, do it."
"Getting your way again." Amber's remark pulls my gaze to where she's sprawling on the couch. "What a surprise."
I ignore her and prod Foreman. "Surprised your BP isn't skyrocketing."
His brows scrunch and he leans forwards. "Why?"
"Because..." I motion below him with the tip of my cane. She's been in my periphery the whole time, crouched under the desk by his feet, but I wasn't particularly bothered. Figured to let her have at it. "Rachel's covered your shoes in marker. Hope you like smiley faces and stars."
"Crap!" He lifts a leg out to assess the damage as she scrambles up and runs to hide behind me, everyone else laughing.
His BP has shot up to 145/100. "Oops." I roll my head in the direction of the monitor. "Looks like you'd better pay up."
"Damn." He rips off the arm cuff, reaches into his wallet and passes a bill to a grinning Chase.
Rachel swings her legs back and forth in the chair beside mine. The clack of her shoes punctuates the rhythmic gasps of the ventilator and the voice on the intercom echoing from the hall. She stares at me, a blameless smile creeping across her lips at the mention of her name. The hospital is going into lock down while they search for a missing child. Odd it's taking Foreman so long to catch wind, so he can call it off.
"Surprised you don't just ditch her here." Amber looks at her and prods one of Cuddy's IV bags. "They'll find her soon enough."
Could've done that. Would have been easier.
"Maybe you actually want to be yelled at by someone." The bag squishes and sloshes with more violent pokes. "Why else sit here and watch this play out?"
"Why is Mommy still sleeping?" Rachel draws my attention to Cuddy's motionless form.
There's a pang in my thigh. The nerves are waking up. I rub through my jeans. "They had to give her sleeping medicine so she won't choke on the tube down her throat."
"Ouch." Amber's index finger freezes at the bag, her eyes cutting towards me. "Nice way to drop it on her."
Rachel's face contorts as she looks between me and the mask on Cuddy's face. "Why's...why's it in her throat?"
"It's so she can breathe."
Her eyes get bigger. "Does it hurt?"
"Not while she's asleep." I keep massaging.
"Starting already." Amber casts a knowing smirk.
The woman on the intercom makes another announcement. Apparently, the child isn't actually missing, so everyone can disregard the prior order. About time.
Approaching clacks from the hall make me turn to the doorway. Julia looks like she's just run a hundred meter dash, too tired to fuss with the purse half drooping off her shoulder.
"Figures you'd have something to do with this." Arlene shuffles in behind her, fixing on me with newfound contempt.
Foreman doesn't bother coming in and huffs off. Well, metaphorically. He doesn't show it. Love to see his BP now. He must be incredibly frustrated someone went over his head.
Julia kneels down in front of Rachel, sets a hand on her shoulder. "Rachel, honey, don't run off like that. You scared us."
She glances at me, then her aunt and answers flatly. "Okay."
"What were you thinking?"
"She's three, Julia." Arlene steps up, shifting in a way that communicates her desire for me to move and give her my chair. "She probably wasn't thinking anything."
Rachel juts out her chin, as if offended by the notion. "I wanted to play with House."
"Aww. How adorable." Amber taps her nails on the IV stand. "Who would've thought a kid would ever like you?"
"Oh, honey, House is..." Julia stops herself.
"Defective," Amber finishes.
Not what Julia was going to say. But, then again, with how she's looking at me maybe it might as well be. I roll my eyes over to a perturbed Arlene and figure it's time to move out of the way.
"It's almost time for dinner," Julia says. "Let's get you home, okay?" She takes Rachel's hand and guides her up, then leans in to hug Arlene. "I'll see you later, Mom."
Rachel refuses to budge when Julia takes a step. "It's not home."
There's a moment of awkward silence. Julia will no doubt offer soothing words or bribes of candy. But I don't let her. "She can stay with me," I blurt, sliding my cane up and down, keeping my gaze to the side.
"Wow... and you were barely capable of babysitting when you weren't detoxing." Amber flicks the IV bag again. She sharpens into focus as everyone else blurs.
"Are... are you sure?" Julia's voice sounds to the side, but I don't turn.
Not even when Rachel stomps, jumping up and down. "Yeah, I wanna stay with House!" she chants. "Stay with House! Stay with House!"
"Is the brat actually growing on you?" Amber twirls the IV line around her finger. "Is that possible?"
I ignore her and face Julia. "Yeah, it'll be fine."
19 April
Hours crawl by watching the ventilator pump. I don't know why I'm in Cuddy's room. It makes my leg feel like thousands of fiery worms are burrowing and squirming about inside, leaving a trail of burning nerves, eating away at the muscle.
