Fix You

The news came as a punch to the gut: not necessarily unwelcome, but unexpected and shocking nonetheless. It’d been three weeks since 2012 began and the change in year seemed to do Dr. Beleznay a world of good. Long gone were his tired eyes and thrown-together appearance. No, this was a man on a mission. One, apparently, that centered around you — little Alex Marleau, with the French surname and questionable diagnosis. Marjorie and I shared a look the first day he came back: What’s going on with him? She shook her head; I shrugged. He checked your vitals, thumbed back a few pages in your chart, and asked Marj to take you for some bloodwork.

Then, when I was the only one left in the room, he finally spoke to me directly, happily speaking the two words I’d been waiting months to hear: “He’s responding.”

Then came that shot-to-the-gut feeling. I hadn’t been expecting good news. After waiting for it so long only to be disappointed, good news was more like a fairytale or sect of world mythology I’d never be able to understand. I was far too cynical to be 23.

For a few minutes I was speechless. Did this mean you were going to get better? Could you go home soon? (That one made me panic. If you were going home I’d have to buy you all new furniture, since the bedroom set you had before just didn’t seem appropriate now: too full of bad memories, like when I’d used to sit on the edge of the bed and keep a cold washcloth pressed to your forehead.) What came next? Would you still have to get chemo and radiation treatments or could you finally stop putting your frail body through that hell?

“What?”

All those questions, and that was all I could come up with.

Dr. B laughed softly, ushering me out of your room and to the fifth floor, where his office was. I’d only been there once when you were admitted and we needed to discuss a plan of action. Back then it was depressing and void of natural light; now it was distressingly optimistic with its jade green walls and potted plants.

“Please, sit down.” I did what I was told, still not sure I wasn’t dreaming. “Coffee? Tea?”

My brain was working at 100 miles per hour, so I meant to tell Dr. Beleznay that either coffee or tea would be just fine, but I told him instead that some toffee would be excellent. He told me he didn’t have any toffee but would drop a line in the cafeteria’s suggestion box the next time he was there.

“You obviously weren’t expecting this.”

“No.”

“To be honest with you, I’m not sure I was either,” he said, taking a seat in the large leather chair that sat behind his desk, which was cluttered with medical books and patient files. “Like I told you before, the odds have always been on Alex’s side, but for a while there it looked…”

“Bleak?”

Dr. Beleznay nodded, eyebrows raised, as if I’d taken the words right out of his mouth or plucked the exact word he’d been looking for from the darkest, most unused corner of his brain.

“I wish I could tell you it was the drugs or the treatments that prompted this, but I really don’t think they had anything to do with it.”

I shrugged. If I’d known what caused your 180, I could’ve anticipated this happening. But I didn’t have the slightest clue. I’d been knocked off my feet entirely and now I was searching for something to stand on, only there was nothing there.

“Small miracles?” I offered, though my vocal inflections sold me out. I didn’t believe that at all. However, Dr. B seemed to ponder on my words, but what else could he do? We had to believe something had made you better, and it wasn’t modern medicine.

Then it hit me like another punch to the gut. It wasn’t a miracle or higher power. It wasn’t excruciating medical procedures or blood results or scans. It wasn’t wasting the most precious years of your life in a hospital bed or me worrying myself sick over you, wondering each day if you’d live to see the next.

It was Kris.

I’d known from the second he waltzed through the door that you were different. More optimistic, only then I’d chalked it up to being starstruck. You saw all those hockey players with their buff physiques and healthy skintones and you wanted to be them but knew you couldn’t. Not with the way you were, at least. I’d worried then that they’d stint your progress, leave you crippled by the fact that they were healthy and strong and you weren’t. But Kris stuck around, gave you a reason to press on every time he came to visit you, just like you did for him.

I was speechless for the second time that morning.

There were so many things I wanted to do, so many questions I wanted to ask and phone calls I wanted to make. You were getting better. I wanted to take the elevator to the roof and scream it for all of Pittsburgh to hear. You were getting better! But I knew better than to jump the gun. I knew from the beginning of all this that progress would come slowly, if it came at all. You wouldn’t wake up one morning and be cured, but maybe one morning you’d wake up and feel good enough to eat breakfast. Today was the morning you woke up and your vitals improved. Next would come the blood results, and if those looked good, the weaning you from treatments. Slow and steady, just in case.

Kris Letang saved your life.

“What now?”

Dr. Beleznay ran through the options with me, which I mostly already knew. We’d take it one day at a time, see how you felt and responded to different things. We were in an entirely different ballpark now, facing a different pitcher — we just had to figure out how to hit the home runs. It would be a long road to recovery, but in a few weeks you could leave and only come in a few times per month for your treatments if you responded the way he was anticipating you would.

I couldn’t help myself as I started crying the first happy tears I’d ever cried in my life.

You were back in your room by the time I got there, thumbing through one of the books I’d gotten you for Christmas. I guess knowing you were better made me see you in a different light, but I could’ve swore you looked like the Alex I knew before you got sick. Your skin wasn’t so pale, your eyes were brighter, and you looked so much like Dad I couldn’t help but wonder if him and Mama hadn’t had something to do with this, too.

I was never any good at this religious stuff, but I knew a thing or two from what Mama had told me as a little girl. Maybe this was meant to happen all along, you getting sick, and Mama and Dad had to go so you could get better. Maybe it was always going to be either you or them, and the pain they would’ve felt upon losing you was nothing I’d ever be able to comprehend. They’d raised us to be strong — maybe not strong enough to deal with things like this, but strong enough to know why things like this happen.

