Charles Bock - Alice & Oliver

“If the leukemia’s started to replicate,” he began, in Alice’s direction, “we have no choice. We have to deal with this. We’d be at an advantage in that we’re catching this early. Those first cells barely would have a chance to replicate. We go as aggressively as possible. I can’t say I’d call it a setback for your treatment. It doesn’t change any of our long-term goals. But what we’d need to do—” He raised the board. The marker tip squeaked on the slick surface:

Alice had indeed opened her eyes and was looking at the board, at the doctor.

“Obviously, going through reinduction’s not ideal,” Eisenstatt continued. “The stress on your body is not something to take lightly. But if, if we have to go this route, we’re fortunate in that, as we were saying, you’re young, you’re coming into this strong and healthy, you have your beautiful baby, a positive attitude toward your recovery. You’d be on the ward as an inpatient for at least four weeks. So what we’d shoot for:”

A small voice asked if she might see the board, please.

Alice held out an open palm. In two strides, Eisenstatt propped the dry-erase board against her sheet-covered thighs. Now he set the marker in her waiting palm. Without so much as a glance in response, Alice turned her attention to the board. One motion added a short, crooked line across the bottom of the T;

She kept writing:

“That’s not going to happen,” Oliver said.

“Blinders on, remember?” he pleaded.

“Let the record show, Mrs. Culvert, I’m not presenting what you wrote as a possibility.”

“No, Doctor.” Streams flowing fully down her face. “You are only proposing to pump toxic chemicals in me until I’m fluorescent.”

“Alice—”

“I don’t think anything is solved by heading down this road right now, Mrs.—”

“What other options do I have, Doctor? I mean, really now, wouldn’t it be at least humane to tell me what else I can do?”

“Ali. We’re going to find a donor. We are.”

“You can seek a second opinion at other hospitals,” Eisenstatt said. “It’s your body. You have every right to decide what kind of treatment you do or do not want. Nobody is going to stop you. We’ll help you get into contact with whichever hospital you choose. But let’s be clear: time is a factor. And with that in mind, I’d like to focus on the situation in front of you right now. Because you have a decision to make, Mrs. Culvert.”

He let the sentence sink in, gave her the chance to prepare herself. “One way or another, you need chemotherapy. If the results are clean, we want to keep you in remission. If they show up different, we need to get you back to remission. You’re right on the cusp of the time frame where we’d start consolidation therapy anyway. You have to decide if you want to start treatment here, of course. But in a sense, we’re just waiting on whether the treatment will be reinduction or consolidation, and when we need to start. Oh, and your green light, of course. Getting beds here has been a problem of late — at the moment, the ward’s at a hundred and seven percent capacity.”