Page 23 of Lost Room Lawyer (Room #4)

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Nico

Fortunately, Maya caught me just as I arrived at the hospital entrance.

“Where is she? What happened?”

“Come with me,” Maya said, leading me down the hallway to the elevator.

I was so focused on her words that I barely paid attention to where we were going, though I wasn’t processing what she was saying.

She had spoken to my mother on the phone earlier.

After Rina mentioned feeling dizzy, started speaking unclearly, and it sounded like she might have fainted, Maya had rushed over to check on her.

When she found my mother unconscious in the kitchen, Maya called an ambulance.

We were still waiting on an exact diagnosis.

So it’s nothing serious , I tried to reassure myself. All this commotion was probably a bit over the top. Maya had a tendency to make a drama out of everything. Besides, it had been less than four days since I’d been at the bookstore with my mother.

Maybe this incident is a good thing. Knowing my mother, she probably wouldn’t have gone to the doctor to check out these dizzy spells otherwise.

“It’s right up ahead,” Maya said, pointing down the hallway.

As we approached the room, a doctor came out.

“Oh! Are we too late?” Maya asked. “This is Rina’s son.”

The doctor appeared serious and tired. I’d have guessed he was about the same age as Hector, but this dark-haired man had already started to gray at the temples. He pushed up his glasses and turned to me with a scrutinizing gaze.

“You’re Rina Simeon’s son?”

“Yes,” I replied, shaking his hand. “Nico Simeon.”

“Dr. René Berger.”

“I came as quickly as I could. What happened?”

Dr. Berger glanced at the closed door where my mother lay, then turned back to me and cleared his throat. “I’ve just reviewed the results of your mother’s blood tests. Not all the tests are in yet, but it doesn’t look good.”

All the blood seemed to drain from my face, and I swallowed hard. “What? But … she’s okay, right?”

“I’m sorry to inform you,” the doctor said. “But your mother is quite ill. Her white blood cell count has increased significantly—by ten times the normal level.”

“Yes, she had dizzy spells, but what does that mean?”

Maya supported me from the side as if she already knew. “She also complained of fatigue and had red spots all over her body. Is that related?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied in a somber tone. “Your mother has been diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia.”

Maya sobbed next to me. I still didn’t understand. Of course, the man was talking about blood cancer, but not my mother. “And … um … what does that mean now?” The doctor’s words echoed back to me.

Your mother is very ill.

“We will start chemotherapy immediately.”

“Then she’ll get better?”

“The chances of recovery are estimated to be between 20 and 40 percent.”

Gradually, the information sank in, and I began to grasp how serious the situation was. My heart raced, and I felt hot. Something was tightening around my throat, and I could barely breathe. “Forty percent chance of recovery? And … um …”

“Your mother isn’t dying yet, but I recommend you prepare for anything.”

My skin burned as I stared into the man’s blue-gray eyes, desperately trying to find even a glimmer of hope. Yes, he was professional and undoubtedly compassionate, but you learn that with time.

Where the hell was the hope?

“Go see your mother. She’ll be happy you’re here. We’ll transfer her to the oncology department tomorrow and begin the treatment right away.”

I felt strangely out of sync, like I had wandered into someone else’s life as I knocked softly and entered the room with heavy steps. My muscles grew more tense with every stride toward the bed. My mother greeted me with tears and open arms, and I climbed onto the bed, holding her tightly.

“This can’t be happening,” I murmured, clinging to her.

“I know,” she said, gently stroking my head. “But we’ll get through this.”

“Do you need me to bring anything from home?” Maya offered. “A T-shirt or underwear?”

“Yes,” my mother said, wiping her tears. “That would be kind.”

I clung to her even tighter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have to.”

I realized that I was behaving like a helpless little boy, but the conversation with the doctor still hadn’t fully sunk in, and I could almost feel it spreading inside me like thick sludge. I barely registered as Maya said her goodbyes.

“How was the dinner?” my mother asked earnestly.

“That doesn’t matter,” I replied, straightening up.

“Yes, it does,” she disagreed. “It was important to you. It had been keeping you up for days.”

