The Anesthesia Game

by Rea Nolan Martin

  Mitsy punches the air. “And I suppose your self-image is excellent? That’s why Jonah left you? That’s why half the inventory of Saks and Neiman Marcus is piled in the guest closet in Darien? Clothes you’ll probably never even wear? Clothes you probably can’t even pay for!”

  Hannah huffs. “Wow! Look who’s been spying on her guest! And not just her guest, but her sister! And not just her sister, but her medical proxy! Her sister who dropped everything to assume all her responsibilities!” She glares at Mitsy. “But let’s not get sidetracked by your lack of ethics. This is about you, not me. It’s about how much better you’ll feel when you’re dressed like a woman instead of a wrestling coach.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Good, Mitsy, get it out! Scream it out! Curse it out! Finally! Go ahead and blame me for this disaster. Or Aaron. Or Syd. Or God! But get your act together so we know who you are!”

  One of their phones rings, startling them both. Their reactions excite Godiva, who jumps and spins at the end of the rope, barking. Their rings are identical; they can’t figure out whose phone it is. Since the caller could be Syd…or a doctor…they fumble earnestly until Mitsy finally locates hers in the rear pocket of her jeans. Checking the read-out, she tells Hannah, “As much as I’d love to continue this engaging conversation, I have to go.”

  “Probably that nutcase psycho babble gypsy,” Hannah spits. “The only one you ever listened to. Aaron’s dead right about that.”

  Mitsy turns her back on Hannah and walks briskly around the paddock and down the hill in the opposite direction. Hannah is correct; it’s Pandora. The last thing Mitsy wants is to be overheard. “Hello?” she says in a low voice.

  “Just returning your call,” says Pandora. “And checking up on the situation.”

  “Checking up?” Mitsy doesn’t like the sound of Pandora’s voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, just…stay in the light is all. Don’t go dark. Promise me.”

  Mitsy’s heart rate accelerates. “I can’t believe you called right now—that you just said that.” She gasps for breath. “Aaron’s leaving me.”

  Pandora pauses. “This was a hell of a time for him to tell you that.”

  “To be honest, I pushed him. I already knew it was over, and I pushed him.”

  “All right then. You asked for it. You’re not a victim.”

  “I thought I was ready to hear it, but I was wrong. He’s leaving me,” Mitsy whimpers. “He’s really doing it.”

  “Listen to me, Mitsy. I don’t care if he’s jumping off the Sears tower into a barrel of porcupines. YOU stay in the light. Syd is the only one who matters right now. We have no idea how this will all play out, understand?”

  “Why is everyone saying that? Why are you?! Are you getting…? Are your sources telling you…?”

  “Never mind my sources. This is me telling you that your ability to stay clear and upbeat is critical to your daughter’s recovery. That’s it. Can you do that? Can you stay positive?”

  “But you’re the light, Pandora. You’re the one.”

  “We’re all light, Mitsy. We’re children of light. That’s who we are. But most of the time we choose darkness. Darkness is a choice, do you hear me? It’s a choice! And it’s a choice you’ve made most of your life.”

  Mitsy is struck with a torrent of pain and grief that she damns up behind a familiar wall of anxiety. “Ok.”

  “Ok then. Now tell me why you called.”

  She collects herself. “I was just wondering if…you, um… if you…got tested?”

  “I told you not to count on that.”

  “I know. I won’t, but…it wouldn’t surprise me if …”

  “I got tested this morning, Mitsy. Just looking at me the director said it was highly unlikely, which I already knew. More importantly I wrote a blog last night, which as of an hour ago received over a hundred responses. People are getting tested. We’ll find someone; I know it. But stem cells and DNA are not the real issue.”

  “They’re not?”

  “No.”

  Mitsy is perplexed. As far as she knows, stem cells are the only issue.

  “It seems like they would be,” Pandora continues, “but they’re not. The real issue here is light, plain and simple. Getting enough light. Drinking in the light. Absorbing the light. Becoming the light.” She pauses. “Understand?”

  Mitsy can’t focus. It’s all too abstract. “But… how?”

