From Ant to Eagle

by Alex Lyttle

  At the end of everything, Simon left the room without saying a word. We were all left a little stunned and Dad was chuckling to himself in the corner. “I suppose you don’t need to have personality to become a doctor,” he said.

  The nurse who’d drawn Sammy’s blood came back in with two popsicles. “It’ll be another few minutes before the doctor is back, thought you’d like one of these in the meantime,” she said, handing us each one.

  Dr. Mitchell came back thirty minutes later, followed closely behind by Simon and his pet clipboard. He appeared hurried and spoke with hardly any pauses. “I can’t say exactly what’s going on with Sammy but I had a look through his blood test results and I think he’s going to have to be admitted.”

  “Admitted?” I asked.

  “Yes, he’s going to have to stay in the hospital overnight, and possibly for the next few days while we run some tests to figure out what’s going on.”

  I looked over at Sammy who appeared more interested in finishing his popsicle than the conversation around him.

  “Wait, wait, slow down,” Dad said. “What did his blood tests show?”

  “He’s anemic and thrombocytopenic. I can’t say why, and it doesn’t explain his seizure so I think it’s best to admit him and see if they can figure it out.”

  Anemic? Thrombocytopenic?

  The first word seemed vaguely familiar but the second didn’t even sound English.

  Dad seemed to be getting frustrated. “Look, can you just tell us in plain English what you think is going on here. I don’t care if you can’t say exactly, but you must have some idea.”

  Dr. Mitchell exhaled and sat down on the side of Sammy’s bed. He proceeded to speak at an exaggeratedly slow pace as if we were all hard of hearing.

  “Sammy had a seizure. Think of the brain as a cupboard full of wires. Normally, you open the cupboard and find nice, laid out sets of wires that send signals in a coordinated fashion. A seizure occurs when those wires get all jumbled and start firing in all different directions. What you saw—the thrashing movement, eyes rolling around—is the result of that. So that much we know: Sammy had a seizure. But a seizure is a symptom, not a diagnosis, meaning it tells us something is wrong inside, but not what is wrong. There are many things that cause a seizure—dehydration, low blood sugar, electrolyte abnormalities, infections—many things. Even fever itself can cause a seizure, except I’m worried there’s something more going on here. I’m worried about what has been going on this summer. The weight loss, the bruising, the sweating; I know you were told it was likely mono but I think there’s something more than mono going on here.”

  “What do you mean, something more than mono?” Mom asked.

  “I mean that fevers and weight loss and fatigue can all be from mono, true, but after two months of fevers I think we need to start thinking of other things. That’s why we’re going to have Sammy stay overnight in the hospital. In the morning we’ll run a few more tests and have the specialists see him.”

  “In the morning?” I blurted out. “But Sammy’s sick now! Why can’t the specialists see him now?”

  “He’s sick, but not critical. We can wait until morning. Nothing will have changed by then and it would be good to get some rest. It’s been a long day for all of you. The room on the unit he’s going to has a bed for someone to stay, but only one. The rest of you will have to come back tomorrow.”

  Sammy hadn’t said a word during the whole discussion and now sat with his eyes half closed, remnants of an unfinished popsicle staining the white sheets at his side. The words ‘more than mono’ kept reverberating in my head while the image of the plastic tube filling with blood stained the inside of my eyelids. At least the image of the flailing had competition. My mind had become a haunted house straight out of a Goosebumps book.

  I stayed awake for most of the ride home, but somewhere along the dark highway between the small towns of Ontario I must have fallen asleep because I don’t remember how I got into bed; only the frequent awakenings that followed.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE NEXT MORNING I HEARD DAD TALKING ON THE PHONE IN A hushed voice as I walked into the kitchen. I still felt tired despite the sun already creeping over the tree line.

  “All right, that sounds good. Yes, I’ll be in as soon as I’ve dropped him off.”

  He put the phone back on the receiver and smiled at me.

  “Good news. Your brother is doing well. Turns out they won’t have to amputate his head after all,” he said.

