I already knew everything Lola wanted to say. Because I had heard it before. It was always there, in person or in the emails they sent, like a malicious undertow at a picturesque beach. “And do you know why he got it?” they asked, their words stealthy, inadmissible.
“It’s just one of those things,” we said, or some other platitude, and they nodded sympathetically, but you could see in their eyes what they were thinking.
Because they knew. Oh, they knew. It was the Wi-Fi, the sugary drinks, those baby shampoos that were full of chemicals. They asked, not out of concern for Jack, but because they wanted to protect their own children. To make sure it could never happen to them. You could see them making a mental note to reduce Timothy’s iPad time and finally write that letter to the school about the healthfulness of the lunch options.
“Fuck off, Lola,” I said, staring at her right in the eye.
“Rob!” Anna said.
“What, you’re just gonna let her spout all this shit, things I know for a fact you don’t agree with? Or do you think it’s our fault, as well?”
“I don’t, Rob, of course I don’t. That’s not what Lola’s saying. And please stop shouting.”
“Please don’t shout? I should be shouting a lot more, instead of talking about all...all this shit,” I said, pointing at the brochures.
“Can you just stop? Can you please stop?” Anna said, raising her voice, an argument that in another time, another world, we never would have had in front of someone else.
“Can I stop? Stop what, Anna? Stop looking for ways to get my son better while we sit around choosing fucking day trips?”
“It’s not about that, Rob,” Anna said, starting to cry, “please don’t do this, please don’t.” Lola put her arm around her and Anna buried her face into her shoulder.
I couldn’t listen to her anymore. We were just wasting time, time we didn’t have. I went back to my desk and wrote an email to Nev.
Subject: Re: Jack
Sent: Wed Dec 10, 2014 9:12 pm
From: Rob
To: Nev
Dear Nev,
Sorry to disturb you again but I wanted to ask about Dr. Sladkovsky’s clinic.
I have already emailed them but do you know how quickly Jack could start treatment? Is there a long waiting list? I want to book flights right now and get out to Prague because we’re just wasting time here.
I was so glad to hear that Josh’s scan went well and I loved seeing the pictures of him that you sent. Not just because I’m happy for you, but because I wish so desperately that one day that could be Jack. I wish that could be Jack four years down the road, happy, loving life.
So please, keep sending them. More than anything right now, they give me hope.
Take care, Nev.
Rob
PS Please thank Josh for the Minecraft castle. I showed it to Jack and he absolutely loved it.
16
“Is he still sleeping?” Anna said, as I went outside onto the patio, holding my laptop under my arm.
“Like a baby.”
It used to be our joke when Jack was small. How was he sleeping? Like a baby. Because he was a baby, you see.
Jack slept a lot, now that he was doing chemotherapy. When he was awake, he spent most of his time on the sofa, watching cartoons, surrounded by his favorite toys and books. When he slept, we watched Poirot and Homes Under the Hammer, always listening, waiting for Jack to wake.
Anna was cleaning the patio windows from the outside. The house had been spotless since Jack was diagnosed. A cleaner came once a week, but that wasn’t enough, Anna said; she liked to do it herself. So every day, she scoured the bathroom and toilets. She cleaned under the sinks. She took on the oven, scraping off all the grime and then polishing it on the inside.
She kept her cleaning suppliers in a cupboard in the utility room. There was a box full of sponges and squeegees and microfiber cloths. On the top shelf, there were bottles of detergent, ammonia, white vinegar, all lined up as if they were in a trophy cabinet.
It was cold outside, even for December, and I was chilly in just a shirt. I took a deep breath and a large gulp of my coffee. “I’ve been looking into this clinic,” I said to Anna.
I expected her to say something, to turn toward me, but she carried on rubbing the windows with a cloth.
“It’s in the Czech Republic, run by this Dr. Sladkovsky.” A twitch in Anna’s face, a minuscule movement of her nose. I had the feeling that she was about to interrupt me, that I had to rush out my words.
“Look, I know how you feel about all of this, but please hear me out.”
“Hear you out?”
“Well, yes, I know we feel differently about the treatment options.”
Anna went back to her windows, targeting a spot close to the ground. “I’m not sure that’s how I would characterize it,” she said. “But I’m happy to listen. We make decisions together, right?”
“Right. Okay, it’s this clinic in Prague—I printed some stuff out for you—that does this immuno-engineering treatment. I have researched it quite a bit, and it seems there is a good deal of science behind it. The thing is, so many children have got better at the clinic, even children with brain tumors. I’ve been emailing this guy Nev from the forum. His son, Josh, also had glioblastoma and was treated at Sladkovsky’s. He’s now three years in remission.”
“Yes, Nev. I’ve seen his posts.”
“You have?”
“Yes, on Hope’s Place. I’ve seen his posts about Dr. Sladkovsky.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize...”
Anna sighed.