  “By not contributing to the darkness, Mitsy. By staying clear. By magnifying what little light you have. By drawing it in and storing it up for the dark days.”

  All at once Pandora’s vague words gather, form, and crystallize. All at once Mitsy understands. Sort of. If light is our true currency, she thinks, we are all in trouble. Every one of us, especially Syd. We have all been squandering light. The problem is Mitsy has no idea how to get it back. If she ever had any to begin with.

  Hannah

  It’s late the following morning by the time Jonah, Hannah, and Mitsy get Syd back from the hospital in the truck. Jonah carries her into the house and lays her on the bed in the first floor guest room. “There you go, kiddo,” he says.

  “Thanks,” says Syd. “This is a million times better than the hospital.”

  “I’ll say,” says Jonah as he moves around the foot of the bed to the other side. “Let’s get some light in here, huh?” He raises the blinds on the small window to her right, revealing the panoramic view of the back pasture and frog pond. “Keep an eye out for a pair of eagles,” he says. “Not sure where the nest is, probably back toward Round Hill. If you spot them, note the time for me, will you?”

  “Sure,” she says. “Eagles are good luck.”

  “We could all use a little of that,” he says, winking.

  He pulls the quilt from the foot of the bed up and over Syd’s bone thin body. Standing on the threshold with Godiva, Hannah’s heart is filled with gratitude for him and the fact that Syd is able to recuperate here with her in the old family home. As magnificent as Darien is, it lacks something. What? Something warm and fuzzy she can’t put her finger on. Oh yeah, Jonah!

  Godiva lurches forward, her large paws aiming for the mattress where she gets a good lick of Syd’s face. Syd grins broadly, reaching out. Thank God Mitsy isn’t here to reprimand them all, Hannah thinks. Too many germs! Although she does seem to have calmed down a bit since their blow-up yesterday. Or maybe she’s just given up.

  As if reading her mind, Jonah says, “Okay if I take the pooch with me today, Syd? I’ll give her a little exercise and let her hang out in the truck with me. She’s a great truck dog. And anyway, she’s getting a little big to be jumping on beds.”

  Syd nods. “Be a good girl, G,” she says then leans over slightly for another lick.

  Jonah scoots Godiva out the door, and Hannah follows him past Mitsy, through the living room into the kitchen. Before he leaves, he hesitates, then turns around and spontaneously envelopes her in a gentle hug. Her cheek is pressed against his gray corduroy jacket. The musky smell of him intoxicates her. It’s been so long! She wraps her arms around his waist, and it’s all she can do not to moan, not so much with pleasure as relief. She thought she might never feel his arms around her again.

  He pulls back, arm’s length, his huge hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Han,” he says. “I really didn’t. You’ve been so strong.”

  Hannah gazes into his heavy-lidded cocoa brown eyes, black curls falling boyishly across his forehead. She won’t let herself cry. Can’t let him know how much this means. Doesn’t want to scare him off! This is the new, improved Hannah. The Hannah that can stand on her own and survive. Can she really do it? Her chin trembles slightly. The jury is out.

  “Okay then,” he says, “time to go. I’ve got an appointment at the Thompson estate.”

  “The Thompsons?” she says.

  He nods.

  “Wow! That’s quite a coup!” The Thompsons are the social elite of Loudoun
County. They own the largest estate around—over 500 acres with three mansions and a slew of barns and outbuildings. Their family has been in Loudoun for two centuries.

  “The main thing is to keep it away from developers,” he says. “But…no guarantees, I suppose. More importantly, I hope Syd is settling in. But if you need me again, call.”

  Hannah swallows hard. The lump in her throat feels like a jagged rock. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she says. “But I’ll do my best to keep her happy.”

  “Good luck with…” He cocks his head back toward the living room where Mitsy is staring into space.

  “Yeah, right.” As she escorts him out the mudroom door, she says, “Will you be seeing Aaron later?”

  He nods. “Aaron and that kid, Dane. They’re coming over tonight. Aaron might look pulled together, but he’s actually a mess.”

  “Yeah, well. He kind of gave Mitsy the boot yesterday.”

  “I heard. The manure piles up.”

  “And Dane decided to stay?”

