I could hear Elizabeth’s voice in the next room and afterward she came out with a scrap of glossy white paper. Handing it to me. I reflexively folded it and stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans.

“Can I see her?”

“Of course, you can be with her up until she goes into the actual surgical room. Then if you stay outside, we’ll give you regular updates.”

My throat constricted and I could no longer form words, so I just nodded.

One of the clerks walked me to her room.

“Mom.” I said. Rushing to her.

“Hey, Baby Girl.”

I didn’t know why she still called me that. But it made me feel precious and loved. “Are they treating you well.”

“They always do, Honey.” She caught my hand and gave it a tender squeeze.

It was hard to imagine that this was the same woman who’d given up her College Master’s to raised me and spent many lonely nights working two jobs to raise me by herself after my dad was killed in a drunk driving accident.

Even while she was grieving, she was strong for me.

I remembered only her smile when she talked to me. But there had been a few late nights where I had heard her crying softly in her room.

But she made sure I never saw it.

She always took care of me. Now it’s my turn to take care of her.

The nurses and some large CNAs came to get her. Helping her into a wheelchair, her small frame not taking much assisting anymore.

She’d once been a very fit, very active woman. Now she looked like it hurt to sit up in the wheelchair. Bits of the cancer had gotten wrapped around her spine and now they were going to attempt to go in and remove it.

Without severing her spinal cord or hitting an artery, hopefully.

I gave her hand a last squeeze and kissed the back of it before they wheeled her out.

Another nurse’s assistant escorted me to the waiting room in the surgical center.

I sat down there, my bag in my lap and my hoodie slung over my arm as I waited for information. Feeling very much alone. I shifted several times and eventually got up to click on the television. Hoping that time was passing faster than it felt like. I was terribly afraid they’d come rushing out and tell me that she hadn’t made it through surgery.

But nurses kept coming out to tell me things were still going well and so far, there was nothing to worry about.

Eventually, the nurse came out. Walking a bit slower and clearly tired.

I stood up quickly. Gripping my hoodie nervously.

She looked at me with weary eyes and gave me a wan smile. “All done. She should be fine unless we discover a hemorrhage in the next few hours.”

I blew a long, relieved breath. “Did they get it.”

The woman nodded. “We think so. It was a pretty delicate process, but the doc says he thinks we did.”

“Oh, good.” I slumped back into the waiting seat. To await someone telling me I could go see her.

My phone dinged and I realized it was getting late.

It was Porter.

Got the couch made for you. Sure, you don’t want my room?

I’m sure. I responded.

Ding.

How’s your mom? I wondered if he was just offering small talk or genuinely wanted to know.

They say she’s going to be okay.

Ding.

Good.

I looked toward the windows and realized that the sun was already lowering. I hadn’t realized it was getting so late.

I shot off another text. I’m waiting for her to come out to let her know I’m still here. If we’re not out by the time you have to go to work, I’ll go to my apartment until you get off.

Ding.

Nope. Was the immediate response.

What do you mean, ‘nope?’

Ding.

A deal’s a deal. Go to my apartment and relax.

I had so many reservations about that, I didn’t even know where to start.

Ding.

I’ll leave it unlocked. Josh will let you up.

I assumed Josh was the doorman at the counter.

He’d just let me up like that? I wondered. Though I didn’t text it.

What I did text was: What if you want to bring a woman home.

Ding.

I won’t. I’m taking a break from all that.

I was slightly relieved about that. I had no particular desire to deal with that awkwardness. Or to hear that.

***

“Your mother is waking.” A nurse advised me.

I leapt up. Immediately following her to mom’s room. I pushed open the door and saw her wretching into a baggie held by a nurse. Clearly still sick from all the medications they’d had to give her to put her under.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

The nurse holding the baggie was rubbing her back comfortingly.

“I’m alright.” My mom croaked as she drew a long breath.

“Would you help me to the bathroom?” She asked the nurse.

“I can help, mom.” I offered.

Mom nodded.

The nurse bobbed her head at me and took the bag, leaving the room.

I took mom’s forearm and let her lean on me to stand up. Walking with her to the bathroom to help her onto the toilet.

“Call when you’re ready.” I backed from the room and closed the door to give her privacy.

I could hear her groaning, as she sounded like she was in a lot of pain while going to the bathroom. Eventually I heard the sink run and then her soft yell. “Angelina.”

I opened the door and saw her leaning weakly over the sink. I helped her back to her bed and let her get settled. I’ll be in tomorrow to check on you I reassured.

“That’s good, Sweetie.” She said. “For now, I just want to rest.”

“Okay, mom.” I brushed her grayed hair from her forehead to kiss her forehead. Still relatively smooth despite her age.

Then I headed out. Hiding the fact that my eyes were already filled with tears again. To my amazement I made it out the door and several blocks before they were falling from my face.