Chapter 5: Katie
I’m halfway through Tilder’s Lane when I get the call.
It had been a relatively good day, and despite a few incidents, I'd been glad I’d gone to school. Truth be told, I had missed my crew, and it’d been a breath of fresh air to be surrounding by people who weren’t hostile towards me. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.
I remember thinking about how much I didn’t want to work tonight, and wondering if I could afford some paprika to spice up dinner. Insignificant, meaningless thoughts.
The sun is framed in passionate strokes of pink and orange, which I’d love to attempt to capture with acrylics someday. I’ve always loved to paint, but it’d been years since I was able to afford some proper supplies. Nonetheless, I often catch myself thinking in hues and shades.
The grass is dewy beneath my worn out boots, which I can distinctly feel through the hole in my right shoe. I don’t mind though; it just reminds me I’m alive. The southern wind causes the wheat stalks to bend and tumble in perfect ripples, giving an effect of unity, although if you looked closer, you’d realise that they were anything but. The air is cold and moist, no doubt from earlier’s rain.
These are the things that would forever be embedded in my mind. It’s funny how the brain works, how I can remember all these tiny details, when they have little to no importance whatsoever. I distinctly remember the solid feeling of my flip phone in the palm of my hand, which I’d been saving up minutes for in case of an emergency. Metal against warm flesh, the machine that would deliver the news that would forever alter my life.
“Hello,” I say, pressing the metal box up to my ear.
“Hello, is this Katherine Newman?” the voice on the other side inquires.
“This is she,” I reply, “can I help you with something?” I’m feeling impatient, the desire to collapse onto the couch before my shift overwhelmingly strong.
“Katherine Newman, you’ve been listed as an emergency contact for one Elizabeth Newman.” I can feel my heart sink. What did she do? The scenarios race through my head. Had she been arrested? She hadn’t done something stupid like that but if she ran out of alcohol, who knows what lengths she’d go to to get more. I couldn’t afford bail; but leaving her in there wasn’t an option. What would happen to me? Would CPS get involved? Before my thoughts could get any further, the voice stops me in my tracks.
“This is St Michael’s Hospital’s Emergency Department calling. Elizabeth Newman has been admitted after she collapsed in the middle of a public area. We’ve done some testing, and she has unfortunately been diagnosed with stage 4 liver cancer.”
I don’t remember much after that. I must’ve somehow gotten to the hospital, although it’s all a blur in my fragmented memories. I remember bright lights, unrelenting and harsh. Many doctors said many words to me, but I couldn’t grasp more than a few sentences. At some point I snapped out of my daze, and decided to get down to business. I couldn't fall apart, not when there were people who needed me.
"What treatment options are there?" I ask curtly, interrupting whatever the doctor in front of me was saying.
"Well, usually there are drugs that can be taken to stop the cancer, but in your mother's case, the cancer is too far progressed for that approach. Really, your only option is to apply for liver donation," he states. I nod.
"And how does that work?" I ask him.
"Well, given your mother's condition, she'd be pretty high up on the list.
There's a good chance she'd receive a liver relatively quickly. Of course, there's a rigorous screening process for donors to ensure compatibility and minimize risks."I nod again, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. The doctor continues, his voice steady and reassuring despite the overwhelming news.
"We'll start the process immediately. I'll have our transplant coordinator speak with you to explain everything in detail. In the meantime, we'll do our best to stabilize your mother and keep her comfortable." I thank the doctor mechanically, my voice barely audible. He stands up, grabbing the chart off of the desk I'm across from.
"One more thing Katherine," I give him a small nod, urging him to go on. "Your mother came in with some of the highest alcohol levels I've ever seen. In order to qualify for the transplant, she can't be drinking." He leaves, and I find myself alone in the sterile hospital room with the reality sinking in like a heavy stone in my chest. Before I let myself fall into the abyss of despair that I've been bordering on for the last few hours, I force myself into action. I exit the office, and turn down the corridor that'd been mentioned to be my mother's room. Between all the doctors and the endless waiting, I hadn't had a chance to see her yet. Honestly, I didn't want to.
I just stand there staring at the door. I want to move my hand, but I feel paralyzed. Out of everything that'd gone on tonight, this would be the part that would finally break me. I didn't want to see her, in fact, I'd take any excuse not to. Not now. Not with all the thoughts racing through my head. My mother would never stop drinking, especially if it came from me. Not that I could afford the transplant anyway. I'd been too embarrassed to ask earlier, but I knew it certainly wasn't cheap.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
"Are you going to enter," a small voice from behind me asks. I whip around, coming face to face with a young nurse.
"Oh sorry, am I in your way?" I ask, stepping to the side to let her pass.
"Not in the slightest," she says, smiling at me. She's wearing light blue scrubs, framed by shoulder length wavy hair. Her eyes are bright, even though it's no doubt she's had a long shift.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
"Oh, yeah, of course," I tell her, "I'm just visiting my mum." I put on the false smile that had become like second nature to me.
"Ah, sure. Do you need any help finding her room? Hospitals are so confusing to navigate." She rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue sympathetically.
"Nope," I tell her, my cheeks turn red with embarrassment, "she's just in here. Thanks for offering though.”
Her eyes light up, “Ah, you must be Katie! Your mom has been talking about you.”
“Nice things, I hope.” She lets out a loud chuckle, although I wasn’t really joking.
“Come on in,” she gestures, “I can give you an update on her condition.” She must either be completely oblivious or just ignoring it, but either way I’m grateful. There’s nothing worse than false sympathy from someone who couldn’t give less of a shit about your life.
