Page 100 of In a Word, Yes

Cancer.

Am I supposed to bring this to the doctor’s attention?

The question stays lodged in my throat like a chicken bone that could slice me from the inside out if I dare speak it. A better mom would, of course. A braver mom.

Chase’s frequent tummy aches.Repeatedly I was assured by his pediatrician that digestive complaints are common in autistic children.

I’m such a fool. A better mother would have pushed for better answers.Oh, God.If Chase is sick, it’s my doing!

The doctor leans over Chase. Clicks on his penlight. Shines it in one eye, then the other.

If only Mom were here. Why won’t she answer my calls?

But no. I’m supposed to know how to handle this without my parents’ help.Ichose this. Chose to go it alone, as if I wouldn’t ever need the support of family.

Still, she would know what to do, the right questions to ask.

The doctor is stoic, his expression inscrutable. Is he withholding something?

Did my parents get their first dose of bad news about Mikey,news that would forever rock their lives, from a bunch of strangers in a strange, sterile little room?

What if this is the last moment of thebefore. I refuse to live through the after. The knowing. A diagnosis.

No. I refuse!

God, do you hear me? I refuse!

My breaths come rapid-fire. A hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t even heard the nurse come in. I focus on her mouth, but her words make no sense. Lips, thin. Parting, forming a question. Her bottom teeth are crowded.

“...something to drink?”

“I...” There’s so much thumping, thumping between my ears. A tree trunk across my chest. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. I’ll just bring you some water. Do you prefer carbonated?”

“Sure,” I say.Make it all stop.

It’s too cold. Too impersonal. I can’t do this alone.

God, help. I’m out of my depth. I’m not strong enough to be alone in this.

What else do you require of me? Take everything, God!

Take anything but my son.

***

Carly

After participating in a morning roundtable discussion here in St. Louis, I couldn’t be more relieved to be returning to the hotel ... blessedly, this time to Roger.

A tone sounds when I wave the door key card over the scanner, and the light turns green. Before I can open the door, though, Roger opens it for me.

And I’m not keen on the way he’s looking at me. That forcible calm of his. The kind of look meant to keep me from freaking out.

“What is it?” I say. “What’s wrong?”

“Come sit down, hon.”