Page 67 of Doctor Neighbor

“We need to confirm the diagnosis with a bone marrow biopsy,” Jonah says. “If it’s AML, we’ll start treatment immediately. She’ll need to stay in the hospital for the initial phase of chemotherapy, and we’ll monitor her closely for any complications.”

I nod, feeling a mixture of fear and determination. “Let’s do it. Whatever it takes.”

We step into Maddie’s room, and Cole looks up, her eyes red and filled with hope. I give her a reassuring nod, and Jonah steps forward to explain the plan.

“Cole, we need to perform a bone marrow biopsy to confirm the diagnosis,” Jonah says gently. “It’s a small procedure where we take a sample of the bone marrow from her hip bone. If it is AML, we’ll start treatment right away.”

Cole nods, her voice trembling. “Okay. Just… please help her.”

“We will,” I say, squeezing her hand. “We’ll do everything we can.”

As Jonah prepares for the biopsy, I stand by Maddie’s side, feeling the weight of the situation. This is a battle we have to win—for Maddie, Cole, and all of us. And with Jonah’s expertise and our determination, I know we have a fighting chance.

TWENTY-TWO

Cole

UAB Hospital

5:18 pm

I sit in the uncomfortable plastic chair, my mind spinning as I try to make sense of everything that's happening. The beeping of machines and the constant bustle of nurses and doctors blur into a cacophony of noise around me.

My eyes are fixed on Maddie's small form in the hospital bed, tubes and wires attached to her tiny body. I’m trying to summon the strength of the Vulcan in the park, to be strong and unyielding for her. But I feel anything but that.

Buster's presence beside me is the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart. His calm, steady voice explains medical terms and procedures that would otherwise be incomprehensible to me. I cling to his words like a lifeline.

"Cole, they're running more tests to confirm the diagnosis," he says, his hand resting reassuringly on my shoulder. "Dr. Bellinger is the one who suggested the cause. If it is AML, she's in good hands."

I nod numbly, unable to form words. The possibility of leukemia hangs heavy in the air, a terrifying specter I can't quite wrap my head around. How could this be happening to my vibrant, energetic little girl?

Cancer.

That word has always been so ephemeral, somebody else's tragedy.

It's a scary word, representing something I don't know much about except that it is deadly and painful and pretty much the worst thing I can imagine.

Buster continues to explain what AML might mean and what treatments could be involved. I try to focus and absorb the information, but it’s like catching water with my bare hands. Everything feels slippery, elusive.

"Thank you," I manage to whisper, looking up at Buster. His presence, expertise, and unwavering support are more than I could have hoped for in this nightmare scenario. "I don't know what I'd do without you here."

He squeezes my hand, and momentarily, I allow myself to lean into his strength. The weight of potential decisions looms before me—treatment options, long-term care plans, financial considerations—but for now, I focus on breathing, on being present for Maddie, and on the comfort of having Buster by my side.

Wednesday, August 21

9:41 am

The last 48 hours have felt like an eternity. After Dr. Bellinger performed the bone marrow biopsy on Maddie, we’ve been left in a state of suspended animation, waiting for the results. Each tick of the clock grates on my nerves, the minutes stretching into unbearable hours.

I haven’t left Maddie’s side. I sleep, when I can, on the recliner beside her bed. My body is exhausted, but my mind won’t rest. Every time I close my eyes, I see her lying there, so small and fragile, and the fear grips me all over again.

Against everyone’s advice, I’ve been googling AML. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. The things I’ve read… they terrify me. Words like “aggressive,” “low survival rate,” and “intensive treatment” swim in my mind.

I try to focus on the positives and the success stories, but it’s hard when the worst-case scenarios loom so large.

A day after we arrived at the hospital, Maddie finally regained consciousness. They had given her fluids, antibiotics, and oxygen support, stabilizing her enough to wake her up. The relief I felt when her eyes fluttered open was indescribable. She was groggy and confused, but she was back with me.

“Mama?” she had whispered, her voice weak.

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