Written in 59 minutes. Fixed the format (well changed it lol)

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I said remember this feeling
I passed the pictures around
Of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines
Wishing for right now

April 2009

Emily stripped the scrub cap from her head, letting her messy brown hair fall to her shoulders. She’d  chopped it off a few months earlier, exhausted from a long day at work, an even longer night with a toddler and a newborn on her own with Nikolas in London for another trip. She didn’t have the patience for a hair dryer to tame it after a much needed hot shower, so she’d reached for the nearest scissors and hacked at it.

“You did everything you could.”

Emily shook her head, shoved her hands through her hair, letting her fingers link at the nape of her neck and rest there. “Do you really think that’s going to comfort the parents in the waiting room?” she wanted to know. She tipped her head back. “Why did I think being a pediatric surgeon was a good idea?”

Patrick Drake leaned against the metal sink, folding his arms. “We save more than we lose, Em. You think it gets easier because my patients are usually older? You knew it was a long shot. That’s why you called me in.”

“I know. I know.” She exhaled slowly, staring out into the operating room where nurses were cleaning up, and one of the residents was carefully stitching the chest of the five-year-old they’d lost on the table. Tears burned hot in her eyes. “He’s Cam’s age, you know?”

“You can’t do that. Em.” He touched her shoulder. “You can’t do that. The next kid might be Spencer’s age. The one last week was Lila’s. You need a break. A long one.”

“Maybe you’re right. Nikolas wants to take Spencer to Greece this summer, you know, to see the island.” She rubbed her bare arms. “Lila will be old enough for a flight.”

“Well, I was talking about tomorrow, but—” Patrick followed her out the hallway and down the hallway to the hub of the surgery floor. Emily had retrieved her beeper and was flicking through her pages. “Anything good?”

“No. Just a call from my mother, but it’s the when you’ve got time code,” Emily told her. She stopped at the counter, flicked through the other charts but Patrick stopped her from plucking a new one. “What?”

“You’ve got time. Go call your mom, go home, see your kids—”

Emily pursed her lips. “Why are you being so friendly? Why are you interfering with my life? What’s wrong? Did you and Robin have another fight, because I don’t—”

Patrick rolled his eyes, walked in the other direction. “Fine, don’t call your mom. Jump off a cliff. I don’t care.”

“That’s more like it,” she called after him, but he had a point, and maybe her mother would have something to perk her up.

—

For the last two years, Elizabeth had reported to the hospital five days a week, splitting her hours between the family clinic where she worked as a licensed family counselor, the free clinic on the first floor where she saw urgent cases, and the meetings she ran for sexual assault survivors. She went to the pediatrics floor regularly for Cameron and Jake, to catch up with Emily when the fifth-year resident had time—

The one area of the hospital she avoided like the plague was the tenth floor and the ICU.

Though it had been almost six years since the summer she’d spent recovering from the pulmonary embolism, it was impossible to completely shed the way it felt to be on the floor, to see the clear walls of the patient rooms, being on display while her reputation had been shredded in tabloids and to anyone who listened—

The floor looked the same — the hub for the nurses and doctors, the waiting room, and the three hallways that branched out from the hub, each with lined with patient rooms whose residents were clearly visible.

Monica was in the waiting room, rising to her feet, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. “You came so quickly—oh. I didn’t—you have Cameron—” She furrowed her brow. “But not Jake. So you didn’t come from daycare. What’s wrong?”

Cameron, at the sound of his grandmother’s voice, lifted his head from his father’s shoulder. “Gammy. Hi.”

“Hey there, sweetheart.” Monica stroked Cameron’s curls, her fingerstips sliding across his forehead. “He has a fever?”

“A cold,” Jason clarified. “It’s—it’s fine. We were on our way home, but we can’t take him to daycare—”

“No, of course not. I’m—” Monica took a deep breath. “I just—I was ready, and then I saw Cameron—”

“Why don’t I take him?” Elizabeth suggested, holding her hands out. “We’ll go sit over there, and you can talk to your mom—”

“Your patient—”

“I have a little while, and I’ll call Bobbie if we need to.”

Jason gently transferred their son into Elizabeth’s arms, not releasing his grip until he was satisfied, but then watched them cross over to the side of the waiting room and settle in one of the chairs.

“Just a cold?” Monica said gently, and he looked back at his mother, at her worried expression.

“There’s a little more, but it can wait. You—” He looked past her, from one hallway to the next. “You said Alan was here.”

“He is. He was admitted last night,” Monica said, then pursed her lips. “And then Tony and I had a conversation where it became clear that it wasn’t the first time Alan had seen a doctor.”

Jason frowned. “Tony’s—he’s a neurosurgeon—is it a tumor, or—”

“He was hiding it from me, so he put all his testing through Tony’s service.” Monica shook her head. “It’s—it’s his heart. God.” She closed her eyes, tilted her head up. “It’s his heart, and he wouldn’t tell me. This is what I do. This is who I am—and I can’t even be furious at him when we’re in the same room because there’s not enough time to be angry—”

Not enough time. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

Monica stopped, pressed her lips together, clearly fighting to calm herself. “Last night, he couldn’t catch his breath. Couldn’t breathe. He had no choice, but to tell me. It’s heart failure. To put it bluntly. ”

“Heart failure,” Jason repeated. “Okay. What do we do? What—the treatment. What’s the—” He stopped when his mother looked away. Not enough time. “Mom.”