“Alright.” We step inside, and I take in a sharp breath when I see her. It’s not that she looked particularly bad, I’d seen her look worse after some nights out, but I’d never seen her look so vulnerable. Even after her endless blackouts and those times that she was too drunk to make it anywhere other than our living room floor, I’d always thought of her as tough and agonisingly stubborn. I never thought I’d see her look so small.
She’s curled on her side, with an oxygen tube feeding into her nose. She’s worryingly pale, and I suddenly can’t believe that I didn’t see it before. It seems so blatantly obvious now, just how sick she is.
I hear the door click closed, and I realise the young nurse has left. Probably to give us some privacy.
I kneel down at the bedside, taking in her appearance in a more logical manner. If I really thought about it, I could convince myself she didn’t look so bad.
“Hi, mum,” I say, causing her eyes to shoot open. She glares at me, as if it's my fault she's here. That snaps me out of my trance. She's the same old mom I left vomiting from a hangover this morning. I can't say it out loud, can barely admit it to myself, but deep within me, there's a part that's glad she's sick. Glad she's finally paying for how much damage she'd done to me. It makes my stomach churn to even think it, but it's there, hiding in the back of my mind.
"Katie," she grumbles, as if she'd wanted to see anyone else. Hurt flashes through me, and I fight to keep my nonchalant demeanor. Of course she didn't want to see me. Before I can let my pain take over, I remember to think of it from her perspective. Why would she want to see me? After all, all I did was ruin her fun. I’d been doing it since I’d been conceived. It was the one thing she’d never let me forget.
"How are you," I ask, ignoring her rudeness. Despite everything, I'm relieved to see she's okay.
"The fuck do you think I am? These assholes won't let me leave. Said they had to wait till you arrived.” She glared at me, as if I hadn’t dropped everything and raced to her side.
“And thank fuck for that!” I exclaim, gesturing wildly towards her. She rolls her eyes at me. I throw my head back and let out a long, maniacal laugh. She stares at me, as if I’ve gone insane, and hell, maybe I have. The relief that had briefly flooded through me was gone, being replaced by hysteria at the situation we were in. A few hours ago, I’d been at school. Now I was here, listening to doctors talk about my mother’s critical liver cancer. I keep laughing, loud & crazily for what seems like ages, until I eventually drop my head into my hands, exhaustion hitting me like a freight truck.
I sigh, giving myself a moment to recompose. “You can be discharged after I finish signing the forms. Have the doctors explained everything to you yet?”
She nods. “Alright. We’ll leave in a moment.” I walk away, guilt flooding through me. I shouldn’t’ve snapped.
The next few hours pass in a blur. I have a final few discussions with the doctors, before escorting my mum into the car so we could finally get home.
The ride feels surreal, streets blurring past in a haze, my thoughts oscillating between the weight of the night's news and the image of my mother's frail, vulnerable form in that hospital bed. Each thought forces me back to reality, away from the sanctuary I build in my head. I am on autopilot, relying on pure muscle memory to stop me from embracing the blackness.
It's past 2:00am when we make it home, but the night is far from over. After a brief arguement with my mother, I finally manage to get her settled, before cleaning up the pile of dirty dishes that had been overshadowing my thoughts for days. I'm on the brink of collapsing, but I know any chance of sleep would be futile, so I clean, occupying myself in the only way I can. My own mind is my worst enemy on nights like these, but I've come to realise I can distract myself, becoming some of my most productive times.
At some point I zone back into reality and realise I haven't called my boss yet. Shit. I pick up the landline, before hesitating when I realise that I can't even remember which job I was meant to be on tonight. God, I'm such a mess. I think back to earlier today, and eventually figure out that my uniform would've been in my bag. My mind is slow tonight, too slow. I feel like my brain is shrouded in an endless fog, which won't go away no matter how hard I strain myself. It feels like I should be panicking, but I'm too tired to care.
I look through my backpack, eventually spotting my bartenders outfit. I was lucky in that respect. My boss was in his early 20's, and overall quite chill. If it had been my supermarket shift, I'd have been screwed. I give him a call, apologising profusely, and sure enough, he lets it go with just a warning. My shoulders slump, and I lean back onto the yellowish counter. I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost this job, especially with all the extra fees that'd soon pile on. After a moment, I get up, unable to do nothing. Although I was always complaining about my lack of free time, when I got it, I always felt quite uncomfortable being inefficient. I suppose it was a habit I'd gained as I grew up, never getting the chance to unwind.
I walk to my mattress, but leave the bedsheets untouched. Instead, I lift it up, revealing one of my most precious items. It's cover is made of chestnut coloured leather, good quality & durable, something I'd never be able to afford on my own. Although, now it's more of an array of different marks and stains. I'd gotten it on my 7th birthday, the only time I'd even gotten a party. It was from Amelia, a girl who'd moved from Paris about 2 months before. Amelia hadn't fit in, with her perfect braids, and obviously expensive clothes. People were either jealous, or found her weird, but I'd liked her. She was gone two months later, drifting out of my life as quickly as she'd came in. It wasn't until years later that I'd realised how badly she'd been being bullied, which had forced her out of the school for fear of her own safety. Mikey had just since gotten worse. Amelia'd gotten me this notebook along with a set of high quality sketching pencils, which I'd treasured ever since. The pencils were long since gone, but I'd been saving pages for drawing whenever I really needed them. They were my haven, my only escape from the prison of reality.
I lift the notebook to the light, capturing the dawn rays peeking from behind the horizon. I figured, if any time would be a good time for using them, it'd be now. The last time I'd used a page, it'd been when Steven was still skulking around, which were some of the worst nights of my life. This was nowhere near as bad, but it was still up there. This is how I spend the last few hours of peace, curled up on my windowsill, pencil in hand, gazing out towards the emerging sun.