Chapter 38

New York, Tuesday, August—Present Time

Grandmother’s funeral took place on Sunday, a quiet sunny day. There were only a few of her friends present besides me, since most of my family was already dead. An empty hole had been dug next to my grandfather’s grave, and I stared at it, feeling just as empty. I put a rock on their joint memorial stone, and Pauline and I walked away—she to the taxi to the airport and I to the hospital.

Two days later, I tossed and turned on the mattress in the resident on-call room, unfortunately falling over and over into the hole in the middle. I’d been on call for twelve hours, with multiple admissions for late summer enterovirus, and thought I’d have no trouble sleeping, but my thoughts swirled around in my head at a dizzying speed. I still hadn’t come up with a plan on how to apologize to David.

I also couldn’t stop thinking of the little girl brought in by her family in the middle of my shift yesterday. I had just poured my third cup of coffee and was trying to get the instant creamer to dissolve, when my pager went off and I was forced to rush to the children’s unit. It was housed in a smaller but newer building of the hospital complex, painted in bright yellow shades. There were no patients hospitalized there, usually. Most families sought emergency treatment only and then took their children home, fearful of spending too much money in the city. So the unit remained empty, untouched, and eerily quiet.

As I approached, I heard a child screaming over and over. It sounded very much like a tantrum and not like pain, so I slowed down, my earlier headache letting itself be known. A group of doctors and nurses stood in the hallway, looking helpless. Strong wails were coming through one of the doorways.

“What’s the story?” I inquired, gulping down the coffee.

“Five-year-old girl, just admitted with grandparents and a brother,” one of the nurses explained hurriedly. “She got sick ten days ago, was throwing up for a day, and has refused to eat or drink since then.”

“So, dehydration?”

“Yes, she’s here for IV fluids and also so we can figure out why she’s not eating or drinking. GI’s been paged.”

“Oh, good, you’re here, Dr. Radelis. Let’s examine her,” Dr. Williams, my new Attending, said.

After a thorough exam and a confusing story from the family, we gathered that Katelyn had been briefly ill with a stomach flu ten days before and was taken to the local ER. Since then, she had refused to eat or drink or allow anyone in the family to do either. Her twelve-year-old brother kept trying to explain something to me about the time she had stopped eating, but the little girl began to scream and thrash on the bed again.

I left the room wondering if there was something I could do to help Katelyn start eating. Dr. Williams had spoken to the rest of the medical team and then placed orders for a series of tests. I looked around the nurses’ station and found a banana muffin. The girl’s eyes had opened wide when I presented her with the muffin, and then she threw it at the wall, crying, “You’re going to die, you’re going to die!”

The grandparents and her brother looked at me scornfully, while I tried to explain that I was trying to tempt the child with different kinds of food, but they wouldn’t hear me, as they focused on soothing the distressed child. I ended up backing out of the room slowly.

“What do you think is wrong with her?” I asked one of the nurses.

“I don’t know, but let’s try Jell-O. All kids will eat it,” said Ally, the most experienced pediatric nurse.

“How about if we play feeding dolls? Maybe she’d respond to that?” I suggested.

Ally brought me an old doll from the playroom. I also grabbed a stuffed teddy bear and a matching game and tried to return to the room.

No luck. Katelyn hid behind the bed at the sight of me, screaming, “Bad doctor, leave now!”

I shook my head and walked out, feeling so much like a failure. Her grandmother walked out with me and finally explained that, three months ago, Katelyn, her twin sister Amy, her brother Jack, and their parents were in a car accident. Katelyn’s parents and twin sister died, while Katelyn and her brother had survived with only a few scratches. Katelyn seemed just fine for a while; playful, happy, watching TV as she used to, until she had suddenly stopped eating and drinking.

Grief. I knew it well.

Now, hours later, as I lay in the dark of the on-call room, I felt the little girl’s pain, paralyzed by being unable to help her. I thought of David and wondered if he still felt love toward me. My heart ached for him. Every cell of my body ached for him. I looked at my phone. No more texts. I typed a text to him, then erased it.

Don’t be a coward, Maya. I touched my ring. Rebecca, I need more courage.

I got up and went to peek in on Katelyn. Her grandmother was asleep in a sleeper chair, but Katelyn was up, playing with the doll I had brought her earlier. I took off my lab coat, grabbed another doll and a set of play food from the playroom, and put a juice box in my pocket. I cracked Katelyn’s door open and put the doll through, pretend-waving her hand.

“Hi, I can’t sleep. Can I play with you?” I asked in a little girl’s voice.

“Okay.”

I heard the little girl’s laughter, slowly entered the room, and sat on the floor, spreading out the items I’d brought. Katelyn sat next to me with her doll. She named it Katelyn. She named my doll Amy, after her sister. The dolls played school, dance, and then they had a picnic. And Katelyn fed them juice from the straw, then sipped some herself.

“You know,” I said, “we have a lot in common, you and I.”

“Like sisters?” she asked.

“Like friends,” I answered.

“So we can be friends?”

“Yes, we can. Because, you know, when I was little, my sister died too. And I was sad for a very long time, just like you.”

“What was your sister’s name?” Katelyn’s eyes were large and filled with tears, as she set her juice box down.

“Ella. I’ve always missed her, and I’ll always love her. She will always be my sister, even though she died.”

“Can Amy always be my sister?”

“Of course. You don’t have to stop eating and die to be close to her. You can always love her. And you can always talk to her in your mind or even draw pictures for her if you want.”

“I can?”

“Yes. She’ll always love you and hear you.”

“Do you still have muffins? I’m hungry.”

“I do. Would you like to come with me to a special snack room? We’ll see what we can find. You can have any snack there you want.”

Katelyn placed her hand in mine, and we walked to the nurses’ station. Her hand felt warm and solid in mine. I knew she’d be fine. And I knew I’d be fine.

I left the hospital several hours later, exhausted. Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about David.

I felt him in my mind. I felt his arms around me. I felt him in my heart, stronger than ever.

“Taxi,” I yelled.