“He’s had heart problems for years, but we’ve managed it through medication, health, diet — he wanted to stay healthy especially now. Especially with—” She turned away, took another breath to steady herself. “With the grandchildren coming, and how…he didn’t want to take it for granted. This second chance for our kids to be with us. You, AJ, and Emily. We have holidays and birthdays and weekly dinners, he promised me he was doing everything—”

“But he didn’t tell you he was getting sicker,” Jason said, trying to sort through the jumble of words, the whiplash of her emotions. “You knew he was sick, but he got worse without telling you.”

“I—yes. Yes. His kidneys—they’re not doing well. And his blood pressure—I don’t have to tell you how serious hypertension is. I’m sorry, I’m not—I had it all planned. The way I would tell you, and then I saw Cameron, and he’s sick, and Cameron won’t remember him. He won’t. Jake and Lila and Spencer and Michael and Morgan—”

Jason pulled his mother into his arms, finding Elizabeth’s eyes across the room. He could see the tears glistening on her cheeks. She wasn’t close enough to hear everything, but it wouldn’t take much to see what was going on.

He rubbed his mother’s back, then pulled back. “Okay. One step at a time. Okay?” He knew people at this hospital. Elizabeth knew people. They’d get Alan’s chart explained to them. It wasn’t fair to expect Monica to do it all. Bobbie.  “Did you call Emily and AJ?”

“AJ and Carly took the boys to New York. It’s spring break and there were meetings at the—” Monica scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “We have to call them. I don’t know how long. I can’t think straight.”

“You don’t have to. Emily?”

“She was in surgery, but I left a message—”

“Okay. I’m going to call Bobbie,” Jason told her. “And I’ll call Carly.” He was already pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call Justus, too. Maybe he and Tamika can pick up Jake—” But Cameron needed more than that. Treatments and prescriptions picked up from the pharmacy—

One step at a time. “Let me make a few calls, and then we’ll get Alan’s chart, and Tony. Tony can talk to us. You shouldn’t have to.”

“I—”

“Telling people,” Jason said slowly, “having to repeat it over and over again to the people who matter, it’s the hardest part. Having to relive it. Come on. Come sit with Elizabeth and Cameron while I make the calls. And then we’ll go talk to Ala—to Dad,” he said. It had never become comfortable, these labels he’d rejected for Alan and Monica all those years ago, and he had to think about it, had to use the words deliberately.

Even after all this time, all the ways they’d worked hard to rebuild their family, and the ways Alan and Monica had helped Jason build his own — it had never become second nature. He thought it might, eventually. With time.

And now time was running out.

Set after At Christmas, the holiday novella I wrote a few years ago.

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2009

The room was quiet, with the occasional sound of beeps from the machine next to the bed. The beeps were a comfort, just like the dips and rises on the monitor. Even. Predictable. Boring. The man in the bed was pale, but not so different from the day he’d been checked in. He didn’t wear the checked patient gown, but his own satin blue pajamas. How many times had she woke in the morning, turned to find him looking just like this?

How many years had they wasted with pride and arrogance and sheer stupidity?

The beat on the monitor picked up again, and she looked at it, her breath caught for a moment, her eyes like a hawk, waiting for the irregular pace to even out, to relax — not another arrhythmia, no, not now—

She didn’t take another breath, not until the beat had slowed again, didn’t look away from the monitor until the dips and rises were normal—so she didn’t know he was awake until there was the gentlest squeeze on her hand, the paper-thin, rust of his voice.

“Monica.”

She whipped her eyes from the machine to her husband in the bed, squeezed his hand. “Alan, you need to rest. You need to—”

“You’re…not the only doctor in this room,” Alan told her, then smiled to take the sting from his words — just the slightest lift from the corners of his lips. “The…kids. They’ll know. I…” He closed his eyes, licked his lips. “They’ll know,” he repeated. “It’s…Friday. And tomorrow…”

“I know.” Monica looked at his hands, at the lines of age winding across from knuckles to wrist. “We’ve become so boring in our old age, haven’t we? The weekly family dinner, the house full of children and grandchildren—” Her voice caught, the final word pulled back and trapped in her throat. “You…you can’t give up. We have so much still to look forward to. Our babies—”

“Not giving up.” He looked at her again, warmth in his beloved eyes. “Holding on to every minute. I…waited too long to start our family. To pay attention. Foolish.”

“Alan.”

“They need to know. I need…I need to see them. Monica. It’s time to tell them.”

—

“It’s just a cold, it’s just a cold.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her torso, watching the pediatrician listen to her son’s lungs, sliding the end of the stethoscope from his back to the front, to the heart. She looked at her husband. “Just a cold.”

“It’s just a cold,” Jason told her, but his tone was tense, fear sliding beneath it. Every bump, bruise, sniffle, and cough since the moment Cameron had been born was the center of anxiety, the cause of fast breathing, pulse racing, thoughts flying through every piece of literature they’d read in the last five years.

