The Cuckoo's Child by Margaret Thompson

It wasn’t anything about . . . Daniel, was it?”
    â€œNo. Oh no,” I said, amazed at myself for that possibility had not occurred to me, “just almost as bad.”
    Not much later, I sat by the phone and steeled myself to pick it up. Much depended, I thought, as Maisie cast herself across my lap, rolling onto her back and peeping coyly at me from underneath her right foreleg, on saying the right thing. But what was the right thing? What do you say to somebody who has just been told he has a life-threatening disease?
    You must have been sitting by the phone, for your voice cut off the first ring.
    â€œCan you talk?” I asked immediately. “Are the kids around?”
    â€œNo, they’re watching the box.”
    â€œTell me, exactly what sent you to the doctor in the first place?” Cautious, feeling my way.
    â€œJust feeling tired. All the time, for no reason, but absolutely flattened if I went running. Then I started getting these huge bruises, but I could never remember hitting myself or bumping into things. And nosebleeds! Real gushers. I haven’t had nosebleeds like that since I was small. But it was chiefly the exhaustion, aching in every joint.”
    I could hear it in your voice, monotone, dreary, as if even inflection were too much effort.
    â€œOkay, now what exactly have you got?”
    â€œOh, it’s got a grand-sounding name. Acute myelogenous leukemia.”
    â€œSounds bad enough to scare the living daylights out of anyone.”
    â€œWell, Liv, it’s not good. Bloody death sentence, in fact.”
    â€œBut they can treat it, right?”
    â€œOh yes, they can stretch things out a bit with chemo and stuff, but it’ll just postpone the inevitable a few years.”
    â€œAnd if they did nothing?”
    â€œThree or four months.”
    That hit like a punch in the stomach.
    â€œThen it’s worth a fight, isn’t it?” I asked sharply. You hesitated. I could hear it.
    â€œI’m not sure, Liv. I’ve only got about a twenty to thirty percent chance of long-term survival. Not very good odds. And I’d need a bone marrow transplant. I don’t even know if that’s possible yet. I don’t know if it’s worth putting Holly and the kids through all that, years of it perhaps, when I could just check out in a few months.”
    â€œHey!” I said. “Don’t you think Holly and the kids might have different thoughts about losing you the day after tomorrow? I stuck around for you, kiddo; now it’s your turn. You said you’ll probably need a bone marrow transplant. Well, I’m the likeliest donor—siblings are the best bet, I think—and I’m ready and willing, so there you are.”
    â€œYeah, I know I’ll go through all the treatments they can dream up. You do, don’t you, if there’s just a little bit of hope, but it doesn’t stop the little voice inside saying, ‘What’s the use? You know nothing’s going to work. You’ve had it, mate.’ It’s hard to ignore. There doesn’t seem much to look forward to.”
    What do you say? You can’t agree, can you?
    â€œPerhaps you’re being too long-sighted. Perhaps you have to be a bit myopic, and look at the nearer things if you want to see clearly. What I mean is, perhaps it would be better to look forward to Jason going into high school soon, rather than graduating from med school fifteen years from now. Lower your sights, you know. Fill your life with little steps rather than brooding over the big ones that might be unattainable.”
    â€œCould be.”
    â€œSo your first one will be telling Holly. And don’t forget to say I’m queuing to donate.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œThen the next one will be having the first lot of treatment. What’s on the cards?”
    â€œChemo.”
    â€œSo the first milestone could be remission after the