Джо Уолтон: A Burden Shared

Ann sounded sleepy. “Mom?”

“This is really bad, sweetie. It might be some kind of warning sign. I think you should go to the doctor.”

“I’m so sorry!”

Penny hadn’t been living with Ann’s guilt for as long as Ann’s pain, so she wasn’t as used to it. Her daughter had been born with the joint condition, but the guilt developed as she grew, blossoming fully only in the last decade. Penny wondered sometimes what kind of mother-daughter relationship they would have without the existence of Ann’s disease. They loved each other. But Ann’s pain, and the question of who felt it, had always been between them, both binding them together and keeping them apart.

“I’m happy to bear it for you,” Penny said, even as a new ridge of pain ripped through her stomach. “Do you have your period?”

“Not until next week; you know that,” Ann said. “Why?”

“It’s just that this feels a bit like cramps,” Penny said, though she had never had any cramps one-tenth this bad.

“I never have cramps,” Ann said. “Let me feel this.”

“No, darling, you don’t want to,” Penny said.

“Mom, I am not a little kid anymore, and you have to let me make the decisions about my pain, just the same as anything else in my life. Let me feel it, and I’ll decide whether to go to the doctor. I can override you and just take it back.”

“Just for a minute, then.” Penny knew her daughter was right, but it was hard to let go all the same, to know that the agony would be inflicted on her. What kind of mother would she be if it didn’t hurt her as much emotionally as it relieved her physically to press the app to return her daughter’s pain? She pressed it decisively, and at once the arthritic ache was gone. Once the switch had been set up it really was that easy, though setting it up was a complicated process. For an instant Penny relaxed on the bed. “Mom?” Ann said. “This doesn’t feel any different from normal.” Penny hated to hear the pain, so familiar, coming through in her daughter’s voice. Then another cramp hit her.

“No, I guess these cramps are something else. Maybe Janice—though it doesn’t feel like that. And she’s considerate. She always calls. And anyway, her husband is taking her pain all this week.”

“It could be something of your own,” Ann said.

Penny laughed. The laughter hurt her stomach, so she stopped. “I didn’t even consider that possibility. I’m never ill. Maybe it’s some kind of menopause thing. I must be getting to that kind of age. Though I hadn’t heard that it feels like this.”

“Go to the doctor, Mom,” Ann said.

“I can’t today—I’m teaching, and it’s my really full day. I’ll make an appointment for tomorrow.” Penny stood up and walked toward the bathroom, taking the cane with her, because she’d need it soon enough, but swinging it like a baton.

“How come you had my pain if you’re teaching?” Ann asked. “Did Dad duck out of it again?”

“Didn’t Lionel tell you?” Penny asked, stepping under the shower.

“Dad asked Lionel?”

“He told me he had. He said Lionel’s in rehearsal for Coppélia .”

“That’s true. I’m so proud of him, Mom. This could be his big break, getting out of the corps, soloing. But he should have told me Dad called. I can cope with my own pain.”

“Sweetie—”

“Mom.” Ann’s voice was firm.

“But truly, it’s easier for me than it is for you.” The shower cycled to hot air. “There have been studies and everything.”

“Not when you have your own pain too,” Ann said. “Maybe you should give me that!” She sounded enthusiastic.

“What, I take yours and you take mine?” Penny joked, making her way back to the bedroom.

“No, seriously, Mom! I never get to do anything for you, because you never have any pain. But now I could! And you always say how much easier it is to bear somebody else’s pain. Everyone says that. Let me!”

“I’ll need it to show the doctor,” Penny said, pausing in pulling on her underwear and doubling up in pain as another cramp rocked her. “It wasn’t too bad in the shower, but now it’s biting again.”

“You said you were going to the doctor tomorrow, Mom. And if you have a full load teaching today, I should keep mine and yours!”

“No. That’s not happening. I’ve taught with yours before. I’m used to it. But if you really want to try trading, we could do that.” Penny pulled on a freshly printed academic robe.

“Fantastic!” Ann’s voice was bouncy. “Let’s switch, then.”

Penny hadn’t traded her own pain since they had tested the app with a needle jab. Unlike accepting and returning other people’s pain, which she had set as shortcuts, she had to go through several layers of menu. “Accept, accept, accept,” she heard Ann mutter, and as the cramps left her, Ann’s familiar grinding joint pain came back. She sat down fast on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, Mom,” Ann said, her voice full of concern. “Mom, I think you should go to the doctor now. Really. I don’t think this should wait until tomorrow.”

“Really?” Penny was surprised at the concern in Ann’s voice.

“Really. I’m happy to bear this for you, but what even is it? I’m worried. I’m making an appointment for you right now!” This was Ann’s lawyer voice, solicitous but with a competence and decisiveness she showed her clients but seldom her family. “There, she’ll see you at eleven thirty.”

“Give me my pain back, then, if I’m going to the doctor,” Penny said.

“No. I’ll drive over and we can go to the doctor together. I’m in court this afternoon, but this morning I’m working from home.”

“Pick me up from campus, then. I’ll take my first seminar and cancel the next. As long as I’m back by two for my lecture—is that when you’re due in court?”

As Penny drove her little Solari through the crisp fall morning, she tried to think what had been so different about her conversation with Ann. It had been like dealing with a friend, an equal. Maybe Ann was finally grown up enough that they could have a new kind of relationship? Or maybe it was having pain of her own to share. Apart from the usual array of viruses and skinned knees, all the pain Penny had ever experienced had been vicarious. It was hard to imagine that in the old days she’d barely have known what pain was, and been forced to endure the sight of other people suffering without being able to help at all.

In the ten o’clock seminar, the students were each giving five-minute presentations. The third student, Regina, was hit with pain and collapsed in the middle of hers. “Duleep!” she gasped.

The other students gasped too. “Lucky Reggie!” Danee observed. “I’ve been signed up for Duleep for two years, but never felt it.”

“While I’m sympathetic to your pain issue, let’s focus on our presentations now,” Penny said. “Could you continue until Regina is feeling better, Kim?” Kim came up to the podium, helped Regina to a seat in the front row, and began to speak.

Even hopelessly out-of-date Penny knew that Duleep was a Bollywood superstar who suffered from a kind of ulcer caused by the parasites endemic in the part of India where he had grown up. His pain was shared by his millions of fans worldwide. As with other celebrity figures who shared their pain, the recipients were thrilled to feel it. Regina’s writhings seemed exaggerated to Penny, but they wore off before she felt it necessary to comment. Once restored to her normal status, Regina sat quietly listening, and redid her presentation at the end. As class ended, all the other students crowded around to compliment her on her luck and stoicism. Penny left them to it and walked out the long way around, down the slope of the hill, avoiding the steps. Ann was waiting in the plaid Honda Sky she shared with Lionel.