Chapter 2: Bad News

One year later…
Leia

Sarah and I are standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Or, more precisely, Sarah is cooking, and I am helping. Our kitchen isn’t the newest. It’s rather old fashioned, but beautiful. Parts of the wall are covered in turqouise tiles. White cabinets are adorned with crystal door knobs. The floor is covered in small hexagonal tiles. A few of them are missing, but somehow it adds to the charm of the space, rather than detracting from it. The space is shaped oddly, like a big hallway, three doors, two large windows. There’s lots of light, but no wall space to put a table. We’ve put a table in anyway. We put it adjacent to some cabinets that we’ve stopped using since. A sacrifice well worth it. Every kitchen needs a space where you can sit down. Chop vegetables. Drink a cup of tea. Or simply keep whoever is cooking company.

It’s Friday night and I’m really really glad to be home. Work has been long this week. Sarah hands me the onions and I start peeling them. I usually peel the onions. Whatever it is about onions that usually makes people cry, it doesn’t work on me. Maybe it’s because I wear contact lenses. Or maybe I’m just immune. Maybe it’s my superpower. Sometimes it’s nice to just sit down and peel onions. I feel useful. Peaceful. The weekend is here and I get to spend time with my best friend, making good food.  Sarah and I have been best friends since grad school. We finished a while ago. Now, in our early thirties we’re both therapists. On the good days I love helping people. But this last week has been… not that. I’ve been complaining to Sarah, who is nodding along compassionately. She gets it. Or at least I think she does. Her work is going well at the moment. But everyone has good days and bad days. Or weeks. 

Today my boss called me into her office. To talk about how things are going. Which is code for Leia, you suck as a therapist. She didn’t outright say it, but I knew what she meant. “Here, cut these peppers for me”, Sarah says while handing me some red and yellow bell peppers, still wet from the sink. I cut them up finely and pass them back to Sarah, who puts them into the frying pan.

We hear the front door open and close. Sarah’s face lights up a little, a small smile playing on her full red lips. Sarah is stunning when she smiles, all flushed cheeks and blonde hair and tall and amazon-like. Amazonian? This particular smile is for Nate who has dropped his leather messenger bag in the entry way and is coming into the kitchen to give Sarah a big hug. Nate lives here too. He is Sarah’s boyfriend. They’ve been together for two years, going on three. They’re the kind of couple everyone wants to be. They’re beautiful people and they make each other better. They’re the kind of couple I’d like to be a part of too. Except that my dating life hasn’t been so great lately. 

Nate is setting the table in the dining room when my phone rings. I love the small hit of synchronized harmony of everyone silently working together. Sarah is getting the rice out of the rice cooker. “Yes?” I say to my mom, who is calling. “We’re just about to eat dinner.” “Hi Leia”, my mom says, sounding slightly miffed. Which isn’t unusual for her. Miffed is part of the fabric of our relationship. “What’s up mom?” I ask, casually, trying to not upset her further. “It’s grandma”, my mom says. “I just wanted to tell you that grandma is in the hospital again.” Grandma has been in the hospital a few times over the last few months. Something is wrong with her back, causing her crazy amounts of pain. “They’re thinking of doing surgery this time”, my mom explains. “I know this is a lot to take in.” It is a lot to take in. I take a deep breath as my mom goes into the details. 

I make it to the dinner table only a few minutes late. Sarah gets up to serve me a bowl of curry. “Everything okay?” She asks. I grimace. “Grandma in the hospital” I say. She, too, grimaces, not sure what to say. There really isn’t a lot to say. Grandma is eighty and hospitals are part of the deal. Or so I tell myself. There isn’t much we can do. Nate gives both of us a reassuring smile as we dig into the curry. The curry tastes nice. Nate and Sarah are talking but their voices seem far away, like ghosts that are hard to hold on to. It feels nice to drift off like that. To not quite be here. Here is just a bit too hard today.

