Page 14 of Mic Drop

“You look great,” I comment. “Give me a few minutes to change out of my scrubs and we can head out.”

“I’m only doing this for you,” she reminds me.

“What matters is you’re going.” I slip into the guest bedroom and change into a skirt. Might as well look like a professional.

At five minutes before the hour, we park and make our way into the waiting room. At least the paparazzi haven’t figured out I’m home. Yet.

The receptionist packs up her stuff for the day and gives us a puzzled glance. “We have a late appointment with the doctor,” I explain. “We’ll make ourselves comfortable.” She nods and leaves the office as the clock strikes six.

Tenminutes later, the doctor pops his head into the waiting room. “Jenna. Mrs. Westfield. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not a problem,” I reply for both of us. “We appreciate your taking the time to look over my mother’s case.”

He nods and ushers us into his office. After we’re seated, he begins, “Jenna, I have to admit I was surprised to receive your call. I am glad you reached out, though.” He shuffles some papers on his desk.

“Mrs. Westfield, I?—”

“Please, call me Faith.”

“Faith.” He moves the stapler. “I reviewed the paperwork you sent over, with your latest blood tests. You’ve been very thorough.”

“My daughter.” Ma shoots me a quick glance. “My other daughter is an anesthesiologist in the City. She’s been taking me to doctor appointments and overseeing most of my treatment. Jenna arrived last night and wanted to step in and help.”

“I understand.”

Needing more than this chitchat, I butt in. “Tell me, what did you see in her paperwork?”

“Nothing the other doctors haven’t already seen. Tell me, Faith, how long were you having symptoms before you saw a specialist?”

“A little while.”

I turn my head toward Ma. “How long?”

She shifts in her seat. “I’ve been noticing things were slightly off for a couple of years, I guess. I thought it was nothing.”

“Years?”

“I wasn’t keeping track.”

The doctor says, “I appreciate that early symptoms can be hard to discern from heartburn or random pains that come and go. How is your current pain level?”

Ma glances between us. “I’m managing with medication.”

“That’s good.”

I address the doctor. “What’s your plan of attack here? What can be done to help my mother beat this?”

The doctor pushes away from the desk. “At this stage, all I can offer is palliative care. I’m sure that’s what you’ve heard from other doctors.”

My mother shakes her head. “Yes, that’s what they told me.”

This can’t be. I need more time with her.

Ma addresses the doctor. “I appreciate your time and the attention you put into my case. Thanks again.” She sweeps out of the office.

I stare at the doctor. “I can’t believe this. There has to be something you can do.”

He puts his glasses onto the top of his desk. “Jenna. I know this is difficult to hear, but you know as well as I do there are limits on what medicine can do. I suggest you spend as much quality time with your mother as possible. I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”

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