Cowboy Baby Daddy

“The human body is adaptive,” Mom maintained. “It's realized the extent of what's wrong with it, and it's fighting back like never before. I can feel that inside of me. That's why I was finally well enough to go back home.”

“Mom,” I said exasperatedly, but I knew that nothing I could say would get her to change her mind about the treatment. Unless I mentioned her grandchild, which was currently growing inside of me.

I still wanted Eric to be the first person that I told, but I still didn't know how to tell him. And after the fight that we'd had at the hospital, I almost didn't want to tell him about the baby. I didn't want that child anywhere near such bickering and negativity, and it seemed like that was all Eric and I were destined to have with one another.

Sure, there had been great moments, too. But the majority of our interactions seemed to end in frustration. Even those good dates that we'd been on had ended with Eric avoiding me, or with the two of us uncertain of how to proceed.

And as much as I wanted Eric to be the first person that I told about the child, I would hate for Mom to give up on life, not knowing what she was missing out on. So I took a deep breath. “Mom, I'm pregnant,” I said quietly. “And I'd like you to be there when the baby is born, but with the way things are looking, I don't think that's going to happen unless you get the surgery.”

“Oh, darling, that's wonderful news,” Mom said, her eyes shining. “How far along are you? Is it Eric's?”

“It's Eric's,” I agreed, sighing softly. “He doesn't know yet, though, so please don't mention it to anyone.”

“Waiting until you're a little further along before telling everyone; that's sensible,” Mom said wisely, nodding her head. “So you must be in the first couple months still?”

I nodded my head. “Mom, I want you to be around for the birth,” I repeated. “I don't know what I'd do if you weren't.”

“You'd get by just fine, with Dr. Jones at your side,” Mom said, winking at me.

I didn't know how to tell her how complicated things were between Eric and me at the moment.

Mom reached over and grasped my hand. “Olivia, I'm so pleased to hear you're finally going to give me a grandchild, but it has nothing to do with my condition,” she said. “Either I'll be around or I won't. But you know that either way, I will always love you and my little grandbaby.”

“But Mom,” I said, shaking my head. “Don't you think your life is worth fighting for? Your chances would be so much better if you just had the surgery and the chemo. Don't you think it would be better to try?”

“I don't trust these doctors,” Mom said, shaking her head. “People have survived for hundreds of years without worrying about cancer. These days, it seems like they're saying that everyone has cancer and needs to do something about it, but the cost for treatments keeps getting higher and higher.” She paused. “If the doctors really wanted to save people, don't you think they would make sure that their treatment options were affordable to the average person?”

“Mom, once again, if it's just about the money, we can figure out a way,” I said tersely. I didn't think it was about that at all, though. I couldn't figure her out, and it bothered me. I could feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes, but I tried to stay calm and rational, to talk through this with her.

“Darling, I don't need you worrying about me,” Mom said, shaking her head. “If it's my time to go, then it's my time to go. I've already had a wonderful, fulfilling life. I worked a job that I loved for 20 years, and best of all, I had you and watched you grow up into a beautiful young woman. If that's all that I get to do with my life, I consider myself blessed. Don't you worry about me.”

I shook my head, feeling betrayed. When it was just that she would be leaving me alone, if she were to die, that was one thing. But now, it was as though she was turning my back on both me and my child. And I just didn't understand why.

As much as she tried to chalk it up to a lower quality of life, didn't she realize that any quality of life was better than death? Especially if it meant that she got to spend more time with her family. Didn't she care about any of that?

I stood up abruptly, realizing that I couldn't just sit there with her anymore, not when she was like this. “I'm going home,” I told Mom shortly.

“I thought you were going to stay for dinner,” Mom protested, sounding hurt. “Come on, don't let this pesky medical business ruin a good night for us. If you're that worried that I only have a little bit of time left, don't you want to spend as much time as possible with me?”

“I can't do this,” I said, shaking my head, feeling the first of the tears leak down my face. “Everything that's been going on is just making me crazy. I don't know how you can continue to lie to yourself and deny that there's anything wrong. The facts say otherwise. And I don't want to have any part of this cover-up. I'm going home.”

Mom stood up, reaching for a hug, but I evaded her arms, running down off the porch and walking briskly back toward my own house, desperate to get home before I started crying in earnest. I knew I should do exactly what she had said and spend as much time as I could with her. I definitely shouldn't fight with he

r like this, not when I didn't know which interaction I had with her might be the last.

But nothing felt fair just then. There was the very real possibility that I would lose my mother, right before one of the most important changes in my own life. I hated that thought. But what I hated even more was that Mom refused to do anything about it.

I had barely made it through the front door before I began sobbing, unable to hold back any longer. I crumpled to a heap just inside the hallway, a jumble of feelings inside me. I remembered kissing Eric right there, in that very hallway. At that point, it had seemed almost as though everything in my life was coming together. But now it felt like everything was falling apart.

I wished I could talk to him. I wished he could help me convince Mom that she needed to get the surgery done. But I knew I couldn't ask that of him. He had already tried his best to convince her, back when we had had more of a chance of her surviving. Mom had chosen what she wanted, as much as I hated her choice.

More than that, though, I wished I could call Eric, seeking comfort. I had never felt as alone as I did just then. I had to assume that he knew how this felt, having lost his wife. Of anyone in the town, of everyone that I knew, he was the only person who could understand what I was going through.

I pulled out my phone, staring tearfully down at it, wishing I had the guts just to press that button, to dial his number. I knew I didn't deserve to rely on him, but I couldn't handle this on my own. And despite everything that had happened between us, I had to think that he still cared about me enough that he would come over at a moment's notice if he knew how upset I was.

I called him, listening to the phone ring and ring. He didn't pick up, and I swallowed hard, wondering if I should leave a message. In the end, I decided to do so, being deliberately vague: “Hi, Dr. Jones, it's Olivia. I was hoping we could talk again about my mom's situation. Please call me back.”

Maybe if I phrased it as a patient-doctor situation, he would be more likely to call back.