Page 44 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

“We got a call today,” says Dad. “About that research group you’ve been heading.”

He frowns. “You did?”

“We did,” says Dad. “Jackson, I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t think that anything was going to come from it. All this time, we’ve been pushing and hassling every doctor that Harris sees, trying to get someone to look a little harder. We figured that there had to be something, but no one would listen.”

I grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table and dab at my face, taking a few breaths to try and get myself under control. I know that my parents have been some of the biggest advocates for finding a cure.

They attend fundraisers, they go to seminars, they advocate for more research online… They’ve been true warriors over the years, dealing with doctors that have been treating Harris. Not everyone is like Jackson, after all. There are plenty of them out there who are dismissive to the patient, who don’t care, who just want the job dealt with and the patient out of their room.

People who looked at Harris and wrote him off as a waste of time, citing that there wasn’t a cure and he should just go to a home, stating that he would never have a good life. But my parents fought back every step of the way, and we all worked together to give Harris the best life possible. To make sure that if there was something that could be done, we were doing it.

My eyes are glossy with tears again. I have to blink hard to try and beat them back. “You did it, Jackson. You did it.”

“We thought that your research was going to end the same way. No real hope, just something that you were doing because we were friends,” Dad tells him. He holds out his hand. Baffled, Jackson takes it. Dad continues, “But we got a call today, and they say that there’s a trial out now, one that Harris can take part in. Medication that’s supposed to help him.”

My father is a very, very proud man. I’ve never known him to cry around strangers, and he seldom gets emotional even around his family. He wants to be a rock. But today, he takes that hand Jackson has given him, tugs and pulls Jackson in for a hug.

There are tears in my father's eyes when he does it, and his voice is choked and wet when he says, “Thank you, Jackson. Thank you so fucking much.”

Jackson returns the hug, looking shocked. I guess that they called us before they called him. Or maybe they just left a message. It doesn’t really matter.

What matters is that today, we got word that all of our hard work in the research labs at Mercy General plus the funding Jackson’s given the various organizations doing research into a cure for Margur’s disease has been a success. A new trial drug is being fast-tracked. Harris has been in his room telling his online friends about it all evening, he’s still in there now. I can’t remember the last time we saw him this happy.

I say, “We’ve done it.”

Jackson, still wide-eyed, looks at me over Dad’s shoulder and asks, breathlessly, “We’ve done it?”

“We’ve done it,” I repeat, with a nod of my head. “And we wouldn’t have, not if you weren’t here. Thank you.”

The joy that shoots through Jackson’s face is like an explosion. He suddenly grips my father tight, as though it’s his own son that he’s just helped get medication, and says, voice thick with emotion, “We’ve done it!”

The two men vanish from the room for a moment, my father leading the way, clearly not wanting to have the next conversation in front of everyone else. From the doorway to the kitchen, Mom says, “Your father just doesn’t want you to see him crying. Come help me get drinks.”

I stand up and help my mother make everyone a cup of coffee, fixing Jackson’s the way that he likes it. When my mother shoots me an amused look, I tell her, “We drink a lot of coffee at the hospital.”

“All of those late nights aren’t good for you,” says Mom.

“They aren’t, but they’re paying off. Mom, they’re paying off. We’re on the right track,” I tell her. We carry the coffee out into the living room, setting the various cups down on the coffee table. “We’re going to fix things.”

Mom asks, “We don’t know if this will work though, right?”

“Not for certain,” I admit. “That’s why it’s just a trial drug. But they wouldn’t have released it if they weren’t confident that it could make a difference.”

She shakes her head, sinking down onto the corner cushion of the couch. “I don’t understand it. Your father and I have been trying for so long…”

“Money talks,” I tell her. “And Jackson’s been funding this whole thing. His reputation, that’s helped too. Everyone knows that he’s at the top of the board, you know? I imagine they’re hoping that they might be able to get a favor from him down the line, for helping with the research now. I wouldn’t have been able to even put the research team together without him stepping up as the lead doctor.”

“I just…” Mom shakes her head again, reaching out and getting a tissue of her own. “I’m grateful. I’m so grateful. Even if this doesn’t work, someone is finally trying again.” Her free hand snakes out, resting on my shoulder. “Someone other than just you.”

“I know what you mean by it,” I tell her, smiling a little. I’ve been trying my whole life to get to this point. But I’m his big sister. That’s my job. Take care of him. Help him. Do what I can to heal him.

Everyone else… That’s different.

It’s been impossible to stir up interest in this research on our own. I know that we would never have gotten this trial up and running without Jackson. And there’s something else, too, the glee that sits in the back of my mind as I know that it’s not just Harris who will be helped by this, but the baby boy that I’m going to have, too.

Help for both of them.

The coffee is cooled by the time Jackson and Dad rejoin us in the living room. Dad’s eyes are bright red and bloodshot, like he’s been crying, but neither man looks uncomfortable.

---