Page 75 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“Because I’ve been playing the blood test lottery for over twenty years, and unlike most people, I’m hoping my numberswon’tbe drawn. But just like you, Virginia, and everyone else, I’ve dreamt of what I would do if I were unlucky enough to hit the hemophagocytic lymphohistiocytosis jackpot.”

“And what is that?”

“I willnotgo through what my mother went through. The chemo drained her dry and left her in a state of constant fatigue. I watched it, and I don’t want my children to watch it happen to me. And I definitely don’t want to be part of a clinical trial for a new wonder drug and hope that (a) it really does work and (b) I’m not part of the 50 percent who are popping sugar pills.

“Mom’s biggest regret was that she wasted the last few remaining months of her life looking for medical miracles. I’m doing what she wished she had done. I accept that I have a fatal disease, and I want to live my life out enjoying my husband, my kids, my friends, and my family, and if I’m lucky, doing something for the people of Heartstone that I can be remembered for.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

“You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

“No. You’re not the first patient to opt out of treatment because they feel the downside far outweighs the possible good it could do. I respect your decision, and I admire your ability to accept the diagnosis with such grace. Clearly you are Kate McCormick’s daughter.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all morning.”

He smiled. “Would you like me to go with you when you tell Alex?”

“No. He’s got a lot on his plate, and this morning he added a busload of crash victims. I’ll tell him when the time is right, so I’m invoking our doctor-patient confidentiality agreement.”

“Iwilltry to talk you out ofthisone. Keeping this kind of news from your husband is a slippery slope. I can keep your records confidential for now, so Alex can’t access them, but eventually you’re going to tell him, and he’s going to ask you, me, or both of us how long you’ve known about this. The longer you wait, the more hurt and angry he’ll be.”

“I know that. But I also know that if I tell him immediately, he will be just as devastated. You know Alex as a coolheaded physician and a rock-solid hospital CEO, but he has abandonment issues. It may have something to do with the fact that his birth mother left him at a fire station.

“He totally lost his bearings when Justin Theobald died. If I tell him I’m dying, he’ll be useless to the hospital, to the kids, and to me. I’ll go from wife, lover, and life partner to patient.Terminalpatient. Once he knows he’s going to lose me, the two of us as a couple will never be the same.” I picked up the blood test printout and waved it at him. “For now, Noah, this is just between you, me, and HIPAA.”

Byrne is an old hand at this game. Once I played the HIPAA card, he knew it was over.

“I don’t agree with your decision,” he said. “But I’ll honor it.”

I left his office, got behind the wheel of my car, stared out at the gray-blue early-morning sky, and let the news wash over me.

I’d often wondered what I’d do or how I’d feel if this day ever came to pass.

I’ll probably get drunk, I thought. Or stoned. Or both.

But now that the moment was here, I had no desire for a drink or a joint.

I only wanted one thing. A man to hold me, his arms wrapped tightly around me, my tears on his warm, strong shoulders.

My husband wasn’t available. But I knew someone who was.

I took out my phone and dialed his number.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Hello, Van,” I said.

FORTY-FOUR

Ninety minutes later I was in my office, where I approved the purchase of a brush hog to the everlasting gratitude of the Parks Department, argued about street-cleaning regulations, hosted a luncheon for the downtown business alliance, and generally put out the fires, big and small, consequential and not, that flare up constantly.

Except for the fact that I’d just been given a death sentence cocktail and followed it up with an adultery chaser, it was a perfectly normal, boring, hectic day in the life of a small-town mayor.

I picked up some Thai food on the way home, had dinner with my kids, and because there’s a no-electronics-at-the-dinner-table rule, we had a fun twenty minutes, with the conversation ranging from Kevin announcing that he wanted to give up the violin to Katie telling me about thetotally dopemovie she saw where one of the bad guys puts the other in a woodchipper.

“Fargo,” I said. “It came out when I was a teenager. I loved it.”

“Awesome,” she said, either amazed by the fact that we both could possibly like the same movie, or that her mother was actually once a teenager.

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