How to Save a Life (16 page)

“I think that knowing you’re about to die gives you a different kind of perspective,” I tell him. “You don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. And thanks to Caroline and the tree, I’ve had the chance to experience all the things I would have regretted not doing.”

“What have you learned?” he asks, ruffling my hair and kissing my forehead. “What’s been the biggest lesson for you?”

I yawn. Exhaustion is flooding in, which I know means our time together is almost up. I consider his question carefully before answering. “Love is the answer to everything,” I tell him. “I think I spent so much of my life focusing on small, everyday worries, or petty grievances. But at the end, all that matters is love.”

“Love is the answer to everything,” Jamie murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. He’s fading too. “Jill?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll never forget,” he says. “I promise you, I’ll never forget.”

It’s the last thing I hear before sleep overtakes me, and the moment is gone forever.

W
HEN
I
WAKE up in my own bed the next morning, it takes a few seconds before everything comes crashing in. Last night with Jamie. The fact that I have to steer clear of him from now on. The last chance at getting today right. The beginning of the end for me. I only have five days left, and I know they’ll go by in the blink of an eye.

But that means I don’t have time to lie here feeling sorry for myself, so I take a deep breath, remind myself to be grateful for all those extra moments, and haul myself out of bed.

An hour later, I’m walking through the entrance to Atlanta Children’s—with a handful of balloons for Megan—twenty minutes before I know Jamie will arrive. I pause by the tree, lay a hand on its trunk, and murmur, “Thank you,” but there’s no response. The tree is cold and motionless, almost as if the magic is gone altogether.

I take the elevator up to the eighth floor, where I make a beeline for Megan’s room. She stares at me from her hospital bed as I walk in.

“Balloons?” she asks, fighting back a smile. “I mean, really? Balloons? Like balloons are going to make chemo any better?”

There’s something soothing about the familiar words, the predictability of today. “They’re not supposed to make chemo better,” I tell her. “They’re to celebrate. You’re almost out of here.”

“I don’t need balloons.”

“I know, I know, you’re not a kid,” I say. I take her blood pressure and temperature, which I note on her chart. I remind myself that today, I actually have to do my job, at least until my appointment with Dr. Frost. “But never forget,” I add as I turn to walk out of the room, “you’re going to beat cancer, and then you’re going to go on to have an amazing life. Always remember that you’re strong and tough, and that you’ve already been through the biggest battle of your life. Nothing else can take you down.”

She raises her eyebrows. “That sounds like you’re saying good-bye.”

I smile and walk out of her room before she can say any more.

I check next on Jennifer, my eight-year-old retinoblastoma patient, and Shalia, my twelve-year-old with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Then, heart pounding in anticipation, I walk into Katelyn’s room and find Frankie sitting beside her bed.

“Jill!” Katelyn cries, her face lighting up. “You made it to your last today!”

I cross the room to give her a hug. Frankie stands and hugs me too. “How much longer did you and Logan keep going?” he asks.

“Just another week.”

They exchange glances. “That’s all it took to realize the two of you were made for each other?” Frankie asks with a sly smile.

Katelyn nudges him. “He’s just saying that we knew it all along. What about that guy you liked?”

I blink back tears. “It doesn’t matter.” I smile and change the subject. “You have no idea how much I missed the two of you.”

Frankie laughs. “To us, it feels like we just saw you.”

“Are you going to go to your doctor today?” Katelyn asks.

I nod. I’ve thought about this. It makes sense to proceed with today as if I haven’t lived it yet. And that means receiving my official diagnosis so that I can come back to my floor, break the news to Sheila, and officially take the rest of the day off to cope. Of course I plan to spend my hours off reconciling with my dad, helping Sheila with her love life, keeping Merel company as he passes away, and talking with Logan. It’ll be the perfect last today.

“Well, good luck,” Katelyn says.

Frankie nods solemnly. “It seems unfair that you’ll be gone before the rest of us.”

“Just make me a promise,” I say.

“What?” they reply in unison.

“That you won’t cry for me. And that you’ll tell anyone who’s crying for me that I’m okay. I don’t want to leave any sadness in my wake.”

“We’ll do our best,” Frankie says, “but you can’t stop sadness. Loss is a part of life, and grieving loss is a part of moving on. Let people cry, Jill. It means you were loved. And that’s a good thing.”

“I just wish I had more time.”

“You
did
have more time,” Katelyn reminds me. “We all did. And now, it’s time to let go.”

15

“
P
LEASE TELL ME
you got laid last night,” Sheila says a few minutes later as I walk over to the nursing station. As usual, the sixty-something woman in the corner looks up and narrows her eyes at Sheila.

