I mean, Griffin had to be fully under and intubated, to work on the vocal cords. So yeah, anesthesia was always a bit of a risk, but Griffin was healthy and should do fine. The procedure would take maybe half an hour at most. There was basically zero chance of an uncontrolled bleed.Unless it is a tumor.I shoved that thought away. “I hate hospitals. I mean, as a patient or family member.”
“I’m not fond of them myself and I used to work here.” That was the other thing that helped Mom coming out to supportme. She’d spent twenty years on the wards here. It was familiar ground.
In fact, a nurse stuck her head in to look for someone, did a double take, and said, “Ellen Robertson! It’s really you?”
“Gina! Good to see you.” Mom smiled brightly.
“It’s been forever. Damn, I have to run. Look, will you be here long?” the nurse asked.
“An hour, probably.”
“I have a break in half an hour.” She pointed at Mom. “Stay put, right? We need to catch up.”
“Well,” Mom said when the nurse was out of sight. “That was a surprise.”
“A friend?”
“We used to work together but yeah, I guess, a friend too.” She stared off into space, her smile fading. “Lots of people I lost track of over the years.”
“Maybe now you’ll have more time,” I suggested, as if time had been the issue. “You could get back on Facebook and reconnect with folks.” She’d left social media when the flood of messages after Alice died had overwhelmed her.
“Maybe.”
I didn’t push her to commit, but I felt a ray of hope. I still lived at home, but I was spending more and more time at Griffin’s place. Any sign that Mom was becoming less isolated and less dependent on me was a huge win.
Since Mom had put a stop to my pacing, I took out my phone and browsed, avoiding medical sites and news. No doom-scrolling today. I skipped my email too. If a crisis was looming at Wellhaven, it would just have to wait.
I landed on fan videos from Rocktoberfest. They were popping up online now the show was in the rearview. There was a new one of Griffin, and I pulled it up, putting my earbud in for the sake of the folks waiting across the room. It was that last song Griffin had played, the new acoustic ballad, filmed from somewhere near the front of the crowd but off to one side. Somehow, despite the waving arms of the person beside them, they’d found an angle on Griffin’s face that revealed his expressions. I saw the flicker of pain as he sang, “Didn’t say the words you asked,” and the bleakness of “our final chance has passed.”
Would I have reconnected with the man I loved if he hadn’t spotted me in the audience? Or would that ending have been prophetic? Would I have hardened my heart and walked away? I glanced sideways at Mom. She’d holed up in the house for six years, protecting her heart from the world. I’d come close to doing the same inside my head, pretending, because I could work my job with a hundred percent effort, that I was doing fine.
Griffin Marsh, you come out of this healthy, you hear me? I need you.
Mom set a hand on my bouncing knee and peered at my phone. “Is that Griffin? I’m so glad you took the time to go see his concert.”
“Me too. I got so lucky.” Finding tickets, the hotel despite its grunge, and Yolanda. Which reminded me I still hadn’t sent Yolanda the short video clip I’d meant to. I swiped through my phone, found the right one, and attached it to a text.
~Here, something for you.In the video, taken right after we got back from Nevada, a travel-drunk Griffin waved at the camera for me and said, “Yolanda, you’re the best. Thank you!” I’d meant to send it then, but we’d fallen into bed and not emerged till next morning, and then I’d had to rush to work and put out the fires that’d smoldered in my absence.
A minute later, she texted back,~Thank you!!!! And thank Griffin. Let me know if you’re going back next year.
I figured this had been a one-off, but if Griffin got invited again? Who knew? I sent back,~Will do.
Griffin’s doctor came through the doorway toward us. I stuck my phone in my pocket and shoved to my feet. “How is he?”
“Doing fine. He’s in recovery. You can see him soon. Removal went smoothly. We did a fast impression of the mass and the pathologist didn’t see mitotic figures, but it’ll go off to the lab and we did the lymph node biopsies just to be safe.”
“Oh.” Relief sandbagged me. No mitotic figures moved cancer much further down the list. Griffin safely into recovery was excellent. I took my deepest breath of the morning. “Thank you.”
“The recovery-room nurse will come get you when he’s awake. My nurse will have discharge instructions once he’s ready to leave.” The doctor pointed at me. “You tell that man he should heal fine and with luck, he’ll get his voice back, but the important thing is to not abuse it during healing. Right?”
“I’ll tell him.”
She gave me a decisive nod. “Singers. I tell you. No self-preservation. Well, you folks take care.” She strode out, already intent on the next case, which was as reassuring as all the rest.
I slumped back on the couch and Mom hugged me. “See? He’s going to be fine.”
There’s still the final pathology report.But a load of fear had slid from my back. “Thanks, Mom. I super appreciate you being here for me.”
