Chapter 6 - THE SURGERY BRANDON COULDN’T FIX
Gertrude underwent surgery two weeks later.
The waiting room was quieter than Nicole expected.
No dramatic family crowd.
Brandon.
Nicole.
Gertrude’s younger sister Carol, who flew in from Denver.
Rosie remained with Nicole’s parents.
The surgeon, Dr. Samuel Ortiz, removed the affected segment of colon and nearby lymph nodes for analysis.
The procedure went as planned.
That was the good news.
Final pathology would determine the exact stage and whether additional treatment should be discussed.
Brandon nodded through the explanation.
Then walked into an empty hallway and cried.
Nicole followed.
He wiped his face quickly.
“Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“I don’t know.”
She did.
Gertrude had trained him to apologize whenever his emotions became inconvenient.
Nicole leaned against the wall.
“You’re allowed to be scared.”
He looked at her.
“I’m angry too.”
“You’re allowed that.”
“She could’ve caught this earlier.”
“Maybe.”
He frowned.
“Maybe?”
“We don’t know what earlier would have changed.”
“I want to blame her.”
Nicole nodded.
“That’s easier.”
“Than what?”
“Accepting that we can’t reverse it.”
Brandon looked through the small window toward his mother’s recovery area.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
He winced.
Nicole continued.
“You knew she was bleeding.”
“Yes.”
“You accepted her explanation because challenging her felt harder.”
“Yes.”
“And I need you to understand something.”
He turned.
“If Rosie grows up watching you protect your mother from every consequence, she’s going to learn that the loudest person in the family gets the most loyalty.”
Brandon’s eyes filled again.
“I don’t want that.”
“Then stop teaching it.”
After surgery, Gertrude’s recovery was physically difficult but routine enough.
Walking hurt.
Eating was gradual.
Fatigue frustrated her.
She hated needing help.
She hated the hospital gown.
She hated being told when to move.
She hated the word “patient.”
Nicole recognized that losing control was perhaps more frightening to Gertrude than pain itself.
One afternoon Gertrude snapped at a nurse for taking too long with water.
Nicole waited until the nurse left.
“Don’t do that.”
Gertrude glared.
“Do what?”
“Treat people badly because you’re afraid.”
“I am sick.”
“I know.”
“You have no idea what this feels like.”
Nicole sat down.
“You’re right.”
Gertrude looked surprised.
Nicole continued.
“I don’t.”
Then:
“But neither does that nurse.”
Gertrude turned toward the window.
Later she asked Nicole, very quietly:
“Do you think I’m going to die?”
Nicole could have answered as a physician.
Statistics.
Stages.
Probabilities.
She didn’t.
“I think you need to ask Dr. Ortiz and your oncologist what they know.”
Gertrude’s face fell.
Then Nicole took her hand.
“And I think you don’t have to ask them alone.”
That was the boundary.
Nicole would not become her doctor.
May you like
She would remain family.
For once, that was enough.
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