A/N.: Big THANKS to beMeta 6footer =)

25. Lectures – we easily grow tired of listening to them, though each of them is valuable for our determination of life

K.

I put my purse on the kitchen counter and pour myself a mug of coffee. I'm exhausted. This is exactly what I was afraid of: coming home alone after his treatment. Who had known that he'd been honest when he told us that he doesn't have any more strength left? I should have known that.

"Hey Mom, where's Ryan?" My son calls from the den. I know where he is. I can't speak it out loud. If I did, it'll become all so much worse. It's the same. It had been that way with my Mom and it'll be the same with Ryan. It's hard to keep up the hope, while watching a person you love fading away with every second, without having any help at hand.

"He's…he's at the hospital…some…he didn't tolerate the treatment that well today." I try to make it sound casual.

"He's…what?" Seth exclaims.

"He's still in hospital. I'm sorry, I should've called you, but there's nothing we can do. He's asleep now and they'll release him tomorrow. He just needs to rest a bit." I try to explain to him the situation. I have to cover up each scent of worry which may lie within such a message.

"But why? He used to come home after his treatments – a little groggy and such – but home. Why not today?" I can see the worry and fear in his eyes. We all know what this is supposed to mean.

"Seth, he's fighting this for over one year now. The doctors say it was a miracle that he held his own for so long. There's a limit. Everybody has one and Ryan…reached his. But this doesn't mean anything. He still can beat this. He's just more exhausted and depending on other people for help."

"Mom, we're talking about Ryan. He'll hate this."

"He knew that it would come like that one day. He…handles the situation bravely. So should we. He needs us to be strong for him."

"And why are you here now?"

"I need to call your Dad and Ryan's no minor. He doesn't want me to hover over him for hours."

"Is…is he going to be okay tomorrow?"

"He should be. I…I'm sure he will be." I tell him. I'm feeling like a liar. I don't know whether he'll be well tomorrow. I don't know whether he wants me to hover. He gave me permission to leave, and I took it as his signal for: I want to be alone, but I'm far away from being sure about it.

"This is not good, isn't it?"

"No it's not, but it's not yet bad enough for giving up hope."

"Do you think he would mind, if I visited him?"

"No, he wouldn't. Go and distract him from the nurses." I tell him, trying to lighten up the situation by the joke.

"Okay, I'm off then. See you later." And with these words he's gone out of the door. It's astonishing how the relationship between the two of them doesn't seem to have suffered under the past few years. I have to talk to Sandy. I tried to play down the situation, but I have to face the seriousness of it. I didn't want Seth to freak out, because it's obvious that he doesn't take it that easy, but I have to handle the situation like the one that it is. That's why I have to pressure Sandy to hurry.

I listen impatiently to the dial tone.

"Sandy Cohen?" I hear his voice and I feel relief, because this is the first step to accelerate the whole process of searching and finding.

"It's me."

"Kirsten, so nice to hear your voice again."

"Nice to hear your's too."

S.

"What's the matter for this call? Not that I don't appreciate you calling me more often, but I thought you were busy at those times."

"I…I came home from the hospital a few minutes ago and…Ryan…he's not well. In fact, he's very weak…he collapsed after his treatment today and they kept him overnight. I…feel bad for pressuring you, but did this man agree to the paternity test?" She asks me. I haven't told her that this man was my father, yet. Considering the whole situation at home, I doubt she would take this news well. Even I haven't digested them. How am I supposed to explain it well dosed to my wife? We don't know for fact that this man is his father and there's no need for worrying her about that. It's better waiting until we know something concrete. It's enough when one of us is wasting his energies with these worries and thoughts and different concepts of explanations.

"He did, but he won't come to California."

"Sandy, didn't you listen to what I told you seconds ago? Ryan's in no state for another journey."

"I know and…maybe the hospital can send a sample of his blood to the hospital here. They should do so. They know as well how important this is." I try to sooth her. It's useless. Since we brought Ryan home with us, the second time, she's in an indefinite agitation: always in the need for controlling and organising the even smallest occurrence and conduct at our home.

"Okay, I'll go back and ask them for that. How high do you think the chances are that this man is his father?"

"We're talking about Dawn, who seemed to have promiscuity tattooed on her forehead…so I wouldn't get too excited about this. I'm sorry to say that, but I just want to save us a bad awakening in case…in case he's not his father."

"Oh God Sandy, I can't do this again."

"Kirsten, I can imagine that this is hard for you, but he didn't ask us. You asked him and you can't …jerk him around. He is a human being, and I'm sure as hell that he has more feelings than he allows us to see. It's on us now." We've already inflicted enough pain on the boy's soul. He doesn't need anymore of it. I don't want to be the one who's sending him over the emotional edge.

"I know Sandy. I thought it would be easier the second time around, but…it's not. It's…even harder this time and …I dunno. I should stop whining, because it had been my idea. It's just…"

"It's Ryan we're talking about and seeing him weak and suffering and dependent makes this a whole lot worse than you had imagined. Still, Ryan's none of Seth's super heroes."

"I know…listen, I rush back to the hospital. Maybe you can get his sample by tomorrow."

"Okay, but be careful. Love you."

K.

"Love you too." And then I break up the line.

Thoughts are racing through my mind when I drive back to the hospital. How to explain to Ryan that we might have found his father? His cure? How to tell him that this is the last hope we have, and that the rest depends on the list of donors? How to explain to him that the blood of a man, he doesn't even know, determines whether he'll live or might die? I hate having the role of the messenger of bad news.

I enter the room with a doctor in tow. I knock, but don't wait for the permitting answer to enter and just open the door. Seth is telling Ryan about his different modules he's attending at the university.

