Page 8 of The Cutting Edge
The nurse seems satisfied, and hands us both a surgical mask. After I help Poppy put hers on, and secure my own, the nurse leads us into the chemo suite, right past a sign that says NO VISITORS, She’s still hanging onto my arm.
She sees me eying the sign and leans up to whisper in my ear, “Don’t worry, it will be our little secret.”
Don’t get me wrong, I love the VIP treatment as much as the next guy, but it can feel a little shitty when I can walk right into the chemo suite for someone I don’t even know, while there are relatives and loved ones who are relegated to the waiting room while their family members endure chemo all alone.
"Here she is!" The nurse exclaims a little too enthusiastically. “Mrs. Markham, you have some visitors! Aren’t you lucky!” She shuffles the two IV bags hanging on the pole behind Mrs. Markhams’ recliner, “Looks like you’ve still got about twenty or thirty minutes to go.”
"Thank you so much, “Poppy says politely. "We’ll take it from here." I try not to crack a smile. Subtlety is not the specialty of five-year-olds.
The nurse looks to me for confirmation, and I nod in agreement. Shrugging her shoulders, she heads back towards the door.
"Mr. Rivers, please let me know if you need anything.Anythingat all.” Subtle as a freight train.
"Thank you, I will,” I smile back politely, but not too much. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.
Mrs. Markham looks a bit confused that we have been deposited right next to her recliner. She is pale and wan, and her skin is so thin it's practically translucent. The IV bag hanging on the pole behind her has about a third of its contents remaining. At least we're not late, I would've felt really terrible if this poor woman were sitting around waiting after she finished her treatment for someone to come and pick her up.
“My name is Logan Rivers. This is Poppy. We’re friends of Coco’s, and she can't be here right now so she asked us to bring you home this evening." I purposefully say "we" instead of “I” because I'm guessing a single dad and his daughter feels like it's a lot less threatening than some gigantic stranger.
“Coco is my friend. I’m in her figure skating class,” says Poppy.
“You are?” asks Mrs. Markam, attempting to sound cheerful, the cracks in her cadence betraying her. “You seem very young for a figure skater. How old are you?”
“I’m almost six,” says Poppy proudly. “On my next birthday, in a few months.”
“Well,” says Mrs. Markham playfully, "six is very grown-up."
She turns to me and asks, “ What happened to Coco?"
"Daddy was late to pick me up and Miss Coco walked me over to the rink where Daddy practices and he hit her on the head with a puck. It was an accident. She's in the hospital downstairs. The doctor said she needs a sleepover.”
"She has a concussion," I add, "so they need to keep her for observation overnight."
"Oh, that's terrible!"
"It’s awful. She was very worried about you and wanted to make sure that you made it home safely. Would it be all right if Poppy and I drove you to your home after you're done here this evening?"
"Oh, yes, of course. If it's not too much trouble, "replies Mrs. Markham. "I feel just awful that Coco was worried about me when she’s down in the emergency room herself with a head injury. She’s very thoughtful, our Coco.”
I nod. “If it’s not an imposition, we're making arrangements for a nurse to come stay with you tonight and tomorrow since Coco needs to stay in the hospital overnight."
“Oh no!” says Mrs. Markham, “that’s too much. I can just try to find another friend who is available to stay with me tonight.”
“Please, Mrs. Markham, it would be my pleasure to send a nurse to stay with you. I know Coco doesn’t want you to worry about trying to find someone else this late. Chemo is so hard on your body. Please let us do this for you. It’s my treat.”
“Spoken like someone who’s had some experience,” she says knowingly, her watery blue eyes piercing mine.
“Some,” I say, stuffing down the feelings that are fighting to escape. One slips through the wall as I remember how helpless I felt seeing my mom in this very same position six years ago. “Please, let us do this for you.”
“Yes,” interjects Poppy. “Please let us. It’s Dad’s mistake, so only he can make it better.” The kid has a point.
“Well, that’s a tough argument to rebut,” says Mrs. Markam. “Thank you, Mr. Rivers and Poppy, I’d be very happy for you to drive me home.”
“And I can send a nurse?”
She nods and agrees weakly, “And you can send a nurse.”
She tells me her address, and I text Lana to make sure the nurse arrives within the next hour or so, asking her to meet the nurse at the house and stay with him or her until we arrive. I also text Poppy’s nanny and ask her to meet us. Poppy’s already past her normal dinner time, and if I don’t keep her on her bedtime schedule, there will be hell to pay tomorrow.