It's a weak explanation, a weak basis for a course of action—or inaction as the case seems—but with Rachel, this seems like where I should be.
"Here." She hands me another page from a health food magazine, where's she's cross-legged on the floor below me, tearing them out.
I take the page, force down the corners in spite of the tremors gripping my fingers, manage another air-plane. "Aim better this time."
"Okay." She grabs it from me and bounces off to the doorway.
"Doubt Cuddy would be impressed with your parenting." Amber thumbs through a travel magazine in the chair beside mine. "Teaching her to throw things at people."
"Not her parent." I grind the shaft of my cane into my leg, rolling it back and forth. "So, it doesn't count."
Poised to send the plane into the air, Rachel turns around. "Who you talking to?"
I glance at Amber. Her eyes flare with amusement.
"No one," I say. "My imaginary friend."
"Maginary friend?"
"Just focus on your target."
Her gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before returning to the hall. After two strokes, she launches the plane with all her strength. She stumbles forwards, catching herself against the wall by the door.
"Got her!" She rushes back to my chair.
"Good job."
She ducks beside me as the doors slide open. It's not nurse Hijaltry, but Chase, Cameron, and Thirteen with expressions ranging from amusement, mild surprise, and indecipherable, in that order. The way they hesitate before speaking communicates their curiosity about the general crappiness of my appearance.
"The tumours have shrunk." Chase shuffles through a handful of scans, holding each up for a few seconds.
"If it's autoimmune, his body created antibodies that ended up fighting his own tumours." Cameron's eyes follow Rachel, who plops down and resumes tearing magazine pages. "The growth factor made the underlying autoimmune condition better."
I straighten my back. "Maybe it was never cancer to begin with."
"Of course it was." She tries to ignore the sound of paper ripping. "We biopsied."
"Here." Rachel passes me another page.
"False positive?" I fold the top corners and she watches every movement.
"Amyloidosis?" Thirteen suggests. "His EKG voltage has been on the low end of normal. What if the tumours were actually protein deposits?"
Another plane finished. I hold it between my index and thumb for a moment. "Biopsy to confirm, chemo to treat." I hurl it towards Chase.
He catches it inches from his chest. Rachel bounds up to him, stares expectantly. He smiles and gives her the plane.
"Low-normal is still normal." Cameron barely pays attention to her own words, glowing at the exchange. She doesn't have to say it. She's bubbling over with anticipation of meeting their own little parasite.
"Low-normal is still low." Thirteen crosses her arms, shifts away ever-so-slightly.
"More importantly," Chase redirects. "His platelet count's still low. Chemo's still a death sentence."
Cameron looks at me. "Treating for amyloid with normal EKG is like performing a gastrectomy on someone because they've got indigestion."
"I guess we should do it your way." I glance at her intermittently between watching Rachel scamper to the door. "Go and look concerned until he gets better."
Rachel musters everything she's got for an exaggerated throw. The plane soars from the room.
"GI biopsy to confirm, chemo to treat," I say to the team.
"Hope you don't kill him." Amber crosses her legs. Right. She's still here.
They offer no more resistance.
Rachel charges through them on their way out. She stops in front of me as Nurse Hijaltry stomps in, hands on her hips.
I point to Rachel.
The nurse shakes her head and leaves.
"Really responsible tormenting a nurse on her shift," jabs Amber.
Rachel pokes my arm. "I want ice cream."
Hm. Cuddy's leftover Zofran is taking care of the nausea, so right now that doesn't sound like a bad idea.
The sun filters through the trees and bounces off the water below. It's turning orange. I lean against the railing of the footbridge, rich chocolate swirling through my mouth with every bite. Rachel slurps a strawberry ice cream beside me and crunches sprinkles between her teeth. A few pairs of geese honk.
"I wanna see." Rachel hops at the railing.
I hook my cane and lift her under one arm so I won't lose my ice cream.
"Duckies!"
"No, not duckies. Duckies go 'quack quack'. These go 'honk honk'. That's a goose. Apparently Mommy's been slacking off on the picture books."
Of course she would. Stupid thing to say.
"Goose?"
She's slipping and it's hard to hold her with only one arm. I know I'm going to regret this. "Climb up." I bend down, let her onto my shoulders. "Watch the drips, okay? No ice cream in my hair."
"Okay."
I doubt that. I stand, licking the melty parts of my cone.
"Is Mommy coming home soon?"
A knife stabs into my leg again. Lying doesn't solve anything. But she's three. She's just started using whole sentences. She wouldn't understand. On the other hand, everyone deserves the truth.
"I don't know."
"Why not? Why's Mommy sick?"
