Henry's Sisters

by Cathy Lamb

  The silence in that room about blew my eardrums out. Janie panted, and Cecilia, for once, couldn’t find her voice.

  ‘This isn’t the time, Momma, for you to be bitchy,’ I told her, my chin up. ‘For once, don’t attack us when you’re unhappy. We’re all dying here.’

  Momma covered her blonde bell-shaped hair with her arms. ‘He can do this, he can live through this,’ she raged, her body sagging against the wall. ‘My Henry is going to get better…’ She started to slide down the wall, sobbing. ‘My Henry will go to the doctors and the medicine will heal him…’ She swatted away Cecilia’s hands. ‘The doctor is going to fix this,’ she moaned.

  ‘Shit!’ Cecilia said. ‘Shit! Why did you have to upset her?’

  ‘Why did I? How about this, Cecilia? Why did she upset me?’ I said. ‘Why does she always feel that she can upset all of us, accuse us of terrible, untrue things, and get away with it? Do you think you’re the only one hurting here, Momma? Do you?’

  For a second, Momma stared at me, her face collapsing. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t. Not only me.’

  ‘I’m hurting, Momma!’ Janie cried. ‘I hurt all the time!’

  ‘I am, too, Momma. We all love Henry,’ I said. ‘I believe in him. But I believe that this disease is not beatable. By anyone.’

  Momma whimpered, a sound of utter defeat, then did something unpredictable, as she so often does. She reached out her hands to us. I hesitated, so did Janie, still so furious at her, so furious.

  She saw our hesitation, and she bent her head, then looked us straight in the eye, her face awash in hot tears. ‘I’m sorry, girls. I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry. For you. For me. For Henry. I’m so sorry.’

  Cecilia shot us darts from those blue eyes of hers until we grabbed Momma’s hands.

  We ended up rocking Momma back and forth, her cries coming from the depths of a mother’s broken soul, this lost, hideous, thundering grief. ‘I don’t want my son to die, I don’t want my son to die, I don’t want my son to die.’

  I buried my head in Cecilia’s heaving shoulder, Janie leant on me as her tears burnt my neck, and we all held tight to each other and to Momma as she keened back and forth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Henry smiled as we took him into the hospital, greeting the receptionists by saying, ‘Hi. I Henry. I have the cancer. You gonna put some juice in me to kill it?’

  One of the receptionists, smiling as if she were a restaurant hostess, took us to the Cancer-Killing-Chemo area, bright, window-filled and clean, with yellow walls.

  ‘Does she think she’s seating us at some damn wedding or something? What’s with the weird, maniacal smile?’ Cecilia muttered.

  ‘Can we please be nice to the people who work here? We need to be tranquil,’ Janie pleaded.

  ‘All I’m saying is that Miss Merry Sunshine doesn’t need to grin like a Cheshire cat. We’re here for chemo not to tip some champagne down our throats.’

  ‘Cecilia, chill out,’ I said. ‘Chill.’

  ‘She doesn’t need to be so happy,’ Cecilia sneered. ‘It makes me feel like hitting her.’

  ‘Lots of things make you feel like hitting,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you go hit yourself in the face? Knock yourself out, then we won’t have to listen to you complain about a smiling person.’

  Cecilia nudged me. ‘I think I may hit you in the face…’

  I whipped on her. ‘Do it. Do it hard. As hard as you can—’

  ‘I would if we weren’t in a hospital. I’m so sick of you taking over, taking control, yapping your mouth—’

  ‘And I’m sick of…’ I paused. What was I sick of with Cecilia? ‘I’m sick of…sick of… I’m sick of something that you do, Cecilia, I’ll think of it in a sec!’

  Janie giggled.

  As soon as I realised what I’d said, I giggled, too.

  Cecilia’s scowl dropped and even she laughed. ‘I’ll think of something, Isabelle, that I do that makes you sick of me and I’ll tell you what it is so you’ll have something to throw in my face next time… Hey! Maybe it’ll be blueberry pie next time!’

  I laughed. Oh gall. Life is ludicrous. Here I was at the hospital, and my sisters and I were laughing and fighting.

  Laughing and grief. They are not always mutually exclusive. I reached for Cecilia’s hand. She held it.

  Henry went right over to a coffee/hot chocolate cart they had set up. ‘Hey, sisters! Hey, Momma! We get free hot chocolate! Free! I have some. I have hot chocolate. I make you some!’