  “That’s disappointing,” I joked.

  He laughed then his face took on a somewhat more serious look as he told me “they”—which I knew meant “Mom”—thought it was best for me to go to school and be picked up after.

  “That’s not fair!” I argued. “I want to come and see how Sammy’s doing.”

  “And you will, just as soon as school is over. One of us will be back to pick you up at six pm sharp.”

  “School’s done at four.”

  “Then we won’t be a minute later than five,” Dad said with a grin.

  “Ugh, this is so unfair. And I’ve already missed the bus in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  I marched out of the kitchen, stomping my feet for effect.

  It’s one thing to walk into class late, it’s another to walk into class late the day after your brother had an epic attack of jerking and foaming and flailing. Since nothing exciting ever happened at recess, on the rare occasion that a fight broke out or someone slipped and needed stitches, those trivial events were talked about for days. I could only imagine how long people would be talking about Sammy’s seizure.

  An awkward silence fell over the class as I walked toward my desk next to Aleta. She turned toward me with a worried look on her face. Everyone was looking at me as if I were going to make some sort of public announcement. Even Ms. Draper paused for me to take my seat, then seemed to hesitate before going on with the class.

  I sat with my chin on my hands pretending to listen but instead kept thinking about Sammy. I’d never really worried about him before. Even when he’d been sick over the summer. But something about the fall and the hospital and the worried looks on my parents’ faces—it was all so unnerving. I couldn’t shake the feeling. He’d be fine, I knew he’d be fine, but crust, what if he wasn’t? I had to shake my head a few times to get rid of the thought.

  The worrying was one thing, dealing with everyone in my class who seemed to think Sammy’s health was their business was another. I would close my eyes briefly, then open them again, each time hoping that when I did everything would be back to normal. Aleta would stop looking at me with her worried eyes, Tom would stop turning around every chance he got with a smug sneer on his face, and Ms. Draper would stop trying to catch my eye while she talked. I wished they’d all just stop. The tension in the room was unbearable and the closer to lunch it got, the more I wanted to run out of the portable and never come back.

  I knew it would be a free-for-all come recess. I thought about playing sick but knew that would only make it worse later. I told myself it was better to just face everyone then and there and get it over with. I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head and that no one would make a big deal of it but sure enough, come recess, Tom and Joey headed the pack of kids waiting outside the portable door when the bell rang. They formed a ring, preventing me from walking around, so I stood and waited with what I hoped was a “What do you want?” look on my face.

  “Hey, Cal, where’s your brother at?” Tom jeered as I walked toward them. “Did they put him in a crazy jacket when they took’m to the loony bin?” He flexed his wrists and held them stiffly to his face while making jerking movements with his body. A few kids from the group laughed.

  “God, that was the funniest thing we ever seen,” Joey joined in. “We were up all night laugh’n ’bout it. Every time we thought we’s just about done, we’d crack up all over again.” He awkwardly attempted to imitate his older brother.

  I
felt my fingers curl into tight fists as I took a step toward them. I had never punched anyone but my brother before—and that was always in fun—but I had a feeling that right then and there that was about to change. And I’m sure it would have, if, at that moment, one of the teachers, Mr. O’Byrne, hadn’t come roaring into the crowd. The sea of students parted like corn stalks in the wind and formed a trail right to Tom and Joey.

  “Tom, Joey, principal’s, now!” he barked.

  It didn’t matter. They had an audience and the principal’s office was nothing new for the Riley brothers. They kept on taunting until their heads disappeared through the door of the main building.

  I was seething by that point and ready to lash out at the next person who said anything. I glared around at the rest of the group but they weren’t interested in following Joey and Tom. The crowd dispersed, leaving me standing alone, angry, hurt, wanting to scream but afraid my voice would break.

  Aleta stood a few feet away watching me breathe in and out slowly as I attempted to regain some composure. She walked over and stood beside me.