  Jonah shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, he seems to really care. Says he has the week off for winter break anyway. Not sure how he’s going to get home if Mitsy stays here.”

  “Everything’s a question mark,” Hannah says. Maybe it’s just the intensity of the roiling in her belly, but she actually wants him to leave. Everything’s floating on the surface, it seems, flotsam for the inevitable undertow. What will the world look like in a week? She can’t imagine. Who will be left standing?

  “See you tomorrow,” he says. “I’m bringing all the guys to see Syd around eleven, unless…”

  “We’ll be fine until then,” she says firmly. “Don’t worry. Plus Syd could use a little space.”

  “Okay. I’ll check on Daizee on my way out. She’s no more than days away, you know. Just a heads-up. Her milk is coming in.”

  Hannah nods. “Maybe that’s a good thing—a birth.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “It’s always a good thing, right? Anyway, Doc will be up here later on to examine her, but call me if you see anything unusual before that. You can watch from the PC if you want. I put cameras in the barn.”

  She wants to say ‘I love you’, but she doesn’t dare. “Wow, thanks!”

  He waves behind him.

  Hannah’s phone buzzes; it’s Syd. “Cookie?” she says, walking directly back in.

  “I need a bucket,” says Syd. “I feel like…” she gags, “…like I…”

  “Be right there.”

  Hannah pulls a bucket from the mudroom shelf as she passes through, marveling at the fact that Syd called her instead of Mitsy. Not that Hannah trusts Mitsy, either, especially after their last exchange. Having a sister—or a mother—whose first line of defense in any emergency is a gypsy freak in California does not engender trust. Not to mention everything else about Mitsy. Hannah hightails through the living room past her sister.

  “What’s the hurry?” Mitsy says.

  “Syd’s nauseous.” Hannah swings the bucket behind her.

  Mitsy follows Hannah out of the living room and down the narrow hall. She barely places the bucket on Syd’s lap before the poor child turns inside out vomiting. Mitsy rushes in to rub her daughter’s back, but Syd elbows her mother away as she gags and heaves. Mitsy retracts her hand as if she’d been smacked, and leaves the room.

  When Syd’s done, Hannah hands her a washcloth from the bedside table and takes the bucket into the bathroom across the hall. She cleans it out and returns it to Syd. “Any better?” she says.

  Syd shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  Hannah checks the giant pill box for today’s selection. “Take all your anti-nausea meds?”

  “Yeah. Not supposed to take anymore until late tonight.” She lurches forward and Hannah pushes the bucket under her chin to catch it.

  After this bout, Hannah cleans up again and returns the bucket. “Is that it?” she asks.

  Syd nods. “I think so, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I just…” She looks up at Hannah. “I wish I had some pot.”

  Hannah screws her finger into her ear to clear the metaphorical wax. “What?”

  “Yeah, don’t tell Mom, okay? Just that sometimes Z and I would smoke a tiny bit when I was nauseous and it really helped.”

  “They have medical marijuana for that.”

  “They gave me that once at the clinic. In a capsule? But I couldn’t tolerate the capsule. I threw it right back up. I need the kind you can smoke. Right now I can’t even keep water down.”

  “I’ll call the doctor…”

  “No!” says Syd. “They’ll give me the kind I have to swallow. Or none at all. Or they’ll re-admit me. I won’t be able to keep anything inside me unless I smoke it. Plus I just…I don’t want to deal with them. Please don’t make me deal with them right now? I just got home.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Hannah says. She turns toward the door and hesitates. “Where did Z get it from, Syd? The pot? From Dane?”

  Syd shakes her head. “No. He won’t even smoke it. Something about his brother, the one who died.”

  Hannah nods. “Okay. Just wondered what kind of influence he was—being older and all. But I guess you and Zelda are your own bad influences.”

  “Don’t tell Mom?” she pleads. “Please? I just can’t stand feeling this way. I want to feel good. I want to eat. I want to live!”

  “Oh cookie,” Hannah says. She rushes over and kisses the top of Syd’s bald head. “Be back in a few. Try to relax for now. Breathe from the belly. I’ll fix this; don’t worry.”

