you. Do you remember Jordan White?”
“The boy with leukemia who was here about a year ago?”
Logan nods. “Yeah. I had the room next to his for a couple weeks. Do you remember that? The night before he died, I couldn’t sleep and I went to see if Jordan was up. He was whispering in his sleep about some tree telling him it was time to let go. I thought it was just crazy talk at the time, but when I found my way to the tree, I asked it if it helped Jordan too. It said yes.”
I frown. “How many people has the tree helped?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t know if there are other trees like it anywhere else in the world or if this is the only one. I just know that when people need it most, it helps. I don’t know why it picks the people it does either. We’re just lucky, I think.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I guess we are.”
On the next today, after calling the office of the specialist Dr. Frost recommended for a second opinion, I keep my appointment with Dr. Frost, sit through the news of my malignant tumor and impending death, and ask for my records, charts, and scans. After a bit of hesitation, he gives in and has a nurse fetch them for me. I take them immediately down the hall to the second-best specialist in the city, beg the nurse to get me a quick visitation, tell her I’m a nurse at Atlanta Children’s, and hope for the best. Dr. Lianne Charles finally agrees to see me at the end of the day, and the nurse ushers me in. Dr. Charles is already looking at my scans when I enter.
“I’m afraid this is bad, Miss Cooper,” she says without any preamble.
“I know,” I say. “I just had to hear you say it too.”
She looks up at me. “You just saw Dr. Frost this morning?”
“Yes.”
“He’s the best we have.”
“I know. But you’re very highly regarded too, and I wanted a second opinion.”
“I understand.” She has me hop up on the examination table, where she checks my vitals and then sighs. “Miss Cooper, I understand you feel relatively healthy, save for the headaches. Is that correct?”
I nod.
“But the body can fool us sometimes. In your case, I think your lack of symptoms might be your body’s way of covering for a system that has become almost completely short-circuited.”
“So what are you saying?”
She looks me in the eye. “I’m very sorry to tell you, Miss Cooper, but I agree with Dr. Frost’s assessment, based on these scans. If you’d like, I’d be happy to run some more tests and examine you myself, but based on what I’m seeing here, I don’t necessarily think there’s a reason to. I’m so sorry.”
“How much time do I have?”
“If I had to take a guess, I’d say six to eight weeks.”
“Could it be less? Like, um, five days?”
She squints at me. “I suppose so. When we’re talking about the brain, there are few guarantees. But let’s hope you have a little more time than that. Six weeks at a minimum sounds realistic to me. You may even get more time than you’re expecting.”
“You have no idea how true that is,” I murmur.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I stand up from the exam table and reach out to shake the doctor’s hand. “Anyhow, thank you. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t incorrect in accepting what is basically a death sentence.”
“I wish the news was better, Miss Cooper,” Dr. Charles says, and I can see in her eyes that she actually means it. “I can put you in touch with a grief counselor. It might help.”
“No,” I say. “Thank you, but I think continuing to live and learn is going to be the best medicine for me.”
She nods and hands me her card. “Call me anytime with additional questions. I wish you the best.”
As I leave her office, I feel lighter, somehow. It’s not the feeling I’d expect after receiving a confirmation of a terrible diagnosis. But I already knew. It would be impossible to believe in the magic of the tree without also believing that it’s right about my impending death.
“The boy with leukemia who was here about a year ago?”
Logan nods. “Yeah. I had the room next to his for a couple weeks. Do you remember that? The night before he died, I couldn’t sleep and I went to see if Jordan was up. He was whispering in his sleep about some tree telling him it was time to let go. I thought it was just crazy talk at the time, but when I found my way to the tree, I asked it if it helped Jordan too. It said yes.”
I frown. “How many people has the tree helped?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t know if there are other trees like it anywhere else in the world or if this is the only one. I just know that when people need it most, it helps. I don’t know why it picks the people it does either. We’re just lucky, I think.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I guess we are.”
On the next today, after calling the office of the specialist Dr. Frost recommended for a second opinion, I keep my appointment with Dr. Frost, sit through the news of my malignant tumor and impending death, and ask for my records, charts, and scans. After a bit of hesitation, he gives in and has a nurse fetch them for me. I take them immediately down the hall to the second-best specialist in the city, beg the nurse to get me a quick visitation, tell her I’m a nurse at Atlanta Children’s, and hope for the best. Dr. Lianne Charles finally agrees to see me at the end of the day, and the nurse ushers me in. Dr. Charles is already looking at my scans when I enter.
“I’m afraid this is bad, Miss Cooper,” she says without any preamble.
“I know,” I say. “I just had to hear you say it too.”
She looks up at me. “You just saw Dr. Frost this morning?”
“Yes.”
“He’s the best we have.”
“I know. But you’re very highly regarded too, and I wanted a second opinion.”
“I understand.” She has me hop up on the examination table, where she checks my vitals and then sighs. “Miss Cooper, I understand you feel relatively healthy, save for the headaches. Is that correct?”
I nod.
“But the body can fool us sometimes. In your case, I think your lack of symptoms might be your body’s way of covering for a system that has become almost completely short-circuited.”
“So what are you saying?”
She looks me in the eye. “I’m very sorry to tell you, Miss Cooper, but I agree with Dr. Frost’s assessment, based on these scans. If you’d like, I’d be happy to run some more tests and examine you myself, but based on what I’m seeing here, I don’t necessarily think there’s a reason to. I’m so sorry.”
“How much time do I have?”
“If I had to take a guess, I’d say six to eight weeks.”
“Could it be less? Like, um, five days?”
She squints at me. “I suppose so. When we’re talking about the brain, there are few guarantees. But let’s hope you have a little more time than that. Six weeks at a minimum sounds realistic to me. You may even get more time than you’re expecting.”
“You have no idea how true that is,” I murmur.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I stand up from the exam table and reach out to shake the doctor’s hand. “Anyhow, thank you. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t incorrect in accepting what is basically a death sentence.”
“I wish the news was better, Miss Cooper,” Dr. Charles says, and I can see in her eyes that she actually means it. “I can put you in touch with a grief counselor. It might help.”
“No,” I say. “Thank you, but I think continuing to live and learn is going to be the best medicine for me.”
She nods and hands me her card. “Call me anytime with additional questions. I wish you the best.”
As I leave her office, I feel lighter, somehow. It’s not the feeling I’d expect after receiving a confirmation of a terrible diagnosis. But I already knew. It would be impossible to believe in the magic of the tree without also believing that it’s right about my impending death.
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