  She didn’t say anything but she didn’t have to—just having her next to me made me feel a little better and after a while I felt myself calming down. We spent recess standing together, watching the boys play basketball and the girls skipping as everyone else pretended not to be looking at me. And I pretended not to notice when they glanced over and whispered to the kid beside them. The talking would go on for a long time, it was something I would get used to, but it would take a while.

  Just before the end of recess, I saw a car pull up in front of the school and Mr. Riley got out. He looked in a huff as he headed into the school and I nudged Aleta. A few minutes later he walked back out, one of each of the Rileys in his thick hands, holding them tightly behind the neck so that their feet were barely on the ground. He yanked the car door open and in went the boys—toss, toss—like limp sacks of feed. I only just caught a glimpse of Tom’s face as he sat slumped in the backseat. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

  CHAPTER 17

  AFTER SCHOOL I FOUND MOM SITTING IN THE CAR AT THE FRONT of the school with her eyes closed. I’d expected a lengthy discussion on what the doctors had found and what they’d decided to do, but it turned out that not much had happened throughout the day. Mom spoke slowly and I realized she likely hadn’t slept much in the last twenty-four hours as she kept losing track of what she was saying and starting over.

  “It’s been slow so far. Just a bunch of telling and retelling what happened yesterday to various doctors,” she said.

  “Which doctors, Mom? Who?” I asked.

  “I can hardly keep track of them all. Let’s see, there was a Dr. what-was-his-name, a nice man with a bowtie, Dr. Sommerville, the neurologist. He’s a brain doctor. They want to do a test called an EEG. They might have already done it by the time we get there. And the infectious disease doctors came by, apparently they deal with all the bacteria and infections kids get. They said they could do some tests to see if Sammy has mono. They drew some more blood. We’ve had lunch and we’re waiting for dinner. Sammy’s looking better. He slept through the night. He’s looking forward to seeing you. He keeps asking when you’re getting there.”

  We entered the hospital through the main entrance, which was a lot nicer than the emergency waiting room. Large sliding doors opened to a wide foyer. A sign on the wall read, Please Wash Your Hands, and a hand sanitizer pump hung below it. I watched my mom pump clear gel into her hands, rubbing it around so it disappeared and dried like magic. I did the same, then followed her as she walked through the lobby. She walked quickly and I struggled to keep up as I looked around. To my right, a large tank full of coral and exotic fish, to my left, the monotonous drone of voices and dishes clattering in the cafeteria, ahead, the elevators.

  Unit 31—General Pediatrics, the sign read as we got off on the third floor. Sammy’s room looked similar to the one in the emergency department but it was less plain and had a TV at the end of his bed.

  I nearly laughed when I first saw Sammy. He looked like something straight out of a horror movie. He was awake and less pale than the day before but his head was wrapped in one of those turban things certain people wear. At the top of the turban, wires shot out like branches.

  “What is that thing?” I laughed, walking up to him.

  “It’s called an EEG,” an unfamiliar voice said.

  I nearly jumped. I hadn’t noticed the man sitting in the chair beside Sammy’s bed as I’d walked in.

  “It measures the brainwaves in his head to make sure everything is firing correctly.”

  His voice was deep but gentle and his white, fluffy hair reminded me of Santa Claus. Come to think of it, a lot about Dr. Parker made me think of Santa Claus. I remember liking him the moment I met him.

  He stood up from the chair and shook Mom’s hand. She seemed equally surprised to see him.

  “I’m Dr. Parker. Please, come in and sit down. I’ve just been talking with Sammy and your husband. It turns out Sammy and I have the same birthday and we were just bouncing ideas off each other about what the best party would be this year. I had recommended bowling,” he said with a chuckle.

  Mom sat next to Dad and I stood off to the side, unsure where my place was.

  “Now that you’re all here, I suppose I should tell you why I’m here,” Dr. Parker said. “I’m afraid I’m not just here to plan birthday parties.” He paused for a moment looking around the room. I would soon learn that Dr. Parker always paused. I guess he had learned over the years that what he had to say was not easy to hear, and pauses increased what his patients retained from nearly nothing to slightly above that. “I’m with the oncology team. I’m here because something has come up on Sammy’s blood tests that will need to be investigated further.”