  “Aunt Hannah?”

  “Yes, darlin’?”

  “I love you.”

  Hannah’s heart is a marshmallow at the end of a red hot stick. “Me too, sugar,” she says. “I love you, too.”

  Back in the living room, Hannah sits on the chair adjacent to the yellow couch where Mitsy is spread out, her back against the armrest, her long legs still covered in Hannah’s jeans. It’s only eleven o’clock, but the charcoal clouds darken the sky and the diffused light is eerie and threatening. It feels more like dusk in the middle ages.

  “It can’t be like this, Mits,” Hannah says.

  Mitsy raises her chin. “Like what?”

  “You all offended. Me fighting battles on two fronts.” She folds her arms. “We have to be one thing on one side.” She points back, indicating Syd’s room down the hall. “Her side,” she whispers.

  Mitsy stares back out the picture window at the darkening sky. “Of course I’m on her side. She just doesn’t believe it.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  Mitsy’s eyes shrink into little slits. “How dare you!” she says in a low, mean whisper. “I’ve been dealing with this nightmare for…”

  Hannah holds up her hand. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. This is exactly what we can’t do.”

  Mitsy huffs. “Fine.”

  Hannah pulls off her boots and curls up in the chair. “We could be here a long time. We have no idea when they’ll find a match, or…”

  Mitsy leans forward. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she says. “They’ll find a match all right.”

  “Well, that sounded confident.”

  “It’s about the light, Hannah. About believing in the light.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me.”

  Hannah shifts positions. “Every time you talk to that gypsy you come out sounding like a lunatic.”

  “I thought you said I sounded confident.”

  “A confident lunatic.”

  “Or just maybe she gives me good advice. Have you thought of that? Maybe you’re dead wrong about her.” She points her finger at Hannah. “Maybe she knows what she’s talking about, and you’re just too un-evolved to hear it.”

  Hannah waves her fingers on either side of her head. “She’s all…out there, Mits. Can you deny that?”

  Mitsy waves her fingers back in imitation. “Well, maybe we’re all out there
with her.” She folds her arms. “Maybe we just don’t know it.”

  Hannah shakes her head. “Name one solid thing about her.”

  “She got tested.”

  “For what? Rabies?”

  “Very funny, Hannah. No. She got tested for Syd. To be a donor.” Mitsy sits back with disgust. “And she wrote a blog last night that recruited hundreds of new donors already.”

  “You can’t believe everything she says.”

  “Oh she’ll find our donor, all right. She’ll attract one right to our door. That’s how she works. She’s a healer.”

  “Then why hasn’t she healed Syd? Or you for that matter?”

  Mitsy stares out the window ignoring her.

  After a minute, Hannah says, “Sorry, Mits. I don’t mean to jump on you about her. It’s just that this is a concrete job, this healing. We’re dealing with a real…”

  “Don’t say it,” Mitsy snaps.

  “Don’t worry,” says Hannah. “I don’t even know what it is.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. “Though I have a few ideas.”

  “Don’t…”

  “Look…”

  Mitsy’s chin quivers. “I’m just trying to stay in one piece; can’t you see that! You’re not her mother. You think you are, but you’re not. You don’t know what it feels like to see your own flesh and blood suffer like this. It’s like…” She gasps for breath. “It’s like I…failed her.” Her chest heaves up and down. “A mother is supposed to protect her child.”

  “You didn’t fail her,” Hannah says. “You didn’t cause…”

  “I’m just afraid if something goes wrong…” Mitsy hangs her head, slowly dissolving into a whimper that escalates into deep, growling sobs.

  “It won’t go wrong,” says Hannah gently. Though it might. She wants to comfort Mitsy at the same time she wants to punish her for being so derelict. She approaches her, places her hand on the back of her head and says, “I’m sorry, Mits. Seriously. I won’t badmouth that woman again. I swear. If she’s your way of coping, so be it.”

  Even over Mitsy’s deep, gripping sobs, Hannah hears Syd heaving in the other room. She can’t help them both at once. “I’ll be back,” she tells Mitsy. “Just making sure Syd is comfortable.”