A resident said, “Oh, my God! What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to pray that he doesn’t have to live with this too long.”
When Paige stepped out of the operating room into the corridor, she found a woman and two men waiting for her. The woman was in her late thirties. She had bright red hair and too much makeup, and she wore a heavy, cheap perfume. She had on a tight dress that accentuated a voluptuous figure. The men were in their forties, and both had red hair. To Paige, they looked like a circus troupe.
The woman said to Paige, “You Dr. Taylor?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Mrs. Cronin. These are my brothers. How’s my husband?”
Paige hesitated. She said carefully, “The operation went as well as could be expected.”
“Oh, thank God!” Mrs. Cronin said melodramatically, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “I’d die if anything happened to John!”
Paige felt as if she were watching an actress in a bad play.
“Can I see my darling now?”
“Not yet, Mrs. Cronin. He’s in the recovery room. I suggest that you come back tomorrow.”
“We’ll be back.” She turned to the men. “Come along, fellas.”
Paige watched as they walked away. Poor John Cronin, she thought.
Paige was given the report the next morning. The cancer had metastasized throughout Cronin’s body. It was too late for radiation treatment.
The oncologist said to Paige, “There’s nothing to do but try to keep him comfortable. He’s going to be in a hell of a lot of pain.”
“How much time does he have?”
“A week or two at the most.”
Paige went to visit John Cronin in intensive care. He was asleep. John Cronin was no longer a bitter, vitriolic man, but a human being fighting desperately for his life. He was on a respirator, and being fed intravenously. Paige sat down at his bedside, watching him. He looked tired and defeated. He’s one of the unlucky ones, Paige thought. Even with all the modern medical miracles, there’s nothing we can do to save him. Paige touched his arm gently. After a while, she left.
Later that afternoon, Paige stopped by to see John Cronin again. He was off the respirator now. When he opened his eyes and saw Paige, he said drowsily, “The operation’s over, huh?”
Paige smiled reassuringly. “Yes. I just came by to make sure that you’re comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” he snorted. “What the hell do you care?”
Paige said, “Please. Let’s not fight.”
Cronin lay there, silently studying her. “The other doctor told me you did a good job.”
Paige said nothing.
“I have cancer, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“How bad is it?”
The question posed a dilemma that all surgeons were faced with sooner or later. Paige said. “It’s pretty bad.”
There was a long silence. “What about radiation or chemotherapy?”
“I’m sorry. It would make you feel worse, and it wouldn’t help.”
“I see. Well…I’ve had a good life.”
“I’m sure you have.”
“You may not think so, looking at me now, but I’ve had a lot of women.”
“I believe it.”
“Yeah. Women…thick steaks…good cigars…You married?”
“No.”
“You ought to be. Everyone should be married. I’ve been married. Twice. First, for thirty-five years. She was a wonderful lady. She died of a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He sighed. “Then I got sucked into marrying a bimbo. Her and her two hungry brothers. It’s my fault for being so horny, I guess. Her red hair turned me on. She’s some piece of work.”
“I’m sure she…”
“No offense, but do you know why I’m in this cockamamie hospital? My wife put me here. She didn’t want to waste money on me for a private hospital. This way there’ll be more to leave to her and her brothers.” He looked up at Paige. “How much time do I have left?”
“Do you want it straight?”
“No…yes.”
“A week or two.”
“Jesus! The pain is going to get worse, isn’t it?”
“I’ll try to keep you as comfortable as possible, Mr. Cronin.”
“Call me John.”
“John.”
“Life is a bitch, isn’t it?”
“You said you’ve had a good life.”
“I did. It’s kinda funny, knowing it’s about over. Where do you think we go?”