Page 14 of Heart Strings
Construction-paper acorns and pumpkins line the walls of the rec room. Oncologists in cartoon-print scrubs look me up and down with curiosity while children in knit caps and pajamas gather in a semicircle. Every one of these kids ignites my protective instinct. They deserve to grow up, follow their dreams as I have. It’s my purpose to help that happen; nothing in this world feels more important.
Aidan sits in a chair at the front of the room, plucking at his guitar strings to warm up. The kids are interested, but meeting Aidan O’Toole is no one’s Make-A-Wish dream. “Any requests?”
“Can I get orange jelly today instead of the green?” one girl asks. “I don’t like the green—”
James stifles a laugh and Ruth pinches her husband’s arm. Aidan’s mirthful eyes bounce to me before he answers her. “Erm, I don’t handle the food. Sorry, love. If anyone has any requests…”
“Jaffa Cakes!” a bald boy shouts.
Aidan clarifies, “Song requests,” but it’s too late.
“Chocolate Hobnobs are better!” a girl missing a front tooth asserts.
Overlapping high-pitched voices start to yell the names of snacks, not even asking Aidan anymore. If anything, they are just naming every processed treat they know. I adore them.
Aidan blinks, and I have to laugh. “Well, there’s my ego-check for the day.”
The adults chuckle at his humility as he looks past them and straight to me, knowing that I’m delighted he’s being upstaged by junk food. My heart trips against my will.
“How about some music? Maybe you’ll know this song.” He strums the guitar and half the kids immediately jump up when they recognize it as the theme ofThe Magical Adventures of Havarti & Plague Rat. Marie sits next to a friend, watching her brother win over these young hearts in only a few notes.
Some children join in, singing adorably off-key. Every nurse on the floor huddles around the doorway. There are a dozen things to do at any given time, and yet they’re mesmerized by Aidan. It doesn’t really matter who his audience is: rowdy collegestudents at a pub, old-timers, or little kids. Sharing a song is just how he connects with people. It’s beautiful. His rich tenor voice is beautiful.He’sbeautiful, doing a goofy dance in that horrible sweater.
It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to enjoy his voice.
Aidan’s smile is infectious. Then again, so is tuberculosis. Being good at lifting the spirits of these kids doesn’t mean he’s good for me.
I stand next to his parents as Aidan transitions into a Disney sing-along classic. We clap to the beat, and soon everyone joins in. One girl’s IV cannula jangles as she dances in a momentary reprieve from the gravity of her illness.
Music was a lifeline when I was a teenager isolated in a hospital without my usual outlet of swimming. Even on the hardest days, I could always find a song or genre that brought me solace.
In my med school application essay, I’d written about the firsthand patient experience that galvanized my desire to practice medicine. Only 2 percent of physicians in the States are Latina, yet our community has disproportional rates of blood cancers. One empathetic member on a medical team can make all the difference to a scared little kid—especially one who looks like them. A lot of cancer survivors do their best to avoid hospitals, but I needed to pay it forward. No one gets into such an emotionally demanding specialty for the money. This was personal.
Aidan pours himself into this performance, the same as he would at any venue. Pride shines in James’s eyes as Ruth rests her head on his shoulder. They’ve been through the same nightmareas my parents, yet somehow, they managed to come out stronger on the other side of Marie’s diagnosis. Unlike mine.
Tension returns to my shoulders when I glance at the clock and realize it’s time I got back to the A&E. I give Aidan’s family a polite but rushed goodbye as he wraps on the sing-along. I gesture to my wrist to let him know it’s time to get back to work and head to the door.
I slip down the hallway, and hear Aidan call my name. He jogs over with his instrument still strapped to his shoulder.
“Thanks for coming here for the kids. When I was in a unit, the most entertainment we ever got were some dingy sock puppets.”
Aidan rubs at his bearded jaw. “The white coat looks good on you.” He knows how hard I’ve worked to get here. Countless nights he’d clock out of his solicitor job and come rub my shoulders after I’d been hunched studying for hours. I did the same for him when stress over his sister’s health and parents’ finances kept him up at night. Sweet memories that carry a bitter aftertaste.
“Thanks.” I gesture to his obnoxious sweater. “Nice outfit. Are you trying to trigger an ocular migraine?”
“My mam knit it for me, actually.”
Oof. Ruth is a sweetheart. I’d never want to hurt her feelings. “It…really suits you.”
“It’s an eyesore. Ready for the party this weekend?”
“Aye-aye, cap’n.”
“Oh, and it’s a very small boat, so just bring yourself. No date.”
I realize for the first time that Aidan might bring a plus-oneto the wedding. Watching him dance and flirt with someone else sounds like a special kind of torture.
He must have noticed my face drop because his expression grows serious. “Did you invite someone already?”
