Big Time

Twenty Three

John got home from work to find Barbara on the phone with a concerned look on her face, in an almost a trance-like state.

“Okay, well let me know if there’s any change, otherwise I’ll fly up Saturday. Tell mom I’ll call her in the morning.”

John grabbed a Budweiser from the fridge and listened as he popped the top off and took a sip.

“Yeah, I’ll be all right,” she said into the receiver. “John’s just got home.” She glanced at him, but her expression didn’t change until she replaced the phone into its cradle and immediately broke down crying.

John immediately rushed over and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He tried to swivel her round, but she wouldn’t turn and sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed like an hour.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “It’ll be all right. Tell me what’s happened, Babe.”

She continued crying, her sobs uninterrupted by his question. He patted her back, trying to sooth her.

John felt powerless as Barbara’s tears yanked at his heart. He hadn’t done anything and therefore couldn’t apologize, although for some strange reason, he wanted to. They were motionless, leaning forward as Barbara supported herself against a kitchen chair. John was aware of every breath she took.

When she finally did try and speak, she’d given herself the hiccups.

“Breathe, Baby,” John said, squeezing her. “Just breathe.”

He sat Barbara down on the sofa. She now cried into his shoulder, interrupted by the occasional blow of her nose or wiping of her eyes with a tissue.

“My mom …” she gasped.

She fought for air. Her face was a mixture of red puffy eyes, tears, and snot. Watching her like this made John feel sick.

“… cancer.”

Oh, fuck.

He pulled her close to his shoulder again and hugged her tight.

“I’m so sorry …” was all he could say. He must have repeated it five or six times while trying to think of something else, something more appropriate. Numerous things went through his head.

“She’ll be all right?”—I don’t even really know what’s wrong, except that six letter word, CANCER … “You’ll be all right?”—she wouldn’t want to hear that right now … “Your mom’s a strong woman?”—I guess we are about to find out how strong. “We’re all going to die some time, it’s what we do with it while we’re here”—philosophy wouldn’t be welcome yet.

Frustrated that the right words wouldn’t come, he kept quiet and listened as Barbara tried to explain the details. Her mother had acute cancer of the lymph nodes. The diagnosis was serious, but treatable. Further tests were needed to see how far it had spread, but if they were lucky, it was containable.

* * *

Barbara and John flew to Boston that Friday night and stayed with her father. He was a ghost of the man John had seen at the wedding 12 months before. John didn’t really know him well enough to be truly supportive, and unfortunately he must have felt the same, because he insisted on trying to make John feel at home.

They went to the hospital first thing the next morning. On entering her room, it struck John how pale and weak Barbara’s mom looked. She had only gone into see her doctor a few weeks before, when she’d been unable to shake the flu. A blood test had raised the alarm and they brought her in for more tests straight away. Barbara sat on one side, holding her mom’s hand and back tears while her father and John stood.