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“God, it's so much worse than I ever thought possible.” She sank down onto the sofa, kicking her shoes off and tucking her feet under her.
“You’re scaring me, Abs.”
“She’s dying.”
Demi gasped.
“It’s called a pancreatic neuroendocrine tumour and it’s ridiculously aggressive.” She took a long gulp of wine.
“What can they do?” Demi whispered.
“Not a fucking thing.” Abby felt the now all too familiar tango of anger and fear strike up in her belly. “They can make her comfortable, ease her pain.”
“I don’t understand. She doesn't look like she’s that sick.”
“Apparently she’ll be looking the part within the week.” Abby took another slug of wine, welcoming the buzz it gave her.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s only a matter of weeks.” She choked on the last word, still unable to grasp that her strong, beautiful, goliath of a mother would be dead in a month. Maybe sooner.
“Fuck, Abby… I don’t know what to say.” The sharp inhale of breath preceded Demi’s tears.
Her own tears fell, hot and fast down her face. The whole thing still didn’t feel real. And it certainly wasn’t fair. They talked for another twenty minutes; Abby filled Demi in on the diagnosis and what the doctor said they could expect.
“Mum says she doesn’t want any life prolonging interventions.” She drained the last of her wine. “She doesn’t want to lay in bed like a vegetable just to get an extra week.”
“Will she be in any pain?”
“Yeah, and she has been in a fair bit of pain the last few weeks. Not that she said anything.” Abby got up, needing another glass of wine. “The doctor doesn't think she’ll be able to manage the pain at home for too long.”
“Really?”
Abby pulled the refrigerator door open and took the wine out. “The reality is, there may not be enough time to get her meds right.”
“Oh my god.” Demi let out a shaky breath.
Scott returned from outside, his phone call finished.
“Dee, I gotta go.”
“Okay, but you know where I am, day or night.”
“I know.”
“I mean it, Abby. You don’t have to be so strong all the time.”
Her wine glass paused in mid-air. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It was like everyone in her world had ganged up on her for some kind of woo-woo intervention. Like being strong and capable was suddenly such a bad thing.
“I love you, Abby. Give Scott a hug from me.”
Abby swallowed the bitterness that had risen after Demi’s comment. “I love you, too. Talk soon.”
She ended the call and tossed the phone on the kitchen bench.
“How did Demi take the news?” Scott joined her in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of wine.
“As expected.”