"Sorry to interrupt the two of you, but I need to talk to Ryan." I say. Ryan's previously grinning face turns stern and concerned.

"Do you want me to leave?" Seth asks him.

"Uh…no…It's…nothing…I mean, I'm not in trouble or am I?" Ryan asks me suspicious, crooking his eyebrow the manner he used to do when he feared we might lecture him for something.

"No! No, you're not in trouble. The doctor just needs to draw a blood sample." Now he looks frowning at me. Oh no, I didn't want to rise his fears higher.

"Sandy found a man, who might be …your father." I let it out. I see his facial expression change, but not relaxing.

"Sorry, that I don't jump for joy at this, but I don't want my hopes getting up too high. At least I think eighty percent of this state's male population comes into consideration for that." At least I don't have to worry about some of the questions racing through my head. Should I be worried about his sarcasm? Ryan has never been the person for lacing his statements with a sarcastic tone.

"Would you mind?" The doctor steps forward. Ryan turns his head away. He doesn't like needles, and especially not those which steal his blood. I watch the doctor pricking the needle into one if the veins. Ryan hisses when the needles screws through his skin.

"All done." The doctor says when he patches a band aid over the location of puncture. "I'll send the sample to New York." The doctor says.

"Thanks, we really appreciate the effort."

"Good luck." The doctor replies and then leaves us alone.

I look at my two sons. Seth looks like rain had been washing all over his face. Ryan's face more or less remains empty, with a hint of strain.

"Did you know that …Frank wasn't your Dad?" Seth asks Ryan.

"Not until I got sick."

"Ryan, I understand that you don't want to raise your hopes, but…I don't want you to lose them." I tell him.

I watch the boys exchanging curious looks. It's Seth who throws a questioning look at Ryan, with a sideways glance into my direction. I can tell that he tries to not to make me notice it. I watch Ryan reply with an objecting glance. This is the usual interplay between them. Seth has an idea, Ryan isn't sure about it. Seth wants him to put the idea into actual action, and Ryan doesn't really want to.

"Okay boys, what is it?" I ask them to relieve them from their self made trap.

"Ryan wanted to ask you something." Seth answers.

"Seth!" Ryan hisses harshly. I look demanding at Ryan. I need to put on my professional stern mask to make Ryan tell me something he isn't approved of.

"It's…I…just wanted to ask…I mean, I feel better now and I really don't want to stay here." He admits.

"Ryan, you collapsed after your treatment. Your body tells you that…you're too weak right now and you have to respect that." I don't want to risk anything.

"I know and right now I'm so awfully drugged up that I won't even puke for the next few years. Kirsten, when you tell me that I'm too weak for …coming back to your's…it's like…I don't like this idea. I'm not ready for that, not yet when I still have a glimpse of hope left." He tells me. I doubt that architecture is the right thing to study for him. His rhetorical skills make him more suitable for being a lawyer, and I hate him for that. It leaves me speechless and robs me of arguments.

"Okay, I'll talk to the doctor and see what he has to say. But I won't promise anything. He has the final say and only when he agrees to letting you go, you can." It's harsh and seems a bit unfair and as if I don't want him around in my house. That's not true. It's the opposite:

I want him around, but not if the price means having him around for only a limited period of time. If I have to sacrifice his presence for gaining it back in a whole, then I'm more than happy doing so. It's obvious where my biological son got his self-centred genes from. The thought is selfish. It's not about my wishes and well-being, but about his and I have difficulties embracing the situation as one that isn't concerned with me in first place. I'm nothing more than a collateral purpose, an annex to Ryan's life. Probably I'm even less than an annex to him. I'm the person that tells him what to do and jerks him around from one place to another. This is not only what I do now, but it's exactly what I've been doing during all those years with him. I told him what he had to do and not what he should do. I didn't act like a mother, but like a commander. I told Seth what he should do to protect him. I told Ryan what he had to do, to protect my family – first and foremost to protect Seth.

Ryan's doctor isn't happy about Ryan's wish, but he can understand it. We both know that the dreadful experience of an overlong hospital stay is still ahead of Ryan. For his sake we should retard this experience for as long as possible. With his warnings the doctor reminds me of how close we are to enter into this period of pure waiting, endless hoping and enduring torture. The agony of the fear of knowing we might lose him turns into a real thing and not only some nagging thought in the back of my head.

"Okay Ryan," the doctor starts when he enters the room. "I'm not happy about your idea of leaving today, but I can understand it. So, when Mrs. Cohen agrees to it, I'm willing to discharge you under one condition: strictly bed rest."

"What about the couch in the living room?" Seth asks and I shoot disbelieving glances at him. This is no comedy show. The doctor looks puzzeled at me and all I can do is shrug my shoulders, until he turns towards the son who had asked the question. Ryan himself looks a little alienated too by this situation.

"I mean the TV screen in the living room is much bigger, and better for watching DVDs and playing some PlayStation. I just thought, you know, bed rest doesn't mean exclusively sleeping, right?" I roll my eyes. I can't believe that my son was really thinking about some triviality like that right now. On the other hand, it conceals some of the seriousness of the situation and expresses that he doesn't think of Ryan as a sick, but as a young man who has interests a young man has.

"Well, if you can promise me not to change your location every five minutes and can stay put long enough that you can consider it as resting, I'm okay with that as well. But although bed rest doesn't mean exclusively sleeping, it comes pretty close to it. So if you're feeling tired, don't force yourself to stay awake. Your body tells you exactly what it wants and what to do." He directs to Ryan. I can see that Ryan is tired of listening to all these lectures, as he must have been listening to them since he got sick. He must be sick of being sick and not being the commander, but being commanded by his body – or better pronounced: by a sickness.

"Yeah, I think I understood the message behind all these lectures." Ryan answers irritated.