This is the moment a dad would take her off his shoulders and bring her around front, hug her tight, tell her he loves her and everything's okay. But I'm not her dad. She doesn't have one. Well, of course she does, but not in any way that matters.
"She has cancer." The cold drills into my teeth with another bite of ice cream." The treatment we're giving her is boosting her immune system to fight the cancer in her body. But it comes with risks. And it might not work." The words are out by the time I've realised I still haven't simplified it sufficiently.
Rachel doesn't say anything as the wheels grind in her head.
"We're giving her medicine to make her better," I add.
A cool drop lands in my hair.
"Hey, what did I say about dripping?"
"Sorry." She slurps at her cone. Then she's quiet again. "But... what happens if the medicine doesn't work?"
Wow. What an astute question.
It's easy, yet at the same time, it's not. Most kids learn about this with a goldfish or a hamster. And I've never found myself in the situation of having to explain it.
Another drop.
"Give me that." I jerk the ice cream cone from her hand and hold it out.
"No!" She strains to lift from my neck, reaches past my head, whimpering.
The pink liquid snakes down the cone. It trickles onto my fingers and splats to the brick of the bridge.
"Fine. If I give it back, you have to eat it faster."
"I will!" She grabs desperately.
Her slurps resume as I scoop a glob of my own ice cream to my gums with my tongue and sag against the bridge railing. The chill deadens, for a moment, the rake dragging through my thigh tissue.
The glob is melted by the time something whizzes past my ear. I gulp down the chocolate syrup. A tiny splash ripples in the water below and the geese honk around it. "What was that?"
"Giving them sprinkles!" Rachel points.
"Nice idea, but I can think of something even more fun to do with those." I crunch a chunk of cone down.
"What?" she asks between licks.
"Give me one and I'll show you." I reach up a palm. She deposits a cold, wet sprinkle.
I pinch it between my index and thumb. So hard it's a wonder they don't get lawsuits for breaking people's teeth. I unhook my cane from the rail and take a few limps to the edge of the bridge that overlooks the path that runs along the pond.
A sparkling target presents itself. Sunlight beaming from the head of a bald guy tying his shoes. "See him?" I motion.
"Mm-hm."
"Watch this." I flick the sprinkle. It arcs through the air and strikes perfectly on target. So satisfying.
The man jumps up and whirls around. "What the hell?"
I shuffle back, just out of sight, Rachel giggling.
"Again! Do it again!" She passes me another sprinkle.
The bald guy is too far now, but after a few more bites of ice cream, a new target comes within range. A kid on a bike. No helmet. Perfect. He's pedalling slowly, stops to look at the geese.
Flick.
"Ow!" He rubs his head. "What was that?"
I move back, chomping another hunk of cone, before he turns this way.
"Again!" Rachel drops another sprinkle into my palm. She's saved them in her hand, which I can imagine is pretty sticky. Like my hair. There's an occasional drip to my head, but that doesn't really matter any more.
The next target is a girl talking on her cellphone. Arguing with a boyfriend from what I can make out from this distance.
Flick.
"Ouch!" She whips around. "Hey!"
Just in time.
"Something hit me," The girl says. "Yeah, hit me. I think some asshole kid's throwing things." Her voice comes closer.
"Uh-oh," Rachel says between chomps.
MMMBop echoes from my pocket. The team.
I cram the rest of my cone into my mouth and answer.
"Patient's in critical condition," Thirteen reports. "Went into cardiac arrest, lungs and liver failing before we even started chemo." There must be some interesting body language happening on the other side of the phone because she feels the need to defend herself. "I didn't do this to him."
"Well," Cameron says, "you didn't have to upset him for no reason."
"What's all this? Did I miss something good?"
"Thirteen pointed out Jennifer was wearing coloured contacts. She doesn't have brown eyes."
"She's coming!" Rachel pokes my head.
The girl rises over crest of the incline. "I knew it!" She shouts. "What's wrong with you asshole?"
I hobble for the opposite end of the bridge.
"Not gonna help him this way," comes Chase's voice in my ear. "It's not amyloidosis."
"Faster! Faster!" Rachel's sticky fingers prod my head again.
"Sorry, little miss jockey," I grunt out with choppy strides, "afraid this is as fast horsies with bad legs can go."
The brick bridge comes to an end and turns to gravelled path. It's all downhill so I have to watch my step.
"Sorry to interrupt play time, but our patient is dying."
"Well aware of that," I say between laboured breaths. The gravel crunches under my shoes. Two more limps and my cane lands wrong. It twists, kicks out. Rachel shrieks as we topple to the ground. I catch myself on my palms, the sting of pebbles digging into my flesh radiating outwards.
