Page 64 of Sacrifice
“Inside your belly, there’s a knot. We can’t see it, but it’s there.”
She makes a face, her little nose wrinkled like a bunny. “A knot?” She rubs her stomach, trying to feel it.
“Kind of. And it’s going to keep making you really sick if we don’t get the knot to go away.”
“Okay. How do I do that? I don’t like my belly hurting.”
Like a baseball player, up to bat with three balls and two strikes and only needing a base hit to win the World Series, I choke.
“Here’s the thing, kiddo. We gotta give you some medicine that will get it to go away,” Crew says, taking the reins.
“Like the pink bubble gum stuff?”
“No, Ever.” Crew steeples his fingers and rests his chin on them. He studies her. “You’re a smart little girl, aren’t you?”
“I am! Mrs. Yeryar gives me a star on all my papers. And sometimes I get to be the Student Of The Day because I never have to move my slip to blue.” She looks seriously at Crew. “Blue is bad. That means you weren’t listening.”
He smiles at her, but I can see his heart breaking right alongside mine. “I’m going to talk to you like a big girl because you are such a good listener. Can you listen like a big girl for me for just a minute?”
Her face is somber and she nods, sitting a little taller. She likes being responsible and I know she’s going to listen to everything he has to say. I’m not sure, under the circumstances, if that’s a good idea. But I don’t really know what is at this point.
“In our bodies, we have things called cells. They are like little bubbles of information. Sometimes, and no one knows why, some of those little bubbles get the wrong information. They don’t listen.”
“I bet they move their slips all the way to black.” She laughs.
“They probably do.” He smiles sadly. “These little black-slip cells form small groups and as the group gets bigger, it makes you sick. And it can make you very, very sick if the doctors don’t get them to listen.”
“Is that what’s wrong with me?”
Her innocence destroys me. I look away, unable to make eye contact with either of them. This conversation is just as painful as losing Gage because, in a way, I’m losing Ever, too. I’m losing the purity of my baby girl. I’ll never be able to look in her eyes and see the untainted joy of a child again. She’ll have this looming over her head. She’ll always fear something is wrong. Cancer not only seeps into your body, it melts in your consciousness. As much as we try to keep things normal, our version of normal will be forever changed.
“It is,” Crew replies, his voice raw. “And the doctors and nurses are going to give you some medicine at the hospital. You’ll be there for a few days and it’s gonna be yucky. But, I promise, it’s better than letting more cells turn their slips to black.”
She reaches out and grabs my thigh. She wiggles herself closer to me and picks up my arm and lays it over her shoulders. I pull her in close and kiss the top of her head. I start to speak, but she cuts me off.
“Uncle Crew, I don’t want more yucky medicine.”
“I know, monkey. But your mommy and I will make sure everything is okay.”
He glances at me and I look at the ceiling. The tears are building, threatening to break the levee, and I can’t cry in front of her. I can’t let her see that I’m scared as shit . . . that I don’t necessarily believe that everything is going to be okay. I don’t want her to even suspect that I feel utterly helpless right now, unable to provide her with the damn therapy that will save her life. I don’t want her to worry about the banks denying me every loan I’ve tried to take out, every tear-filled phone call I’ve made this morning, pleading with the insurance and the hospital while Crew took her to the grocery store for milk.
I am her mother. I am the one that’s supposed to protect her from the world. And I’m letting her down.
A sob starts to escape and I swallow it down. If I’m going to fail her at everything, at least I can be strong while I do it.
“How long will it take?” she asks.
“We don’t know, sweetheart. We’ll have to see.”
She gazes into the distance and I know she’s thinking about what we’ve told her. Crew catches my eye and we wait for her to say something.
“Is it like the flu?” she asks finally. “Like I’ll get sick to my belly? My throat will hurt?”
“Kind of. What you have is called cancer,” Crew says tentatively. Everleigh stiffens. “Cancer? Megan’s mommy has cancer. She was very sick. Megan cried at recess. She thought she would never see her again,” She whirls around to face me, a look of horror on her face. “She said she lost all of her hair. Will I lose my hair, Mommy?”
She runs her hands through her long, black hair. When I don’t respond, she looks to Crew.
He looks baffled for a second before a slow smile graces his lips.