“Hi, Annie!”

Your little voice pulled me from those thoughts and I smiled. “Hi, kiddo. How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” you shrugged. “I got a Spiderman band-aid!”

I looked over at your newest prized possession with wide eyes. Your smile was bright enough to light the Las Vegas Strip all by itself. “Wow! Did it hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Did Marjorie say you can eat breakfast?”

Your face scrunched up like I’d asked you the hardest question in the world. “Umm…she said I can but not for a lot of minutes.”

“How many minutes? Thirty?”

“I don’t know, Annie!” you said, exasperated. “I’m trying to read.”

I held up my hands in defense, taking your impatience and sass as an indication that you really were getting better and this all wasn’t a bad dream I’d be waking up from anytime soon. And then my stomach grumbled because I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon and I knew it was real life. This was really happening. You were really getting better.

I left you alone with your book and made my way to the cafeteria. I used to walk the halls the same way everyone else did: wishing I was the janitor or a pharmaceutical saleswoman or just lost trying to find the bathroom instead of the sister of a dying child. Now I just felt guilty. I had a reason to hope while everyone else was still in the dark.

Meryl greeted me like we were old friends and I bit my tongue to avoid telling her the good news, still afraid I’d jinx it. I grabbed whatever I could get my hands on — two cartons of skim milk, an orange juice, four sugar-free peanut butter cookies, a package of apple slices, and three ham and cheese sandwiches — and handed her the money, taking note of the way my hands stayed still and didn’t shake. I smiled.

Back in your room you were watching the encore of the previous night’s game, though I wasn’t sure you were any more knowledgable than you had been before Christmas. Not that you cared; you knew the players’ names and numbers and knew the Penguins had won. I let my eyes linger a little too long on a particular defenseman and you caught me.

“Why are you red?”

“What?”

You poked my cheek, which was full of chewed sandwich. “They’re red.”

“I was blushing,” I told you.

“What’s that?”

“It happens when someone is embarrassed.”

If you didn’t know what a crush was, you were stumped on what it meant to be embarrassed. You shrugged, nixing any idea of me giving a more in-depth explanation, and went back to watching the television. I looked over to ask if you wanted one of the sandwiches I’d bought but you were already asleep. After the day’s excitement, a nap sounded like a good idea.

When I was awoken a few hours later, you were gone. Marj had left a note on the bedside table explaining you had wanted to go for a walk so she’d taken you to the atrium and then would take you to lunch.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

I groaned at the sound of Kris’s voice, all soft and French. I probably looked horrifying — hair sticking up in all different directions, drool all over the pillow, my clothes a wrinkled mess — but I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t happy he was there. The team had a flurry of road games throughout the month, and with him being cleared to play, I knew that’s where his focus would be. I wasn’t big on texting, so Kris and I mostly communicated through the occasional phone call. He had no obligations to me so I was surprised he called at all, but with what happened on New Years Eve, I should’ve known he would.

I dismissed his apology. “Can’t sleep my life away.” I did my best to fix my hair and wipe the sleep from my eyes but it was in vain. “How was the trip?”

“Not bad,” he replied, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “Won some, lost some.”

I nodded. “How’s your head holding up?”

“Good. They’re being careful with me though. Not a lot of minutes.”

I didn’t know what that meant so I just nodded again. “Other teams are taking it easy on you, I hope.”

Kris cracked a smile then, like I’d just said something so outlandish he couldn’t believe it. “Annie, we’re hockey players. We’re tough.”

“You won’t be so tough when your brain looks like split pea soup,” I scolded. “Are you doing what the doctors told you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

“You know I worry.”

He smiled again, letting his eyes linger on the television. The encore of the game had been off for a while now, but now two sports anchors were talking it to death. Something about the team being the favorite to win the Stanley Cup if they could keep the lineup healthy. What’d they know about healthy?

“I’m fine, Annie, really. Where’s Alex?”

“Out wandering with Marjorie.” I took a deep breath and started picking at my nails, though I had no reason to be nervous. “He got some good news today.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s responding to his treatments,” I said quietly.

Kris shot up from the bed and started squealing. “Mon dieu! That’s amazing, Annie!”

“I know.”

He pulled me into a standing position and hugged me tightly, spinning me in circles as I left my feet. I was still half-asleep, I think, so as soon as the room starting blurring I felt nauseous, but I didn’t tell him to stop. I’d never seen Kris this excited over anything, though there had been glimpses of it when he told me about winning the Cup a few years back.

Was this the real Kris? The Kris that had existed before his best friend was taken from him and his world came crashing down around him, leaving him timid and shy?

“Did they say when he can go home?” he asked as he set me on my feet again.

“Probably in a few weeks if he continues to respond to his treatment.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “Please tell me as soon as you know. I told the guys all about him and—” He stopped, probably wondering if he’d made a mistake. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Kris, it’s fine. They already met him.”

“I know, but I know you don’t like talking about it and—”

“Kris.”

“Okay,” he recoiled. He gave me one last please forgive me look before continuing. “The guys all want to do something special for him.”

“Please don’t make a fuss.”

“He deserves a fuss, Annie. He’s six years old and just beat cancer.”

I gave up, knowing a fuss from the entire Pittsburgh Penguins roster is exactly what you’d want. “Fine, have at it.”

He grinned, placing a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’m not going to let him down.”

“I know,” I said, wishing I could’ve put into words how much I meant it.

He’d already saved your life. What more could I ask from him?