Page 72 of Doctor One Night

What the fuck?

“Mom?! Mom, are you still there?”

“One more thing. I’ve written you a letter. Please…know…that I do, love….you.”

“Mom?! Mom!”

The line goes dead. I’m shaking as I stare at the phone in my hand. Blinking several times, I try to focus as I search for the contact number for her oncologist. Right now, though, it’s all I can do to keep my fingers around the phone.

3:27 pm

I hang up the phone with Dr. Momford and sit there, staring at the phone. I told him that we already had an ambulance sent to her house. He said that my mother seemed to take the news fairly well when they met first thing this morning and that she seemed otherwise healthy, considering.

Well, she isn’t okay now. I don’t know if she took too much Valium or hit the bottle early, but something is wrong. He assured me he would call me as soon as he knows more. He already put a call into the hospital about her coming in and they will alert him of her condition as soon as she arrives.

I can’t do anything from two thousand miles away. Now, more than ever, I know I need to move her here. All I can do is stay on top of the clinical trials, make sure she is taking her meds properly, and make sure she is comfortable.

But I meant what I said to her. I don’t think this has to be a death sentence. Obviously, her doctor there isn’t up on the latest with this cancer. She needs to be here. If she is closer, I can make sure we do everything we can to beat this beast.

4:58 pm

I slam the weights back onto the rack with a grunt, the metallic clang echoing in the stillness of my home gym. My muscles are burning, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. No matter how hard I push, how much I sweat, I need to push harder, do more reps.

I stand there, dripping sweat, staring blankly at the cars below starting to stack up for the afternoon commute. The view usually calms me, but this afternoon, it’s just adding to my anxiety. My heart is pounding, and my mind is racing, chasing down every possible scenario, every worst-case outcome.

When I called 911, they said they’d dispatch someone immediately. But waiting for news? It’s killing me. I called her house several times on my ride home but no one answered. I’m here, thousands of miles away, helpless.

The phone vibrates on the bench beside me, and I grab it, my hand slick with sweat. It’s Dr. Momford.

“Dr. Momford,” I answer, my voice hoarse, not from the workout but from the fear clawing at my throat.

“Dr. Parrish,” his voice is calm, too calm. It makes my heart plummet.

“Please, call me Hunter.”

“Hunter. I'm afraid I have bad news. The emergency responders arrived at your mother’s home. I’m so sorry to have to tell you over the phone, Hunter… she was pronounced dead at the scene.”

For a moment, I don’t say anything. The words don’t register, not fully. Dead? How? My mom was just on the phone with me, slurring her words, sure, but alive. She was breathing. Talking. And now she’s gone?

“How?” I finally manage to choke out, my voice breaking. I'm certain they don't have definitive answers so quickly, but surely they must have an idea. I don’t care about being strong right now. I just need to know.

“From what the EMTs described, it sounds like she may have suffered a pulmonary embolism, likely caused by a blood clot,” Dr. Momford explains gently. “Given her condition, it’s not uncommon, especially with the strain her body was under from the lymphoma and the treatments. The slurred speech... could have been an indication of a cerebral hemorrhage. It seems everything happened very quickly.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. It makes sense medically. Hell, I’ve seen it a hundred times in patients. But hearing it applied to my own mother is like a punch to the gut. My knees buckle, and I sink down onto the bench, my head in my hands.

“I know I didn't do enough,” I trail off. I don't know Dr. Momford. He doesn't want to hear me babble on about my mother. I've been in his shoes a hundred times, delivering this news.

“She knew, Hunter,” Dr. Momford says softly. “She knew you cared. That’s why she called. It sounds like she wanted you to hear her say those things, to have some closure.”

“I should have done more,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “I should have... I should have been there. I should have insisted she come here.”

“You did what you could,” he says, and I can tell he means it, but it doesn’t make the guilt any easier to bear. “She was just saying to me this morning at our appointment, before we went over everything, how proud she was of you. I could tell how much it meant to her that you had someone call me about her care.”

Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. Proud of me. It’s all I ever wanted to hear from her, from either of my parents, but it comes too late. The tears that I’ve been holding back finally break free, hot and angry, mixing with the sweat still dripping down my face.

“I’m sorry, Hunter,” Dr. Momford says, and I can hear the genuine sympathy in his voice. “Please call me if you have any questions. The hospital will be in touch about how to proceed from here. But please don't hesitate to call me any time.”

I murmur something that might be a thanks before the line goes dead. I’m left sitting here in the silence of my gym. The surrounding air, the muffled sounds of the city below, the cool AC blowing on my damp shirt—all of these sensations are like a dream.

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