“Sheila,” I say in a warning tone.

“What? It’s a normal question. You’re a thirty-nine-year-old woman who’s never been married and who probably can’t even remember the last time she had a man in her bed. You getting a bit of action would be a service to society. The whole world would rejoice with you.”

I sigh and cross behind the nursing station until I’m standing beside Sheila. I take her hands in mine and wait until she looks into my eyes.

“What?” she asks crossly.

“What happened with Darrell?” I ask as gently as I can.

“How did you . . . ?” she asks, her voice trailing off as she bursts into tears. “I can’t . . . I don’t know . . . How could he . . . ?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” I pull her into a hug and rub her back until her sobs subside.

“Darrell left me last week. We’ve been married thirteen years, Jill. And he just wakes up and decides he’s done?”

“He should never have walked out on you,” I say, pulling back to look into her eyes again. “That was wrong, no matter what happened. But is it possible that there have been problems brewing between you two for a while that you’ve been ignoring?”

“I . . .” she begins, trailing off.

“It’s okay, Sheila. Every marriage has problems, and I think that after a while, it’s very easy to get into a rut where you’re both hurting each other and can’t seem to stop. For example, one of you might be criticizing the other more often than you realize.”

She blinks a few times. “I guess maybe I do that. But that’s no reason to walk out.”

“I agree. But do you want to cry about it? Or do you want to get him back?”

“I want to get him back. But look at me, Jill. I’m not like you. I’ve put on thirty pounds in the last decade. I’ve got gray hair that wasn’t there before. I’m old and stubborn. No wonder he doesn’t want to be with me.”

“He wants to be with you,” I say firmly. “He just doesn’t believe you want to be with him anymore.”

“How would you know that?”

“I just know.” My phone beeps then, reminding me of the appointment I have with Dr. Frost. I’ve set it fifteen minutes later than on the first today, both to avoid Jamie in the lobby and to lessen my thirty-five-minute wait. “Listen, I have to go. But I need you to do something for me.”

“Where are you going?”

“That doctor’s appointment across the street.”

“For your headaches. Geez, Jill, I forgot. But you’re going to be fine.”

“I know.” I force a smile. “But here’s what I need you to do. At exactly 11:55, there will be an old man on the bench outside Atlanta Memorial. His name is Merel Friedl, and he gives the best advice of anyone I know when it comes to love. I need you to get someone to cover the desk for twenty minutes so that you can go out and talk with him, okay? He’s been married for seventy years, and his wife is in surgery today, so it’ll be a nice distraction for him. Tell him your story and let him help you. Okay?”

She nods slowly. “Okay. Should I tell him you sent me?”

I smile. “No. He hasn’t met me yet.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just tell him you need some advice. He’ll help. But listen, I’ve got to go. See you in a bit, okay?”

I
DROP IN briefly to see Logan, who smiles at me sadly and wishes me good luck with Dr. Frost.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll go swimmingly,” I tell him.

“We both know how it’ll go,” he says. “I just mean good luck dealing with it. It’s still never easy to hear you’re going to die, even if you already know it.”

I nod. “I’ll be back in an hour, okay?”

I make it through the lobby without seeing Jamie, which makes me feel a bit wistful, although I’m deliberately avoiding him. I receive the news in Dr. Frost’s office stoically, and then I make my way back across the street to Children’s, passing Sheila, who doesn’t notice me, as I head inside. I stand near the front windows of the lobby and watch as she sits down beside Merel. After a few minutes of speaking with him, I can see her crying, and him rubbing her back comfortingly. I smile and hurry toward the elevator, confident that he’s helping her with her problems and that she’s making him feel useful.

“How did it go?” Logan asks as I reappear in his room.

I shrug. “Same as always. I’m dying. My tumor’s inoperable. Blah, blah, blah.”

He smiles. “You sound like you’re a pro at getting a terminal diagnosis.”

“Maybe I am after all this time.” I sigh. “It’s still terrible to hear, isn’t it? But I think I’ve adjusted to the idea by now. Anyhow, how are you?”

He shrugs. “So-so. I’m glad you’re here, anyways. But don’t you have to go see your dad?”

I nod. “Not for a little while, though. What do you say we hang out for a bit?”

He grins. “Cool.”

By the time I head back out to the nursing station an hour later, Sheila is back, and there’s a huge bouquet of red roses on the desk in front of her. “From Darrell?” I ask, nodding at the flowers.

She beams. “You were right. Merel really helped. I called Darrell and apologized, and he’s coming home tonight.”

“I’m so glad. Just remember to be good to each other in the future, okay? I won’t always be around to remind you. Neither will Merel.”

