imagine what that’s like, John. No one can.”
She reached for a tissue from the box on her night table, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “You know,” she continued, “I keep thinking about what a wonderful life I’ve had—we’ve had.”
“Have,” I interrupted. “Not ‘had.’ ‘Had’ makes it sound like it’s over, and it isn’t.”
Peg ignored me and kept talking. “And then I find myself wondering if maybe that’s the problem. That maybe our life was just too damn good. Maybe we’re paying now for having had such a great life.”
“What are you talking about, sweetheart? You’re being silly.”
“I’m not being silly, and I’ll tell you why. You’ve heard the expressions. ‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch.’ ‘Pay me now, or pay me later.’ ‘Into every life some rain must fall.’ You’ve heard them. You know the sayings as well as I do. And maybe there’s some truth to them. If there weren’t, why did people create them in the first place? Adages reflect people’s beliefs, John, and those beliefs, I have to think, are based on experience. And if that’s true, then why did we expect to be so lucky in life when other people aren’t? When so many other people have such difficult lives with so much pain? What makes us different from them? Why are we so surprised this has happened to us? What made us think we’d get through this life without having to pay some dues?”
She stopped talking and stared at me, demanding an answer with her eyes. I sat there speechless, not knowing what to say, because, in a way, everything she had said made sense.
“I never thought of what’s happened in those terms,” I stammered finally. “I’ve never thought of life in those terms either. I guess the truth is…I just thought…we were lucky. Never gave it much more thought than that.”
“Well, guess what, sweetheart,” Peg said sleepily, suddenly out of energy. “We’ve just run out of luck. It’s time to pay some dues.”
I started to protest, started to say something encouraging, but realized I was too late. She was already fast asleep.
Twenty-Seven
Friday, August 15th, was the two-week anniversary of Peg’s arrival at New York Hospital. I left the office that afternoon at five after three and arrived at the hospital at twenty after four. As I walked down the corridor from the elevators towards Peg’s room, I saw that her door was closed, usually a sign that someone was with her. I knocked lightly on the door before opening it, hoping Peg’s visitor was Dr. Werner and not one of the nurses. I hadn’t seen him since Tuesday, and I was anxious to get a first-hand report from him before the weekend.
I peeked in around the door; sure enough, there he was, sitting on the edge of Peg’s bed, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest, looking more relaxed and more approachable than he had at any of our prior meetings. To my surprise, he smiled when he saw me and waved me in with his hand. “Your timing is perfect,” he exclaimed.
I walked over to Peg’s bed and bent down to give her a kiss. “Why’s that?” I asked, taking off my suit jacket and hanging it on one of the hooks next to the bathroom door.
“Well, I was just about to tell your wife the results of the tests we did on the bone marrow sample we took this morning.”
“I didn’t realize you were scheduled for a bone marrow test today,” I said, turning to Peg.
“Me neither.”
“Well, anyway,” Dr. Werner continued, “we took a bone marrow sample this morning to determine the extent to which you’re responding to the chemotherapy. We obviously expected to see some improvement, but quite frankly, I didn’t expect the kind of results we got.”
“Is this going to be good news or bad news?” I interrupted in spite of myself.
“Good news,” Dr. Werner responded with a self-satisfied smile. “Very good news.”
He paused for a second, looking first at Peg, then at me, then
She reached for a tissue from the box on her night table, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “You know,” she continued, “I keep thinking about what a wonderful life I’ve had—we’ve had.”
“Have,” I interrupted. “Not ‘had.’ ‘Had’ makes it sound like it’s over, and it isn’t.”
Peg ignored me and kept talking. “And then I find myself wondering if maybe that’s the problem. That maybe our life was just too damn good. Maybe we’re paying now for having had such a great life.”
“What are you talking about, sweetheart? You’re being silly.”
“I’m not being silly, and I’ll tell you why. You’ve heard the expressions. ‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch.’ ‘Pay me now, or pay me later.’ ‘Into every life some rain must fall.’ You’ve heard them. You know the sayings as well as I do. And maybe there’s some truth to them. If there weren’t, why did people create them in the first place? Adages reflect people’s beliefs, John, and those beliefs, I have to think, are based on experience. And if that’s true, then why did we expect to be so lucky in life when other people aren’t? When so many other people have such difficult lives with so much pain? What makes us different from them? Why are we so surprised this has happened to us? What made us think we’d get through this life without having to pay some dues?”
She stopped talking and stared at me, demanding an answer with her eyes. I sat there speechless, not knowing what to say, because, in a way, everything she had said made sense.
“I never thought of what’s happened in those terms,” I stammered finally. “I’ve never thought of life in those terms either. I guess the truth is…I just thought…we were lucky. Never gave it much more thought than that.”
“Well, guess what, sweetheart,” Peg said sleepily, suddenly out of energy. “We’ve just run out of luck. It’s time to pay some dues.”
I started to protest, started to say something encouraging, but realized I was too late. She was already fast asleep.
Twenty-Seven
Friday, August 15th, was the two-week anniversary of Peg’s arrival at New York Hospital. I left the office that afternoon at five after three and arrived at the hospital at twenty after four. As I walked down the corridor from the elevators towards Peg’s room, I saw that her door was closed, usually a sign that someone was with her. I knocked lightly on the door before opening it, hoping Peg’s visitor was Dr. Werner and not one of the nurses. I hadn’t seen him since Tuesday, and I was anxious to get a first-hand report from him before the weekend.
I peeked in around the door; sure enough, there he was, sitting on the edge of Peg’s bed, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest, looking more relaxed and more approachable than he had at any of our prior meetings. To my surprise, he smiled when he saw me and waved me in with his hand. “Your timing is perfect,” he exclaimed.
I walked over to Peg’s bed and bent down to give her a kiss. “Why’s that?” I asked, taking off my suit jacket and hanging it on one of the hooks next to the bathroom door.
“Well, I was just about to tell your wife the results of the tests we did on the bone marrow sample we took this morning.”
“I didn’t realize you were scheduled for a bone marrow test today,” I said, turning to Peg.
“Me neither.”
“Well, anyway,” Dr. Werner continued, “we took a bone marrow sample this morning to determine the extent to which you’re responding to the chemotherapy. We obviously expected to see some improvement, but quite frankly, I didn’t expect the kind of results we got.”
“Is this going to be good news or bad news?” I interrupted in spite of myself.
“Good news,” Dr. Werner responded with a self-satisfied smile. “Very good news.”
He paused for a second, looking first at Peg, then at me, then
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