  “What’s oncology?” I asked looking around the room. Mom and Dad looked like they were going to pass out.

  “Cancer,” he replied.

  CHAPTER 18

  THERE WERE MANY WORDS SAID IN THE HOSPITAL THAT DAY that I didn’t understand—cancer was not one of them. My grandpa had died of lung cancer just before Sammy was born. Dad had told us it was because he smoked. Back in London, I’d had a friend whose mom had cancer in her back, or something like that, and she had also died. Cancer seemed to be everywhere. Everywhere adults were, that is. Not kids. I had never heard of kids getting cancer.

  It had to be a mistake.

  Our doctor had thought it was mono, what happened to that idea?

  Mom must have been thinking the same thing. “How sure are you that this is…cancer?” she asked.

  Dr. Parker sighed and pushed his round glasses up his nose. “We can’t be sure until we’ve done a bone marrow biopsy, but at this point, I’m fairly certain. Sammy’s blood cells are all low, which explains why he’s been tired, out of breath and bruised, but we also saw something called a blast cell, which normally is only in the bone marrow. When we see it in the blood, it makes us think there might be something wrong. It makes us concerned about leukemia.”

  Leukemia? Blast cells? Bone marrow bio…or whatever he’d called it. Dr. Parker seemed to be speaking in a different language.

  “What’s that thing you said?” I asked.

  Dr. Parker turned to me with a sympathetic look on his face. “What was what thing?”

  “The bone thing.”

  He nodded. “The bone marrow biopsy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll need to look at the cells inside Sammy’s bones. In order to do that, we put a needle into his hip bone and pull off some of the cells from inside. Then we look at those cells under a microscope to see if there is any cancer there.”

  Hold on. Back up.

  Did he just say a needle into the bone?! The room began to spin like I’d just put my head on a baseball bat and run in a circle. I felt like if I didn’t sit I was going to fall over so I bent my legs and let myself slide to the floor. I could actually feel the blood drain from my face
. My list of Worst Things Imaginable had just gotten one longer but for Sammy’s sake, I decided to keep that to myself.

  I looked at my brother. He was sitting silently in the bed watching us as if we weren’t talking about him.

  Was he not listening? Did he not hear Dr. Parker speaking as if he were narrating the latest volume in the Goosebumps series starring none other than Sammy himself? Six-year-old boy about to get a needle stuck into his bone and yet, six-year-old boy is mindlessly staring with nothing more than a blank look on his face. Wake up, six-year-old boy! Tell them this has to be a mistake! Tell them you feel fine or that you were just faking it. Why are you just sitting there as if you’re watching cartoons or something? Why are you always too young to understand things that matter?

  I wanted to go over and shake Sammy but I couldn’t get up. There was a sick feeling in my stomach.

  Dr. Parker was looking at me worriedly.

  I looked over at Mom and Dad but I couldn’t tell what they were thinking. Normally I could always tell exactly what they were thinking—Mom’s are-you-hurt-face, Dad’s I’m-concentrating-onmy-paper face, or both of their stop-teasing-your-brother-face—but right then they were as unreadable as a piece of white paper.

  Dr. Parker walked over and offered his hand. I reached up and grabbed it and he guided me to Sammy’s bed where I sat down by my brother’s feet. The bed was way too long for Sammy; his feet barely went halfway to the end.

  “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt,” Dr. Parker said. “We’ll give Sammy medicine to put him to sleep.”

  He kept looking at me so I felt obliged to nod though, really, that didn’t sound much better. I pictured Sammy waking up to find someone standing over him with a white coat, giant needle and a crooked smile. Shhh, go back to sleep, the imaginary doctor whispered, this won’t hurt…much.

  Crust, I needed to stop reading Goosebumps books.