Something in her expression flickers. “Wait, how did your doctor’s appointment go?”

I take a deep breath, bracing myself. Now’s as good a time as any to give her the news. “Not well, I’m afraid.”

“But you’ll be fine, right?”

I shake my head. “I have an inoperable brain tumor, Sheila.”

She stares at me for a moment before her eyes fill with tears. “No. Absolutely not. I refuse to believe it. You’re fine. You’re standing right here, and you’re fine.”

I smile sadly and tap my head. “And yet this brain here is betraying me.”

“How much time?” she whispers.

“Not long, I’m afraid.”

“You can get a second opinion, Jill. You need a second opinion.”

“I’ve already gotten one.” I ignore her confused expression. “I have an aggressive glioblastoma, and apparently, it has already spread. There’s no treatment that will work at this point.”

“Dear God,” she whispers. “Jill, I—”

“It’s okay,” I soothe.

“No, it’s not, Jill,” she says through tears. “You’re one of the best people I know. If you’re dying, well, there’s nothing fair left in the world.”

“Believe me when I say that things are fairer than you know,” I say. “I’m okay with this, Sheila. I am. Dying’s just a part of life. You and I should know that better than anyone, right? We see it every day.”

She pulls me into a hug and tells me to take all the time I need. I tell her I’ll be in sporadically over the next few days, but that I can’t possibly stay away from this place. “I love the kids,” I add. “And I love you. You’re all my family, and I need my family at a time like this.”

“Of course, Jill,” she says, drying her tears. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

M
Y NEXT STOP is the cemetery, where I sit down beside my mother’s headstone and talk to her for a bit. I believe in heaven, so I know I’ll be seeing her soon, but there’s something about spending time with her during my last days on earth that’s comforting nonetheless. Afterward, I head to the funeral home that handled my mom’s burial to purchase a cemetery plot for myself and one for Logan—both beside my mom—and to prepay for all the funeral arrangements.

“But of course you won’t be using these plots for many, many years,” the middle-aged woman behind the desk says as she pushes the paperwork toward me and hands me a pen.

“Actually, I’ll be using mine next week,” I say brightly. “And Logan shouldn’t be far behind.”

Her mouth opens into a tiny O, and I can see her calculating whether she should call 911.

“Cancer. Both of us,” I add, and her forehead creases with sympathy.

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” she says.

“Yeah, I am too.”

I head next to my father’s house, where I know I’ll catch him before he’s gone. Still, Sharon answers the door with a sour expression on her face and tells me, “We were just heading out.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I say, although it’s clear she’s just being unpleasant. “But I need to talk to my dad, please.”

“Can’t you come back tomorrow, Jill? This is a huge inconvenience.”

“As a matter of fact, I’d prefer to talk to him now, since I only have five days left to live. Thanks.” I squeeze past her as she gapes at me, and I call out, “Dad?” from the base of the stairs.

He appears a moment later on the landing, a bit of shaving cream still clinging to his neck. “Jill, are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“She says she’s dying or something,” Sharon blurts out before I can say anything.

“What?” My father looks confused. “Jill, what’s she talking about?”

“Dad, I—” I begin, but Sharon cuts me off.

“What is this, Jill? Do you need to borrow money? Is that it?” Sharon is glaring at me.

I turn on her. “No, Sharon. I don’t need money. I’ve never asked for money. And before you say anything, I realize that my father helped pay my college tuition, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Well, you certainly haven’t acted very grateful,” she says with a snort.

“If I haven’t appeared grateful, I’m sorry.” I look at my dad. “I really am sorry for that. I let all of this get in the way,” I say, gesturing to Sharon. “And that was wrong. Our relationship was supposed to be about me and you, not about me, you, and Sharon. And that’s where we screwed up. You and me both.”

“Honey—” my father says.

“Let me finish,” I say, turning to Sharon, who has turned as red as a tomato and is currently sputtering. “I understand you now,” I tell her. “I know you feel threatened by me. My father loves me, and you’re worried that this will somehow diminish the way he feels about you. But he loves you, and he’s chosen you, okay? This isn’t a competition. It never was. But regardless, he’s all yours now. I’ll be dead before the end of the week, and then you never have to worry about me again.”

She stares at me as my father approaches, his face ashen.

“Honey, what are you talking about?” he says.

“I have an inoperable brain tumor, Dad. I’m dying. Do you think we could sit down and have a chat?”

“Jill, I . . .” he says, his voice trailing off as he begins to cry.

I put my hand on his back and steer him toward the den. “Let’s sit down and talk. It’s all going to be okay.”

We walk away, shutting the door as Sharon stares after us.