I took a deep breath and pushed to my feet. My hips hurt from the institutional chair, my buttocks too thin now to cushion them. "Sorry. I was just hoping for better news."
"So was I." Dr. Robeson opened a drawer and pulled out a brochure. "This is an excellent hospice program. Your student insurance will cover all the costs beyond the deductible, and there are many people there who will be happy to help you."
It took all my will to force myself to accept the shiny trifold of cardstock from her. I squeezed it a little too hard, and it creased in my hand. "Thank you," I heard myself say.
"I can, of course, continue to treat you, addressing symptoms as they arise, infections and the like, making sure you're as comfortable and healthy as possible for as long as possible. I'm happy to do so. But I can't slow the progress of your leukemia." The oncologist hesitated. "There is one other possibility. A chance in thousands. If it works...." She cocked her head sideways as if she were gauging me, then gave a shrug so small I almost missed it. "Anyway, here's his card. You can hear him out, at least. Decide for yourself if the risk is worth it."
She extended a small, linen-colored business card with a discreet black border. On it was a phone number. No name, no details, just a simple copperplate number inscribed in the center of the card.
"Thank you," I repeated, blinking at it.
"I've already filled out the referral," Dr. Robeson said. "All you need is to give hospice a call, if that's what you decide. Or the other number-he's expecting your call, too."
"Yeah," I said. I swallowed. "Goodbye."
"Bye. Enjoy your Christmas," the doctor said with reflexive pleasantry.
"Yeah," I said again. I shoved the brochure and the card in my jacket pocket and stumbled from the office.
The carpeted halls of the professional wing were dotted with brisk nurses in scrubs and plastic clogs. I hated them all. Blinking hard, I willed them not to look at me and measured the distance from the oncology department to the nearest exit in my mind.
Keep it together for just a few seconds more, Cora. You're almost there.
Head down, I blew past the bank of elevators and burst through the heavy fire door into the stairwell, forcing my tired legs to keep up as I flung myself down the stairs to the ground floor.
At the bottom, I ducked out the side door and into the cold. I found myself in a small, semi-concealed alcove between two wings of the building. No one could see me, at least for the moment. I let my legs give out, sinking to the sidewalk with my back against the institutional brick, half-gasping and half-sobbing.