  Momma nodded weakly. After we all had our free hot chocolates, mostly chocolate, hardly any water, we made our way back to a comfy blue leather armchair. Momma sank into the chair next to it, as if her knees were made of straw and the straw bent.

  ‘Hi!’ Henry said to a weak, pale woman with a blue headscarf in another armchair. ‘Hi. I Henry. Jesus loves you.’

  She tilted her head up at Henry, the circles under her eyes purplish and puffy. Perhaps this was not her best day. ‘I don’t believe in Jesus.’

  That did not throw Henry at all.

  ‘He believe in you. He believe in you.’

  The woman glared. I did not think she wanted to have a conversation about Jesus, and I gently pushed Henry away from her.

  ‘What you reading?’ he asked the woman, grinning, undaunted.

  She tipped the magazine cover up.

  ‘That a dog!’ Henry announced. ‘I take care of dogs at the shelter. I love dogs.’

  She nodded. ‘I love dogs, too.’

  ‘You have a dog?’ His eyebrows shot up, curious and excited about this.

  I tried to nudge Henry.

  ‘Yes, I have a dog.’

  ‘What his name? The dog. What his name. My name Henry.’

  ‘His name is Kermit.’

  ‘Kermit!’ Henry laughed and bent over to be eye to eye with her. ‘Kermit! Kermit the Frog, Kermit the dog! You have a dog named for a frog. I like that dog.’

  The woman smiled a little. I could tell she was relaxing. ‘I like the dog, too.’

  ‘Kermit the Frog is a dog,’ Henry said. ‘Does he croak or does he bark? I go now. I have to get some juice in me so I get rid of the cancer. I got pain-cree-at-ick cancer. Bad.’

  The woman’s tired face stilled. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Yeah. All the people’s sorry.’ Henry was still bent down eye to eye with her. ‘OK. I go. Jesus loves you. Bye-bye. Bye-bye to the mommy of Kermit the dog.’ He chuckled. ‘Kermit the dog!’

  Henry said hello and chatted to a young man hooked up to an IV. His two young kids were sitting by him. He was bald. The kids were wearing Donald Duck baseball hats and he quacked at them. The young man was more cheerful and wished him a happy day.

  ‘You have happy day, too. Happy day.’

  He had to say hello to the nurses. ‘I Henry. Who are you?’

  They were Eric, Randy, and Bonnie.

  ‘I get some juice,’ he told them. ‘Juice me!’

  We finally got Henry settled in the blue leather chair. Momma patted his shoulders. Janie stood to the side and breathed deep. I knew she might faint. Cecilia panted.

  Henry loved the ‘magic chair’ and used the lever to lower the armchair up and down. He practised putting his feet on the footrest, taking them down, putting them up, down.

  ‘This good chair.’ He released the handle, which pushed him back up again. ‘Ha-ha! A magic, moving chair.’

  Dr Remmer arrived, her grey hair back in a loose bun. She smiled at Henry. I could tell she was exhausted. What a pleasant job, being an oncologist.

  ‘Hey, hey. Dr Remmer. You pretty.’

  Dr Remmer thanked him.

  ‘You got a dog name Snickers. He in looovvvee. Rex in love. Hey, your dogs get married yet? They marry?’ Henry laughed.

  ‘Not yet, Henry,’ she told him. ‘But soon. I think they’re engaged.’

  ‘Ha! Engaged! Two doggies. That funny!’ Henry hit the armrest and grinned.
‘You gonna put some juice in me to get my pain-cree-at-ick cancer?’

  We had explained the chemo to Henry by telling him the medicine was like juice and it would be put into him to kill some cancer.

  ‘That’s what I’m going to do, Henry.’ The doctor held his hand.

  Momma held his other hand, her eyes half shut, as if she couldn’t bear to watch this part.

  ‘I get it. Where the juice?’

  ‘I have the juice up here in these bags,’ the doctor said, smiling.

  Henry tilted his head to examine the IV pole and smiled. ‘Ha-ha. That a joke. How you gonna put the juice in those bags in Henry? You gonna put a straw in them? Juice taste good?’

  Momma rubbed her forehead. Janie swayed. I got her a chair. I hoped she wouldn’t faint. This was not going to be fun.