A few moments later Nate catches my attention. “Leia?” he asks. “Leia, are you there?” I jerk my attention back to the room guiltily. “Yes”, I say. “I’m here.” Nate looks at me discerningly, as if he knows just how hard that is right now. I don’t want to be here. I want to be off in the clouds somewhere, where things like phone calls and hospitals and suffering grandmothers can’t hurt me. Nate takes my hand. “Leia”, he says. “We’re here with you.” I look into his eyes, which are full of kindness, and start to cry.

Nate and Sarah both move around the table to be closer to me, putting their arms around me. Tears keep spilling out of my face. I really don’t know where all those tears were before coming out. Sarah rubs my back in large comforting circles. “I don’t know what to do.” I’m sobbing now, little dry heaves that make breathing difficult. “I don’t know what to do to help her. What do I do? Someone please tell me what to do.” Sarah and Nate just sit with me, holding me. They don’t know what to do either, but their holding helps anyhow. I cry for a long while as the curry gets cold, which nobody seems to care about. A little part of me is surprised about that.

We do eat, eventually. Microwaved curry, which everyone claims tastes even better reheated. I still don’t know what to do about grandma besides visiting her in the hospital. But I feel calmer somehow. More collected. I feel grateful to my friends, a deep, belly-filling gratitude that I can’t possibly put into words. I somehow think they already know, thankfully, as we clean the dishes in warm, comfortable silence.

The next morning I’m going to the hospital with my mom and my brother Thorin. I’m not sure why we’re going at the same time. My mom insisted. Maybe the idea is that too many visitors will tire grandma out. Or maybe it’s just that my mom still thinks we’re kids and can’t drive to the hospital by ourselves. Either way, we’re here and we’re together. It’s a beautiful autumn day outside, still warm, full of the golden sunlight the Bay Area gives us so much of.  My mom has been asking Thorin questions about his life while driving us here. About work, mostly. Thorin’s tech startup is successful. He is the chief technology officer, one of the co-founders. They’re close to an IPO, which is the event where you make a lot of money. Right now my mom is smiling proudly. “I knew you could do it honey”, she tells Thorin. “You were always so bright.” I, too, smile faintly as we arrive at the reception desk for directions.

“Third floor, room 328” the receptionist informs us. She points to the elevator. “Go up and then to the left.” She sounds tired. I think that maybe working in a hospital all day makes people tired. Too much despair in the air. We’re almost in the elevator when my mom’s questioning turns to me. “How is your work, Leia?” she asks me. I take a deep breath. Always with the questions. “It’s alright.” It’s not really alright. I don’t exactly know what it is. Disappointing, maybe. Depressing. A daily confrontation with how much people suffer in the most mundane ways and how little I can do about it. A daily dose of tiny failures, lining up as a string of demoralizing heartbreak. “And how is your friend Sarah?” my mom continues. Can’t leave well enough alone. “She’s good” I mumble. “Is she still with her boyfriend Nate?” I nod, staring at the elevator door.

We walk the rest of the way to room 328 in silence. Grandma’s room. Thorin knocks on the door and grandma tells us to come in. Something about this visit feels almost like a routine. Grandma has been in the hospital a lot the last few years. We enter and awkwardly hug her in the hospital bed. She seems frail. Thinner than last time I’ve seen her. But she’s in good spirits, considering. “Hi darlings”, she greets us. “I’m glad to see you.” My mom nervously rearranges some flowers in a vase on the bedside table. “How are you?” she asks. “How is your pain?” Grandma wrinkles her nose. “I’m quite alright” she states with conviction. “About ready to go home.” I can see the gears turning in my mom’s head. Obviously grandma isn’t quite alright, otherwise we wouldn’t be here. And grandma is furthermore not ‘about ready to go home’. Mom sighs, feeling the anticipation of the upcoming confrontation.

“Mom” she starts out, her voice tense and slightly condescending. “You know that the doctors say you have to have surgery to repair the damage to your spine. You’re on pain medicine now, but before that you almost passed out, you were in so much pain. You remember that.” Grandma looks at her stubbornly. “I don’t want to have surgery” she says. “Doctors go wild with that surgery stuff. I just need some rest and then I’d like to go home.” Thorin and I are both shrinking into our bedside chairs. Nothing good can come from getting between mom and grandma when they’re like this. My mom is a doctor, used to telling patients to take their medicine. She isn’t good at telling her own mother, who is stubborn like a very polite mule. I can tell from their body language that this isn’t the first time the topic of surgery has come up between them.

