Page 51 of Back in the Saddle

After her conversation with Amira, she saw another five potential participants for the oncolytic virus trial. She locked the door to her office as soon as the clock struck 5.30 p.m., which was the time she was supposed to finish every day. However, that was rarely the case. There were always more cases to review, more data to collate, more clinical study reports to read and more abstracts to draft.

Caroline got out of the elevator on the ground floor, ready to head out to the exit, when she heard a low sob. Frowning, she looked around.

This side of the building didn’t see much footfall from patients and the public. The hospital part of the centre had a separate entrance. People dressed in white coats, scrubs, or smart attire walked up and down the corridor, their badges affixed to the lapels of their jackets or their waistbands. Their steps click-clacked on the tiled floor, carried with the hum of conversation. Every now and then, the elevator pinged.

Another sniff, louder this time, reached Caroline’s ears. Her eyes zeroed in on the back of a grey couch stashed in the corner of the lobby.

Cautiously, not wanting to spook whoever was sitting there, she approached.

A pair of red-rimmed eyes, streaked with tears, goggled ather. The girl, who looked to be in her mid-teens, sniffled again. She wiped her face with the back of her light blue hoodie, disturbing her straight black fringe in the process.

‘Are you all right?’ Caroline asked softly.

The girl nodded, even though she looked anything but that. ‘Yes. I’m sorry I was loud.’

Caroline’s chest squeezed. If sadness and heartbreak could have a face, it’d be this one. ‘Nothing to apologise for. Can I sit?’

The girl blinked. ‘I guess so.’ She shuffled to the end of the couch. Her hands were pressed firmly into her knees, her back was straight, and her eyes flared with anxiety.

‘What’s your name?’ Caroline asked.

‘Yolanda.’

‘That’s a pretty name.’

Yolanda choked on a half-snort, half-laugh. ‘It was my grandmother’s. I’m not a fan but got used to it. My mom likes it.’

‘I’m Caroline.’ Her eyes scanned the lobby. ‘Is your mum here?’

Yolanda nodded stiffly. ‘She’s a patient. I … I had enough of the hospital building. Needed a change in scenery. But this place looks the same.’ She glanced at the large Ficus by the floor-to-ceiling window. ‘Though the hospital lobby doesn’t have plants.’

‘Is your mum the reason you were crying?’

‘That obvious, eh?’

Caroline gave her a sympathetic smile but remained quiet.

Yolanda slumped against the back of the sofa. ‘She has liver cancer. I’ve been coming with her to all the appointments I could, after school and during vacations.’ She swallowed. ‘I thought that if I learned every medical word, knew all thejargon, read up as much as I could about her cancer and treatment options, that it’d somehow, I don’t know, make a difference?’

‘How long has she been sick?’

Yolanda’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘Three years. She got unwell just after I turned fourteen.’

Caroline took in a deep breath. She flexed her fingers, pushing away her own feelings and emotions; it wasn’t about her. It was about offering whatever little kindness she could to a girl who shouldn’t have been through this. She knew that Yolanda probably held her breath every time they waited for new scans or results. Hoping for remission, hoping for a miracle. Or even the little respite that months when the cancer hadn’t progressed could bring.

‘Who are you staying with when your mum’s in the hospital?’

Yolanda shrugged, pointedly avoiding Caroline’s eyes. ‘No one. It’s just the two of us.’

Caroline probably shouldn’t interfere, but she couldn’t help herself. She opened her mouth to ask more, but Yolanda beat her to it.

‘Don’t worry, my mom isn’t staying in hospital. She comes in to the day unit for chemotherapy. That’s why I’m waiting, I’ll be taking her home once she’s finished.’ She checked her phone. ‘In about an hour or so.’

‘I’m sorry. It must be hard for you.’

In medical school, she was taught to always say things like that to people if they shared some bad news, like their parents or spouse passing away.Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,or,My condolences. Because she said it so often, it became second nature. Not that she didn’t feel empathy for her patients and their families. She did. It’d be hard to work as a doctor if shedidn’t. But in this moment, she really meant it. Somehow, she felt a depth of feeling for this young girl, one that she hadn’t felt in a while.

A true agony of the loss likely to come. By gods, she hoped she was wrong.

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