  ‘No, Henry, that’s not what we’re going to do. Me and Eric and Bonnie, we’re going to put this little tiny needle in your skin and the juice is going to go in you that way.’

  He scrunched up his face. ‘I don’t get it. I don’t get it. I drink the juice. Free hot chocolate here, Dr Remmer. I had hot chocolate. My sisters and Momma, too. You want hot chocolate? I make it for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Henry, this is a special juice and it has to go into your body right here.’ She tapped the inside of his elbow.

  I could hear Cecilia breathing heavily. Momma turned her head away.

  He turned his arm and eyed that vulnerable spot. ‘No. Not there. You no do it there. I drink it.’ He grinned.

  ‘Henry,’ I said. ‘It’ll be fine. The doctor is going to give you the juice through your arm while you drink your hot chocolate and we play checkers.’

  ‘No. I don’t think so, Is. No. Thank you.’ He grinned as he played with the magic chair again, up and down, up and down.

  ‘Let me show you, Henry.’ The doctor unwrapped the IV. She showed him the tiny needle that would be inserted into his arm for the chemo.

  ‘That not go in my arm!’ Henry’s eyes flew open wide. He shook his head.

  ‘Yes, it’ll hurt only for a second and that’s it! All done.’

  ‘What?’ Henry’s voice pitched. ‘No. I no do that. No needles. Nope nope.’

  ‘Henry, it’ll only take a second,’ Cecilia pleaded, her eyes shiny with tears. ‘One second.’

  ‘I no take a second. I no want a shot. Hot chocolate!’

  ‘It’s not a shot,’ Janie said. ‘It’s the way the juice goes in. Think of it as a straw. An elbow straw.’

  Henry stared at the needle. ‘That not a straw.’

  ‘Remember when you were in the hospital, honey?’ Momma said, leaning forward. I could tell she was an inch away from losing her mental grip. ‘You had something like this in your arm. It made you feel better.’

  That was true. But Henry had had a sedative when they put that in.

  Momma was shaking. ‘It’ll be fine, Henry, over quickly. As quick as you can make one of the dogs at the shelter roll over. As quick as you can get one of them to dance on their hind legs. It’s that quick. Quick as a lick!’

  ‘Let me show you,’ the doctor said, so helpfully.

  In a flash, Henry flipped down the footrest and stood up. ‘No no no. I not doing this. You not put that in my arm. That hurt. Ow!’

  ‘Henry, this is the juice you need to get the cancer,’ Cecilia said, ‘so you need to sit down and take it.’

  ‘I no take the juice in the elbow with no needle.’ He shook his head back and forth, back and forth. ‘That shot.’

  ‘Henry, please,’ Cecilia begged, her voice down at a whisper, desperate. ‘Please. It won’t hurt. We’ll go get ice cream afterward. Two scoops. Whipped cream. Chocolate sauce.’

  ‘No. I go now.’ He turned to leave. I was not prepared for this wave of thick despair to cover me as he headed for the door. I hadn’t wanted him to do the chemo, but this was so…final. This was it. All there was.

  He walked over to the father and the girls. ‘Have a happy day. Quack, quack.’

  The girls quacked back at him.

  He said to the woman with the dog magazine, ‘Say hi to Kermit the Frog dog for me. I go pet the dogs tomorrow.’

  She assured him she would. A slip of a smile pulled on her mouth.

  Cecilia impatiently swiped at her tears. ‘Henry, sit down. Sit down, now.’ She didn’t say it in a patient voice.

  He whipped around, eyes wide. ‘You mad at me, Cecilia? Don’t be mad at Henry.’

  ‘I am mad at you. You need to get your medicine.’ Cecilia crossed her arms, her face flushed.

  ‘No.’ Henry crossed his arms back at her. He so seldom got angry, but he had the Bommarito temper and I knew it was igniting.

  ‘Yes!’ Cecilia said. ‘Yes, sit down right this minute!’ She pointed at the chair.

  ‘No! I no sit down!’ Henry shouted.

  I saw Janie try to stand, then sink back down. Momma buried her face in her hands.

  ‘If you don’t sit down, I will pick you up and put you there!’ Cecilia raged.

  ‘No!’ Henry yelled. ‘No! I go home. I fly with Amelia. We go to Hawaii.’

  ‘Cecilia, please,’ I said. ‘It’s not going to work. Back off.’

