Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“You’re not Josie.” He looks back down at his clipboard with his brows pulled together, making me smile.
“Josie’s my mom.”
“Dr. Rubin,” my mom calls from the chair near the door. “This is my daughter Lea.”
“Lea.” He looks from Mom to me.
“Nice to meet you.” I stick out my hand and he takes it in his, and I notice his hands are smooth and soft, so unlike the roughness of Austin’s.
Dammit, stop thinking about him, Lea! I scold myself.
“Nice to meet you too, Lea. Your mom told me that you were moving to town.”
“Did she?” I look at my mom and raise a brow.
“Dr. Rubin just moved to Cordova from Seattle. I was telling him he needs to get out and explore, instead of being stuck in the hospital all day.”
“As you can see, my mom is very helpful.”
“Yeah, I got that.” He chuckles then points at her. “Come on over; you know the drill.” My mom gets up from her seat and goes to the exam table, lying down. “How have you been feeling?” he asks, lifting her shirt, exposing her stomach, and then pressing in.
“Okay. Tired, not really hungry, but okay.”
“What kinds of food are you able to keep down?”
“Almost everything I eat.”
“She’s been drinking,” I chime in, and my mom narrows her eyes at me. “Well, you have, and I don’t think it’s smart.”
“How often are you drinking?” he asks her, his tone changing from playful to serious.
“Not often, a glass of bourbon every now and then,” she lies.
“Mom,” I scold.
“Fine, a glass of bourbon in the evenings before bed.”
His tone softens as he asks, “Can I ask why you’re drinking?”
“It helps me sleep,” she says quietly, looking at me like she doesn’t want to say more with me in the room with her.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, pressing into her stomach once more. “How’s your pain?”
“About a seven most of the time,” she confesses, and I bite my lip. She has never said she’s in pain, and I feel guilty for not asking that question myself. I honestly forget most of the time that she is even sick because she acts like she always has.
“Have you been taking the medication I prescribed?”
“I haven’t. It makes me feel tired…or more tired than I already am.”
“Mom—”
“I don’t want to sleep my days away.” She pats my hand that’s resting near her hip.
“I hate that you’re in pain.” I wrap my hand around hers and run my fingers over her skin, noticing how thin it feels, how fragile she is.
“I would like to talk to another doctor about pain management and hospice care,” Dr. Rubin says gently.
“Do you really think it’s time for that?”
“Yes,” he says softly, pulling her shirt down, covering her stomach.
“How much longer?” she asks.
“You know I don’t know for sure Josie.”
“Give me your best guess.” She tells him
His eyes come to me then go back to my mom before he says, “A month or two.”
“Wait…a month or two for what?” My voice sounds hysterical to my own ears, but I can’t control it. I feel like my world is crumbling from under my feet.
Her head swings my way and her face goes soft. “Honey—”
“No,” I shake my head, feeling tears pool in my eyes, “I thought you said a few months, not one or two. What about chemo?”
“At this stage, I don’t believe it would help,” Dr. Rubin replies calmly looking as sad as I feel.
“So this is it?” I tilt my head back towards the ceiling, so the tears I feel filling my eyes don’t fall.
“We will do everything within our power to make sure she is comfortable.”
“But she’s not, she’s in pain now,” I retort.
“I’m fine,” she cuts in, and my eyes slice into her.
“You’re dying; you’re not fine. Why don’t you see that?”
“I’m still breathing.”
She is…she is still breathing, while I’m fighting for every breath I take. I know she is dying; I know I will need to accept it, but this is too much. Knowing she will be leaving me sooner than later kills me.
“I’m not ready. I need you here with me.” I choke on the tears that are now falling freely. “It’s not fair,” I whisper, closing my eyes, and her arms wrap around me.
“I know it’s not honey.”
I pull away and rest my forehead against hers, much the same way she used to do when I was little, and whisper, “At least take the pills. I hate the idea of you being in pain.”
“I’ll take them if the pain is unbearable.”
“Your pain’s at a seven, Mom.”
“It’s manageable.”
“You’re so stubborn.” I shake my head.
“And you love me.” She smiles, and I can’t help but to give her a watery smile.
“Dr. Rubin.” She pulls away, looking at him. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”
“I don’t,” he replies, looking at her softly.
“Well, you do now.”