Page 1 of Toxic Salvation
1
VESPER
ONE MONTH LATER
There are two ways to look at this situation.
One: I may have just saved my mother’s life.
Two: I sacrificed my ethics, my dignity, my happiness, my job, and my sanity to do it.
Right now, I’m clinging to viewpoint one.I’m a hero,I keep telling myself.I did the right thing.
… even though Mom has been staring at the ceiling for the past three hours, refusing to make eye contact with me ever since she woke up from the experimental surgery I basically blackmailed her into having.
Fine. If the price of keeping her alive is her hatred, I’ll pay it.
“Dr. Nass!” I shoot to my feet the moment that my mother’s oncologist appears in the doorway. “Mom’s been awake for over two hours. Lucid, responsive, no speech issues. That’s good, right? That’s what we want to see?”
Dr. Nass nods, her expression cautiously optimistic. “It’s excellent, actually. Better than we hoped.” She approaches the bed. “Hello, Annabelle. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.” Mom sounds like she’s smoked a pack a day for half a century. Her lips are cracked and colorless. I’ve offered her water six times in the last hour, but she’s refused each time.
“That’s completely normal after major surgery,” Dr. Nass says. “Your body has been through a lot. But I have good news: The procedure went very well.”
I start to ask, “Does that mean?—”
Dr. Nass cuts me off with a look. “Vesper, you know better than most that stage four cancer isn’t something we cure overnight. This experimental protocol is designed to shrink the tumors and buy time. That’s what we’re measuring success against.”
I force myself to breathe. “So we won’t know anything definitive for?—”
“Days. Maybe weeks.” Dr. Nass turns back to Mom. “We’ll be monitoring you closely, Annabelle. But the fact that you came through the surgery this well tells me you’re stronger than this disease. Now, let’s take a look at you.”
She starts to poke and prod at Mom’s withered body. I sit by, hands folded in my lap, and try not to intervene.
After Dr. Nass finishes her examination, I follow her into the hallway. The moment we’re out of earshot, her enthusiasm dims.
“Listen, Vesper.” She glances back toward Mom’s room. “Sixteen patients enrolled in this trial. Seven survived the surgery, including your mother. That alone is a victory.”
My mouth goes dry. “And the other nine?”
“Didn’t make it off the table.”
Jesus Christ. I knew the risks were high, but hearing it stated so bluntly makes me dizzy. “What about the seven survivors? What are their outcomes looking like?”
Dr. Nass hesitates. “I really shouldn’t be discussing other patients?—”
“Please.” I grab her arm. “I need to know what we’re looking at here.”
She sighs, glancing around to make sure we’re alone. “Two of the seven showed significant reduction in tumor size. The others… the cancer remained unchanged. Their prognosis is six to twelve months, same as before.”
Two out of seven. Twenty-eight percent chance of real improvement.
“Those aren’t great odds,” I mumble.
“No, but they’re better than what she had before.” Dr. Nass touches my shoulder. “You gave her a fighting chance, Vesper. That’s all any of us can do.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
