Pucked Up (Pucked 2)

“Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

“I’ll see you in a couple hours.” She opens the privacy curtain and heads over to see my buddy across the room. She checks the monitor and pats him on the shoulder. “Okay, Michael. It looks like you’re all set.”

He looks tired and embarrassed as she sets about removing all the crap that keeps him tethered to the bed.

“You coming to the campfire tonight?” I ask him.

He throws his legs over the side of the cot, his eyes on the floor. “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”

Nurse Debbie shoots me a look that tells me I’ve made her life difficult.

“It’s the last night. We’re having banana boats. You gotta come.” I throw on my best panty-melting smile.

Michael looks to Nurse Debbie. “Can I go?”

She hesitates. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You should probably rest up tonight if you want to participate tomorrow.”

His head drops in a curt nod, like he expected as much. Long hair falls forward to cover his face. He can’t be more than twelve, thirteen at best. He’s got the lanky build of a kid who’s going to be tall and broad in a few years. His sullen attitude is another sign the teen years are about to hit, although I feel like his might actually be justified.

“We’ll be sitting the whole time. It’ll be low key.”

I can tell she’s debating whether or not she’s going to let him go. I can also tell Michael is resigned to being told he can’t.

I give it one last shot. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t try to run a marathon or anything.”

“Give us a minute, okay, Michael?” She crooks her finger, and I limp behind her until we’re out of hearing range.

I speak first. “It’s the last night. He shouldn’t miss this.”

She rubs her forehead and closes her eyes. “This is the second time he’s been in the clinic this week. He’s tired, and he’s been pushing the limits. Last time he went to bed straight away. He won’t tell you if he’s feeling unwell. He’ll want to stay to the end, and he doesn’t want to be left out.”

“He looks like a healthy kid. What’s he been in here for?”

“He was diagnosed with cancer two months ago.”

He’s one of the kids I sponsored. “He has a brain tumor.”

Her eyes go wide. “Did he tell you that?”

“Is he gonna be all right?”

She purses her lips. “They rescheduled a radiation treatment so he could be here this week.”

“But it’s working, right?” I focus on the present, not the few memories I have of my mom in a hospital bed, in too much pain to even hug me.

“They’re hoping they can reduce the size enough to make it operable. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Vague answers suck. “I won’t say anything.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and grimace when I rub up on my ’nads.

Brain tumors are tricky. Even if they can take it out, it doesn’t mean he’ll be the same kid when they’re done, or that the cancer won’t come back.

“Let him come to the campfire.” I glance at the kid. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, head still hanging, looking like he hates his life. “I’ll keep him with me the entire time. I’d hate to be the kid who has to lie in bed, wishing he wasn’t so damn sick that he couldn’t even handle a campfire. It’s the best part of the day.”

I can tell how hard this is for Nurse Debbie. The medical professional in her wants Michael to rest. The human being in her wants him to have this experience. If treatment doesn’t work, he might not be able to have it again.

“I’ll take good care of him, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t push himself.” I make a mental note to get more information on his family and their financial situation when I get back to Chicago and have access to the applications again.

Nurse Debbie releases him with some trepidation. She fusses over him, much like he’s her own kid, and finally sends us on our way. The stipulation is that I take him in a wheelchair since he’s sloppy about walking. He doesn’t seem all that excited, but when Randy and the girls meet up with us, and they fight over who gets to push him, he eases up.

The campfire is awesome. The counselors tell stories. We eat treats and talk about what’s planned for tomorrow. The kids share their favorite part about being here. A few of them say it makes them feel normal. Michael holds up through the entire thing, but at the end I can tell it’s taken everything he had to stay awake this long. One of the other counselors comes by to collect him—sleepy and happy and full of sugary treats.