"You should be ashamed of yourself!" Cellphone-girl calls.
I turn over, slump into a sitting position. "You okay?" I manage, Rachel's arms around my neck nearly cutting off air.
She loosens. "Uh-huh."
My phone's beside us. It looks okay.
Cellphone-girl stomps up, glaring. "I could file assault charges against you."
I grab my cane and pull myself to my feet. "It was a damn sprinkle."
Her eyes go wide in a moment of surprise, then they narrow again.
"If you think the judge wouldn't toss out the case, laughing, go ahead," I say. "Personally, I think it'd be in your best interest to develop a sense of humour before you end up with a serious blood pressure problem."
"Sense of humour? Throwing stuff at people is not funny." She looks at Rachel on my shoulders, then at me again. "I'd expect that sort of crap from a little kid, but I mean, you must be like fifty, or something. Seriously. What's wrong with you?"
No pokes from Amber. She's not here. I didn't realise it until now. Is it working already? Can't be. But she's gone. Has been the whole time.
Muffled voices come from my phone. I set it against my ear, watching the girl. "House? Are you there? What happened?"
"Yeah. It was nothing. Sorry. No ideas."
"You're lucky I've got better things to do than argue with you, old guy." She stares for a moment longer, then storms off.
"Why's that girl so mad?" Rachel asks.
I hold the phone away, limping to the nearby bench. "Got a stick up her ass." I sit down.
"Stick up her... ass?" Rachel climbs off my shoulders and settles beside me.
"Yeah, bottom, backside, butt, bum, anus, rectal orifice."
"Eww. Really? She's got a stick up there?"
"Apparently."
"Ohhh. That must hurt."
"From what I hear, it's not pleasant."
Phone to my cheek again, Cameron's voice swirls in my ear. "House, we need to come up with something fast."
The exchange from earlier sinks in now, the same way my back sinks against the bench. "So, the guy's long lost love is a fraud." I bounce my cane between my knees, letting it crunch through the gravel.
"That's what you're focusing on?"
"Typical House," Chase says.
"Good for Thirteen. Decades of menial work and three cancers couldn't make him die miserable. She just did."
"Cancers?" Rachel filters that word from everything I've said. Probably because I used it in relation to her mom earlier. "What's cancers?"
"No, the truth made him miserable," Thirteen argues.
"Again, it's like there's two of me."
A tug at my jacket sleeve turns me back to Rachel. "What's cancers?" she repeats, forceful. The look on her face says if I don't defuse this properly, I've got a tantrum on my hands. Oh, joy.
How to explain to a curious caterpillar?
"Inside your body are tiny things called cells."
Her eyes widen.
"They do all sorts of jobs. Cleaning up, fixing things, fighting bad guys. But sometimes cells turn into bad guys themselves. They start doing things they're not supposed to, causing all kinds of trouble..."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Taking up space, causing roadblocks, dumping trash in the rivers, making the good cells fight each other."
"Fight each other? How?"
"They're like pirate ships. The good cells blast the bad cells, but their cannons hit other good cells by mistake. Or sometimes..." I pause as the puzzle piece clicks into place. "The bad cells are flying somebody else's flag, causing the good cells to blame the wrong guys."
And there it is. The answer. The one the team needs.
I put the phone up to my head again. "He's got a teratoma."
Usually harmless congenital growth that can be filled with almost any kind of tissue. Including primitive cells, which grow like weeds and can become almost anything, turn into tumours, destroy whole organ systems.
"What?" Chase asks. They're probably exchanging confused looks.
"It's filled with primitive cells, some of which developed into brain cells," I say. "One way to trigger brain symptoms when there's nothing wrong with your brain, have brain cells leaking through your body, provoking an immune response, sounding the alarm to attack all brain cells."
"The cancer was..."
"Cancer. Just growing so fast it collapsed under its own weight." I look at Rachel. She has no idea what's going on now. "Cut out the teratoma, what's left of his cancer, he should be fine. Tell him to think of it as his second luckiest day." I hang up.
Rachel pokes my hand. "You still didn't tell me what's cancer."
I take a moment. "The cells that turn bad, they're cancer. They build bases, called tumours, where they hide out and make more bad guys, so they can build more bases, so they can make more bad guys, over and over, until they take over the whole body."
"And then?" she asks like I'm telling a story.
"And then we try to beat the bad guys with medicine, but different bad guys need different medicine. And sometimes the medicine we have to use can make you sick."
"Like Mommy?"
"Like Mommy."
A normal person would tell her it's going to be okay. I can't. Because I don't know that. And the truth is more important than false hope.