  But Cecilia wouldn’t listen. She loved Henry like no one’s business, and if she had to drag him over to that chair and strap him down while he had chemo pumped into his body, she would do it.

  ‘Cecilia,’ the doctor said. ‘He’s an adult.’

  ‘He’s an adult with disabilities,’ she spat, blinking another set of tears out. ‘He can’t make this decision for himself!’

  ‘He can,’ the doctor said. ‘Morally and legally.’

  ‘He can’t.’ Cecilia was shaking. ‘He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get that if he doesn’t take the medicine, he’s going to die. He doesn’t get the correlation.’

  But Henry got it and he heard her. He spread his hands out. ‘I know I die, Cecilia! I already know it! Jesus told me in the dream I go see him soon and I not taking that juice in a needle!’

  ‘Cecilia,’ the doctor soothed. ‘I can’t force him to take this.’

  ‘You can’t or you won’t?’ Cecilia argued.

  ‘I can’t, and I won’t,’ the doctor said. Firm. Resolute.

  For a moment I thought Cecilia was going to hit her, she was so angry, so I grabbed her arm again and stood in front of her. ‘Calm down, Cecilia. For once rein in your anger, OK? Think about this, think about what you’re asking him to do.’

  She fought against me, but I held firm, held tight. She swore; I shook her and told her to get a grip. ‘This is not about you, Cecilia, not about what you want.’ It was ugly.

  Cecilia’s face crumbled. ‘It’s his only chance, his only chance, Is.’

  ‘It is. But it’s not a good chance. It’s an infinitesimal chance, at best. You know that. You know that.’ I pulled her close to me.

  ‘But I love him,’ Cecilia said, as if that was all that was needed. ‘I love him.’

  Janie stumbled over and put an arm around Cecilia. That’s sisters, fighting one minute, hugging the next. We were pathetic in our grief.

  Momma swayed in her seat, her face grey, and a nurse leant down to take her pulse.

  ‘I know you love him, Cecilia. We all do.’ Oh yeah, we all did. We loved Henry best.

  ‘Hey! Hey! Why Cecilia crying?’ Henry shouted. ‘Cecilia, why you cry?’

  ‘Because, Henry—’ She inhaled, wretched and broken. ‘I love you and the medicine could give you some more time to live. To fly with Grandma. To make a model plane with Dad. To help at the bakery icing cupcakes with us sisters and petting the dogs and you could serve doughnuts at church and sit in the front row.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Henry put his fist under his chin, then clapped three times. ‘Hmm. OK, I do it!’ He charged back to the magic chair and stuck an arm out. ‘I do it for Cecilia.’ He grinned at us. ‘I do it for my sisters. Henry’s sisters. No more fighting. I love my sisters.’

  And
that was that. Henry took the chemo. Was it ethical the way this was handled? Probably not. Moral? Probably not. Well-intentioned? Yes.

  Janie fainted when the needle poked Henry’s arm and he squirmed and fussed, but we soothed him, Momma rocking Janie on the floor.

  We played checkers with him. He took a nap. We drank the free hot chocolate and coffee Henry was so excited about. When we were done, we left. Momma leant on me for support, Cecilia was close to keeling over (I knew this because I could feel her exhaustion), a pale Janie clucked and fretted around Henry, and I felt as if I wanted to die. Right there die. I think a blend of stress and grief does that to you.

  We went home. The Columbia River was the same as always, little waves frothing with white, the sun was headed downward, down to sleep, as Henry would say, the trees danced a stiff dance, and when we drove up the drive, the wind lifted our hair and swirled it around.

  All was the same in nature.

  All was ruined for us.

  When Henry saw Grandma, he darted out of the car. She met him midway, arms outstretched. They flew around the yard.

  ‘My co-pilot has returned!’ Grandma yelled. ‘My co-pilot is alive!’

  Late that night I pulled out my favourite camera.

  It was as if I’d rediscovered my heart. I held it close to my chest and remembered everywhere I’d been with that camera slung around my neck.

  I had quit photography after my brain self-electrocuted and I’d lost a large chunk of myself. I needed that chunk back. Pronto.

  Why? Because I needed to photograph Henry. Henry and our family. Together.

  And I didn’t have much time.

  Unbelievably, after that first chemo treatment, our lives resumed as if we were normal people for a few days.