Chapter 19 nineteen

Now at least I don't see going home as daunting anymore.I don't have to pay attention to "staying normal" anymore. We can talk about everything from the bottom of our hearts again, even the dire fact that our days together are numbered. We had a lot of issues to discuss that were unusual for a couple of twenty-four to ask. "I'm sure you'll be strong, you hockey star," she said. "I must be strong, I must," I replied.In fact, the big ice hockey star is already scared. I don't know if Jennifer, who has always been insightful, can see it. "I mean, you gotta stand up for Phil," she went on. "It's him who will suffer the most. You can be a happy widower anyway."

1 Here is the title of a Viennese operetta "The Merry Widow" (also translated as "The Merry Widow". "I won't be happy," I interrupted her. "You're going to be happy, motherfucker. I want you to be happy. OK?" "OK." "OK." After about a month, one day, I just had dinner.Due to her persistence, she also manages the cooking.After much persuasion, she finally agreed to let me do the cleaning (although she beat me up, saying it wasn't "a man's job").I was clearing away the glasses and she was playing Chopin.I heard a Chopin prelude cut off in the middle, and immediately went into the living room.I saw her sitting in front of the piano in a daze.

"Jen, are you all right?" I asked her, in a comparative sense of course. But she asked back: "You still have the money to hire a car, don't you?" "Of course there is," I replied. "Where are you going?" "Probably—going to the hospital," she said. In the frenzy that ensued, I realized that the day had finally come.Jenny was about to walk out of our apartment, gone forever.When she was sitting there waiting for me to pack a few things for her, I don't know what she was thinking.I mean, I wonder if she's attached to the apartment?She wants to take a look at what is here as a souvenir?

Look at nothing.She just sat motionless, her eyes not resting on any object. "Hey," I said, "do you have anything else urgent to take?" "Well, well," she shook her head to indicate no, then seemed to remember something, and corrected it: "It's you." When we got downstairs, it was a bit of a struggle to find a taxi, because that's when people were going to the theater or something.The gatekeeper blew his whistle and waved his arms again, just like a diamond hockey referee.Jenny had to lean against me, and I secretly wished I couldn't hire a car so she could keep leaning on me like this.But we ended up hiring one anyway.I don't know what kind of luck we paid, but the driver is a joking guy.As soon as I said that the destination was Mount Sinai Hospital, and that it must be quick, he moved out all the old tricks of flattery.

"Don't worry, young man, you are not meeting a novice. This unicorn has been in my business for a long time." In the backseat, Jenny snuggled up to me.I kiss her hair. "Is this your first baby?" asked our joking driver. Jenny probably sensed that I could not help scolding that guy, so she whispered to me: "Be nice, Oliver. He's trying to be nice to us." "Yes, sir," I answered him. "It's the first time. My wife is not feeling well, so can you please try to get the green light?" In the blink of an eye, he transported us to Mount Sinai Hospital.He was really friendly, opened the door for us when we got out of the car, and so on.Before taking the car away, he wished us all the best and happiness.Jenny thanked him.

Jenny seemed a bit wobbly even standing up, and I tried to carry her in, but she wouldn't, "You don't need to carry me in here, preppy." So we went into the hospital and went through the hellish mess of admissions. "Have you bought 'Blue Shield' or other medical insurance?" "No." (Who would have thought of all this sesame and mung bean thing? We're too busy buying china.) Of course, Jenny's admission to the hospital was also expected.Bernard Ackermann, M.D., had foreseen it, and now he presided over the treatment.As Gianni said, he's a nice guy, albeit a total Yale guy.

"Try to get her to increase her white blood cells and platelets now," Dr. Ackerman told me. "That's what she needs most right now. She doesn't want to use antimetabolites at all." "What does that mean?" I asked. "A treatment that slows down the destruction of blood cells," he explained, "but can have unpleasant side effects, which Janney knows." "I said, doctor," I knew it was superfluous to tell him that. "It's up to Jenny. She can do what she says. You just have to do everything you can to keep her from suffering."

"You can rest easy on that," he said. "I don't care about the cost, doctor." I probably raised my voice. "Whether it's weeks -- or months -- that's hard to say," he said. "Fuck the fees," I said.In fact, he was very patient with me, but I was aggressive towards him. "I'm just saying," explained Ackerman, "that there's no way of knowing how long, or how long, she'll be able to hold off." "Remember, doctor," I practically commanded him, "remember, I want the best care for her. Special ward. Special care. Everything. Please do it. I have the money."

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