Page 8 of Devoted

I knock on Dr. Lexington’s door as soon as we arrive. “Come in,” his deep baritone voice calls from the other side. I can feel my hand shaking as I turn the knob and usher my mom through with my hand on the small of her back.

“Brooks. Nice to see you.”

“Likewise, Thomas. This is my mother, Vivian Bennet.” My mother reaches forward to shake his hand as he stands from his desk to do the same.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I wish it were under different circumstances, of course. You’re so attractive. If we were out and about, I’d definitely make a move.” My mother bounces her eyebrows at my colleague, and in that moment, I hide behind my hand—not only because I work here, but because he’s only about ten years older than me.

“Mom! Please don’t hit on your doctor.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as I take the seat next to her.

“Why not? I’m dying, Brooks. Might as well say what’s on my mind.” She shrugs indifferently.

“You’re not dying. We’re fighting, remember?” Latching on to her hand with mine, I feel her pulse in her wrist that touches mine. She’s still alive. She can beat this.

“Mrs. Bennet—” Thomas starts, but my mother cuts him off.

“It’s Miss. There hasn’t been a Mr. Bennet in years.” My mother and father divorced when I was five and he took off, never looking back to check on the son he basically abandoned. It’s always been just me and my mom, even more reason why I need her to fight. I can’t lose her. She’s all I have.

“Okay. How about Vivian, then?”

She nods. “That’s fine.”

“Vivian, you realize that the next few months will be crucial to how we move forward with your treatment.”

“Yes.”

“There will be chemotherapy and then radiation… you will get very weak and sick. You will want to die.”

“But she’s going to fight,” I interject.

“I’m going to fight. But if these rounds don’t work, I’m done, Brooks.” Her eyes find mine with a peaceful gaze, as if she’s already accepted her fate.

“No, you can’t just accept this, Mom. You have to want to beat it. The mental game is just as important as the physical one…” I squeeze her hand so she can feel my desperation.

“I know, Brooks. I’m going to fight. But I also know that I’ve lived for fifty-eight years already and have an amazing son to show for that. So if this doesn’t work, I’m okay with that. And you will be okay, too.” Moisture builds in both of our eyes as we stare each other down. But I nod in acceptance, knowing that ultimately, it’s her life, her body—her decision.

“Okay, you can continue,” I say to Thomas, swallowing hard while still holding my mother’s hand.

“Vivian… you have inoperable, stage three breast cancer. At this time, surgery is not a viable option. Our best bet is to start chemotherapy as soon as possible, in fact Monday would be best. Are you aware of the potential risks and side effects that can take place with this treatment? Did you read all the literature your other oncologist gave to you?”

Her head bobs up and down. “Yes. I’m aware.”

“We have a long road ahead of us, you two. But I’m optimistic that we can shrink this tumor and reduce the amount of cancer in your chest so that an operation will be realistic in the future.”

My mother and I turn to each other, taking a deep breath at the same time, as if we both know what the next few months is going to look like—nausea, vomiting, doctors’ appointments on what will feel like every minute of the day.

But this is what I signed up for when I came home—standing by my mother’s side while she stands in the ring, battling through the longest five rounds of any boxing match I’ve ever witnessed.

This isn’t a fight for entertainment though. No, this is a fight where the only two outcomes are life and death.

And for the first time since becoming a doctor, I’m the most terrified I’ve ever felt of losing a patient—because this is the first fight where I’m attached to the person wearing the gloves.

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