Page 92 of Back in the Saddle

Alan chuckled good-naturedly. ‘You know, she was beating herself up for days. Changing her mind all the time. First, she wanted to come. Then she didn’t. I figured she felt she needed to, for me. But I didn’t want to make it harder on her.’ Alan met Dr Kennedy’s eyes and held her gaze.

‘Not after what happened last time. She still has nightmares after I died and came back to life after that surgery. It’s going to be hard on her anyway, won’t it? I can tell by how solemn you all look. Hope you don’t play poker as that ain’t a good face for it. Just get straight to it, Doc.’ Alan slumped in his chair.

Hunter had never seen his father look more equally defeated and at peace. He seemed to have already decided what the results meant before they’d even heard them.

Dr Kennedy leaned against the top of the table and laced her fingers together. ‘Alan, we have your test results. I invited some of my colleagues from our multidisciplinary team to help me walk you all through them. Dr Travis Rourke is a neurosurgeon, Dr Susan Ceehil is our palliative medicine lead, and Mr Alex Kim is one of our community nurse practitioners. I’ll ask them to step in to help me explain the results as we go.’

She pressed a button on the remote and stood. The big TV screen mounted on the wall flickered to life and the first scan showed up. ‘The symptoms that you’ve recently been experiencing, including the headaches, some balance issues,and weakness in your arms and legs are all likely connected to the new metastases in your brain.’ She zoomed in on the scan and outlined the white blobs with a laser pointer.

Hunter held his breath and thought he’d never let it out again. There were seven blobs, big enough for him to see from the other end of the table. He instinctively looked at his father, who just nodded slowly.

Alan looked more resigned than surprised. ‘And these brain things … Can we treat them? Like we did with the earlier ones?’

Dr Kennedy looked to her right side and gave a small nod to Dr Rourke, who cleared his throat. ‘Unfortunately, these are very different from the metastases you had removed before your cancer returned. To start with, five out of seven of them are in your frontal lobes. It’s this region here.’

Dr Kennedy used the pointer again, drawing a rough circle as Dr Rourke continued speaking.

‘This part of your brain is essentially responsible for making you who you are. They have an important function in voluntary movement, language skills, behaviour, and emotions. If we were to attempt surgical removal of these lesions, due to their size, it’d come with damage to this area. This could lead to a variety of symptoms, from paralysis to loss of speech. You could also experience mood fluctuations, changes to your personality or behaviour … That’s if the surgery was even a success.’

Dr Rourke paused and consulted a sheet of paper on the table. Hunter could see his eyes move as he read. Then, he looked up, meeting Alan’s eyes. ‘I must say, after reviewing all your history and current results, I’d strongly advise against the surgery. We can of course investigate it, if this is something you want to explore, but that would be my professional recommendation.’

‘I see.’ Alan nodded slowly. He furrowed his brows, staring at the image of his brain. He bit his lip and, looking directly at Dr Kennedy, said, ‘If we don’t do anything, these are going to kill me, right?’

‘Yes. Not on their own, but as you know this isn’t the only place your cancer has spread to. And sadly, it isn’t responding to treatment.’

The atmosphere grew heavy with the effort Alan was putting into avoiding eye contact with his sons. Keeping his focus on Dr Kennedy, he asked, ‘How long?’

‘It’s always hard to estimate and put an exact number, but it’s likely weeks, not months. I’m so sorry, Alan. There isn’t much else we can do. We’re at the end of the road we discussed before.’

Hunter closed his eyes. There was a difference between thinking you’re prepared to face something and experiencing it. His mouth went dry, but he felt like he was drowning from the inside.

Buck sneered and kicked the table leg in frustration. ‘Aren’t surgeons meant to want to cut people open? What’s the point of saying you don’t recommend it? Isn’t it worth the risk if it can save his life?’

Dr Rourke looked to Buck with a mix of sadness and empathy. ‘As Dr Kennedy said, there’s unfortunately not much we can do. We could try to remove the lesions, but given your father’s overall health and prognosis, it most likely wouldn’t save his life in a way that we all would like it to. In the best-case scenario, it could add a few months. The lesions would most likely grow back within a year … And he could experience all the symptoms I outlined. That is, if he survived the surgery.’

‘But there’s a chance! You said it yourself. Maybe you’rewrong and they wouldn’t grow back. You keep saying “most likely”, “could” … Not much certainty, is there? I say we should try.’

‘No!’

They all jumped in their seats as Alan’s voice boomed through the room.

He pressed his lips tight. ‘I don’t want to try. I put all the fight I had in me to try to beat this thing. Looks like it won, after all … I want to spend my last days in peace. Not being prodded and cut open. I want to be myself when I meet my maker.’

His expression softened as he looked at Buck. ‘I’m ready, son. Let’s not fight over this. I want to eat my favourite food, maybe re-read my favourite book. I want to go on one last ride. I want to hold your mother in my arms and cherish all the memories we’ve made over the years together. I want to fall asleep and wake up in my own bed. For as long as I can. And when I go, I want to go quietly. Pain free.’ He looked to Dr Ceehil and Mr Kim. ‘That’s why you’re both here, right?’

They started discussing the options for managing his symptoms and maintaining his quality of life. Hunter knew he should be listening, participating, and taking note of all they said. But he couldn’t. Everything that followed his father’s speech felt like an out of body experience. One that would recur often in weeks to come.

The sun had set over an hour ago. Hunter had watched it travel south and disappear behind the horizon while he rigidly sat in the armchair. An untouched glass of whisky sat on the coffee table, next to his phone. The eerie silence in the small, rented house normally made him uneasy. He usually put onsome music in the background or the TV, just to draw a thin blanket of noise over the loneliness. Right now, though, he was glad for the stillness.

It felt appropriate.

After the meeting at the centre, Buck had insisted on driving their father back home. Alan didn’t mind whether he got into a Ford or a Chevy, so there wasn’t much argument on his side. When he’d closed the door behind him and fiddled with fastening the seatbelt, Hunter and Buck had faced each other on the outside. With awkwardness and unfamiliarity, they had both made a move as if they wanted to embrace each other in a comforting hug but thought better of it.

Hunter had followed them to the ranch, and all three of them had walked into the house together. Mary had been sitting at the kitchen table, messing around with some crocheting pattern. She’d leaped to her feet when she heard the creak of the opening door.

Her hopeful smile had faded into despair as soon as her eyes met Alan’s. Hunter and Buck had given their parents some privacy and sat quietly on the veranda.

They could still hear their mother’s cry and their father’s broken voice as he was trying to comfort her.

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