“It is just a cold,” Dr. Hudson told them, looping the scope around his neck, with his usual calm smile. He was used to this by now, having guided Cameron from the day he’d left the NICU.  “Why don’t we let Cameron sit in here with one of our nurses and we can have a conversation about what to do next.”

Once they had left the examining room and gone across the hall, the doctor behind his desk, Jason and Elizabeth seated across from him. “I don’t like the wheezing I’m hearing,” he added. “This is his second cold in the last six months, and the last one lingered—”

“Two weeks after the rest of the symptoms,” Elizabeth added.

“And after the x-rays were clear,” Jason finished, almost on top of each other. He rubbed her shoulder, and she flashed him a tight-lipped smile. “You said—”

“That it happens sometimes, but this is the second time,” Dr. Hudson repeated. “It’s normal for a child of Cameron’s age, with his medical history.  He’s made extraordinary progress—you said kindergarten was going well?”

“He’s—we read to him every night. A-and he started reading to us, and his teacher said he’s quick and bright and loves to answer questions and volunteer—”

“But he’s been having trouble with speech,” Jason said, and Elizabeth stopped, pressed her lips together. “With forming the, uh, s sound, his teacher said. We’ve got an appointment next week with a speech therapist—”

“He gets frustrated,” Elizabeth admitted, then swiped at the errant tear that escaped her eyes, then took a deep breath. “When he has the answer, but he can’t make himself be understood because of the lisp—”

The doctor made a few notes. “All right, I think we’ve got a few pieces to consider. Let’s remember the big picture, all right? Considering his premature birth at thirty-two weeks, the emphysema he experienced, the delayed development of his lungs, Cameron checks a lot of boxes for the average five-year-old. His height and weight are in the normal range, and if his only major academic problem is a lisp — children born completely health experience those.”

“But the breathing—”

“I want to monitor him more closely,” Dr. Hudson said. “We’ll try a nebulizer treatment and albuterol. I want to hold off on pulmonary function testing as long as we can. Even with a cooperative child, it can be difficult—”

“I remember,” Elizabeth said, fisting her hands in her lap. “I still have mine every six months, and I —” she looked at Jason. “I can’t put Cameron through that. Not yet.”

“Of course. Let me write the prescription, and we’ll get you out of here.”

—

When Cameron had been born, he’d barely weighed four pounds. He’d gained weight in the last five years, of course, but every time Jason lifted his son, he thought about those first few weeks, how the swaddling blanket had felt more substantial.

He tried not to compare him to other children — the slightly older Morgan who was almost a head taller and fifteen pounds heavier. To the way Michael had felt at this age—

Or even to his much younger cousin, Spencer, who was barely two years old and almost as tall as Cameron.

“Tired,” Cameron said, looping an arm around his father’s neck, laying his head against Jason’s shoulder, his messy brown curls tickling the skin at Jason’s collarbone. Jason rubbed his son’s back, stroking up, then down, feeling the slight whisper of breath, the whistling wheeze that followed.

They left the pediatric wing, moving towards the center of the hospital floor, Elizabeth at his side with a phone to her ear, trying to rearrange the rest of her afternoon schedule, an arm wrapped tightly around her midsection, her skin pale.

It hadn’t been terrible news, or even bad. Cameron was fine. He’d need some extra help recovering from his colds or other respiratory illnesses, a side effect they’d been ready to handle for years. But they’d just had the meeting with the preschool teacher last week—

But it was pulmonary testing that had put Elizabeth on edge, Jason knew that. They’d go days and weeks and even months without thinking about the illness that had stolen their world for almost a year, that had almost cost her life, the final remnant and reminder of Ric Lansing — the ghost that lived at the edge of their entire existence. Every time Monica’s office reached out to schedule the biannual testing to ensure that there were no more clots or to catch them quickly, it was there again. Impossible to forget.

The idea that their son might have also inherited some of that dark legacy—

They reached the elevators just as Elizabeth finished her phone call, her expression pinched. “I can’t reschedule my last patient,” she told him with a sigh. “I just—I can’t.”

“I can handle it,” he told her. “I’ll get Jake from daycare, and we’ll see you at home. Don’t worry—” The phone in his jeans vibrated, and he grimaced. “My phone—can you see who it is?” If it were Justus or Bernie, he’d have to handle it faster, but—

Elizabeth fished the phone from his pocket, then flipped it over to read the notification screen. “It’s your mom. I can—we could tell her. She’d probably know exactly how to give the treatment—not that you can’t—”

“But she’s your doctor, okay. Answer it.” They stepped on the elevator, and Elizabeth pressed the button for the second floor where the family counseling officers were located, then flipped the phone up to her ear.

“Hey, Monica. I’m so glad you called—” Elizabeth stopped so abruptly, that Jason turned to look at her. She met his eyes, and he read the worry in her expression. “Okay. We’ll—We’ll be there.”

“What’s going on?”

Still gripping the phone, she pressed the button for the tenth floor. He frowned — that was the surgical floor, and— “What’s going on?” he repeated.

“Your dad’s in the ICU. We—we need to meet her up there.”