“Mom” she tries again. “Why don’t we listen to the doctors on this? They are the experts. If they’re recommending the surgery then that’s clearly the best option.” She takes a deep breath, as if to calm herself. “It’s my life” grandma says. “My body. My decision.” The two of them are focused fully on each other now, as if the decision to have surgery or not depends on who wins the staring contest they’re having at this very moment. I nudge Thorin and point to the door. “We’ll be back in a little while” Thorin mumbles as we escape the battle zone.

Outside we walk to a little sitting area next to an open window. We slump into chairs, breathing the fresh air greedily. Neither of us know what to say about the fight we just observed. “I think I’ll get some coffee. You want some?” I ask. He shakes his head as I haul myself up and into the search for some caffeine. I’m pretty sure they have a vending machine around here somewhere. I’m also pretty sure that the coffee is going to be just about undrinkable. But I really need to do something. Anything. And, you know. Sometimes things turn out better than expected. Gotta stay hopeful.

I turn a corner into another, flourescently lit, non-descript hospital corridor when I see the vending machine. A woman is in the process of using it. A woman with long red hair. She turns around and startles. “Leia” she says. “Mara” I say. “What are you doing here?” She blushes. “Just a routine thing” she says. “You?” “My grandmother is here” I tell her. Then, before I can catch myself, the whole story bursts out of me. The back problem, the upcoming surgery, the conflict. There’s something about Mara that causes my mouth to just keep talking. Like there’s a vacuum the words want to flow into. “I really think it’s not as simple as my mom makes it out to be. I mean, the surgery isn’t without risk either. And I really think that it should be grandma’s decision. But my mom… my mom is sort of an unstoppable force. She’ll get her way in the end.” Mara looks at me discerningly. “Maybe you should tell her Leia” she says. “Be brave and tell her what you think.” 

When we get back to grandma’s room the battle is in its final stage. Mom has worn grandma down and grandma seems close to tears. “I don’t want to be a burden to my family” she says, in a tone that sounds so defeated, it breaks my heart a little. “You’re not a burden” I want to tell her. But my voice doesn’t quite seem to work. I stare down at my hands. They’re still holding the paper coffee cup filled with disgusting hospital coffee. Undrinkable indeed. “You’re making the right decision”, my mom tells my grandmother. But is she? I really don’t think so. “Mom” I say. “Can I talk to you? Outside? Alone?” She looks at me surprised but follows me out of the room.

“I don’t think grandma wants the surgery” I say, before I can lose my nerve. “I think you’re talking her into something that isn’t right for her.” Mom looks at me angrily. “Leia”, she says. “Where is this coming from? This isn’t your decision. Why are you getting in the middle of this?” I take a deep breath. “It isn’t your decision either”, I say, my voice calmer than I feel. “It’s grandma’s decision. You heard her. It’s her body. She has to live with it.” “I have to live with it too” Mom says. “I’m the one taking care of her.” I nod. She’s not completely wrong either. “Yeah” I say gently. “I can see that.” Mom softens. “I love her too Leia” she says. “I really think the surgery is the right choice.” I nod again. She nods too. Through the window the sun is streaming in at an angle. I watch the pattern shift back and forth with the swaying blinds.

When we get back inside Thorin looks at us questioningly, curiously. He puts his finger to his lips. “Shhh” he says, pointing to grandma, whose eyes are closed. Asleep. Mom straightens grandma’s covers, then brushes a few stray strands of hair out of her face gently. We leave the room quietly, walking back to the car. I’m unsure where the confrontations have lefts us. Unsure what position to take on the question of surgery. The topic seems murky now, too complicated for me to weigh in on. None of us talk as we enter and leave the elevator, get in the car and drive off.