Falling Out Of Bed

I’m still stunned that my father is ill. When the nurse brought in all his pills this afternoon, I was amazed by the number. My father was always the one who insisted my sister and I eat whole-wheat bread when it wasn’t popular, drink skim milk when no one else in the neighborhood drank the translucent liquid.

“I can’t imagine my life without Stanley.” Jan’s voice sounds more childlike.

“A lot of people survive cancer. They have so many new treatments.” I have the urge to tell her about my intuition—the dread I felt a few days ago but managed to push back. I’m determined to stay upbeat.

She looks at me, eyes wide. “That’s all I’ll let myself think about, too.”

“Good.” I pat her arm and we walk to the baggage carousel.

When we reach my car, I place Jan’s huge suitcase in the trunk.

“It’s so cold.” She hugs herself. “I didn’t think it would be this cold here.”

“Did you bring a coat?”

She shakes her head.

“How long can you stay?”

“I’ll stay as long as Stanley needs me.”

“I brought an extra coat. You can borrow it, if you want. Or we can go buy you one tomorrow.”

“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

We climb in the car. I turn on the heater and soon we are out of the parking lot and on the highway to the hospital. I look over and she smiles at me then runs her fingers through her hair.

“Stanley and I were going to take a driving trip to Colorado after he got better from his back surgery.” She sighs. “You know how he loves to travel.”

“I bet you still will be able to. This afternoon, at the hospital, he told me about that trip.”

“I just can’t believe Stanley has cancer.” She shakes her head and her feathery voice fills the car.

“It’s nice you came to help my father.”

She touches my shoulder. “I’m sorry about Stanley.”

My muscles relax a little. “I know, so am I. It just seems weird that Dad’s sick. He’s never sick.”

“It’s going to be okay.” Her eyes narrow a little and she pats my right arm again then stares straight ahead.

She still has a pretty profile. When I first met her, she told me she loved being an Earl Carroll showgirl in Hollywood. I smile at the memory. When I was young, I was fascinated that Jan was a dancer. After my parents’ divorce, my mother and I fought a lot, sometimes bitterly. I was probably looking for a friend, and I wanted so much for Jan to like me.

Maybe now we can get to know each other a little better.

“How are Bob and Verna?” she asks halfway to the hospital.

“Fine. They brought Dad to El Paso the other day.” Three years ago, when Dad retired, he planned to move to Seattle. He and Jan were going to try to live together again, but they had a major blowup, over what I don’t know. Then, suddenly, Dad moved to Las Cruces where his friends the Skillys live.

I park in the hospital parking lot and we go inside. David is sitting in the same chair where I left him, reading a Time magazine, and Dad is staring out the window.

“Hey, look who’s here.” I smile, make an effort to sound and look happy.

Dad turns, sees Jan and his expression softens.

“Hey, honey, how are you?” Dad’s voice is not as tense as it was before I left for the airport.

Jan starts to cross the space between them, but in the middle of the room she stops, begins to sob and covers her face with her hands.

“Oh, Stanley! I can’t believe this is happening.” Jan manages to go to my father and hug him.

I look at David. This is just the kind of behavior that makes him uncomfortable. He rolls his eyes.

A moment later a nurse walks in with a tray. “Mr. Howard, here’s your dinner.”

Jan, now sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, straightens, looks at her. Her face is streaked with tears and smeared black mascara rims her eyes.

“Hello,” she says. Her normal voice is deep and reminds me of a cartoon cat. We reshuffle, Jan in a chair by the bed, holding my father’s hand, David and I sitting across from them. After the nurse leaves, we dive into conversation about Jan’s flight as if it’s a heated swimming pool.

My father doesn’t eat, only takes two sips of water. Jan begins eating large forkfuls of chicken and mashed potatoes. Suddenly my husband shakes his head and I know he’s going to say something I won’t like.

“Don’t you think Stan should be eating that?” he asks Jan.

She stares at him, still chewing, spoon midair. “Well, I—I’m hungry.”

“There’s a cafeteria downstairs.”

I laugh nervously, give everyone my let’s play nice smile. My father’s ex-wife is here to take care of him. And I want to think about other things besides illness and making an ex-stepmother happy.

David and I are standing by Dad’s hospital bed, listening to Dr. Garces talk about my father’s condition. The doctor is younger than I imagined he would be. Jan isn’t here. When she heard we were meeting with Dad’s doctor, she decided to go to the gift shop to buy her grandson a present.

“Your father’s cancer has metastasized from his prostate and settled in his spine,” Dr. Garces says in a quiet voice. “I’m going to refer him to an oncologist in Las Cruces.”

David and I nod and Dad stares straight ahead, doesn’t move. I have questions that have been roaming around my mind for days—like how long it will be before my father gets better—but I can’t make the questions come out of my mouth. I guess I’m afraid if I ask a question and there’s a negative answer, the desperate look on my father’s face will deepen.

“What’s really important is we keep a positive attitude,” Dr. Garces says.

“I think so, too. I read somewhere that a positive outlook can really help any illness,” I say, then smile.

“No one can predict how the cancer will progress. If a patient and his family are positive, it has a better effect on everyone.”

I focus on my father. He looks as if someone has just turned a garden hose on him. I’m on the verge of crying, but I shake the feeling away. My tears won’t help him and that’s all I want to do.

“I think that’s right,” I say instead.

“If you have any questions, call me, anytime.” Dr. Garces shakes my father’s hand, then ours and walks out of the room.

David and I sit in our chairs. I expected the doctor to tell us my father’s cancer is very curable and he should have no problems recovering, that in a few months his life will be back to almost normal. But all he really told us was that Dad would be seeing another doctor and to keep a positive attitude.