“It was … okay. Feels like it was ages ago.” I had just been sitting with Hector, Viktoria, and my father at the same table eating risotto an hour ago. “Why didn’t you tell me about the red spots?”

“Because you would have just worried.”

“And now you’re here.”

“It seems like it was meant to be,” she said wearily. “You know, my grandfather also died of blood cancer, but …”

“You’re not going to die,” I interrupted. “That was ages ago. There are much better treatment options today.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I’ll have this treatment, and everything will be okay.”

***

In less than twenty-four hours, I found myself on the bed, holding my mother in my arms. As her condition deteriorated with each passing hour, my sense of helplessness deepened.

While she slept, I roamed the hospital corridors, compulsively typing on my phone.

Now and then, I received messages and responded without much thought.

Dominic came by, and after he left, Viktoria unexpectedly appeared in front of me.

I didn’t recognize her at first in her white doctor’s coat.

Leo visited on Thursday, but I hardly noticed his presence.

When there was no improvement by Saturday despite the chemotherapy, I lost my temper and shouted at Dr. Berger, demanding that he take decisive action.

My mother’s condition continued to deteriorate. Her body seemed to be eating itself from within. Her skin was pale and her eyes glassy. On Saturday afternoon, she weakly held my hand and gave me a sad smile.

“I love you, Nicola. Never forget that.”

“But you … you’ll get better …”

Those were her last words before she lost consciousness.

The monitors were not responding and there were no alarms, so I ran out and called a nurse. Shortly after, Dr. Berger confirmed that my mother had fallen into a coma and immediately began life support.

I sat there, frozen, next to the bed, my mouth agape as I watched the staff intubate my mother.

I didn’t even realize I had stopped breathing until my body gasped for air. Had I just been beaten? That’s what it felt like, I was sure. It felt like a hole had opened up beneath me, and I was falling. Deeper and deeper into pitch-black darkness.

The hours dragged on slowly, and I kept hoping she would wake up any moment. The constant struggle against negative thoughts was increasingly exhausting. Yet, I had to cling to hope, as it was all I had left. My tears had run dry; the shock had taken them all.

“I can’t believe this!” I heard Maya’s voice outside the door late Sunday afternoon; anger tinged her faltering voice. “This has all happened so quickly. It’s almost like Andy Hug.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Dr. Berger responded. “We’re dealing with a similar disease progression here.”

“That was twenty years ago,” Maya retorted. “By now, research should be advanced enough to cure something like this.”

“Unfortunately, Rina’s illness was detected too late.”

My thoughts were a storm of confusion. I only noticed Maya when she placed a hand on my shoulder.

“I brought you something to eat,” she said kindly, setting a jar and a chocolate bar on the table.

“I’m not hungry.” My voice was heavy and husky. The knot around my chest had tightened.

Maya ignored my words and removed the plastic lid from the jar. “It’s important that you eat something, Nico. Here.”

She pressed a spoon into my hand and managed a smile. The savory scent of gravy wafted up to me, prompting me to take a look at the food.

It didn’t surprise me much that it was mashed potatoes, carrots, and meat. Maya belonged to a generation that served hearty meals. But she seemed to be clever, as the fact that I didn’t have to chew much helped me eat a bit.

“Who is Andy Hug?” I asked between spoonfuls.

“A Swiss kickboxer,” she replied briefly, while adjusting my mother’s blanket.

“Didn’t sound like he survived.”

“No. Unfortunately not.” Maya paused, her eyes meeting mine across the bed. “That doesn’t mean the same will happen to Rina.”

I appreciated Maya’s hopeful and caring demeanor. While visitors came and went, she came by at least once a day to check on my mother and me.

“Should I call someone for you?” she asked helpfully. “Your father? Or your boss?”

I sat on the chair with my legs crossed, poking at my food.

I had pushed Hector out of my mind. The thought of him seeing me like this troubled me too much.

Completely exhausted and disoriented. I was a different person now.

He had fun with the cheerful Nico, who enjoyed life.

That person was far away, and I didn’t want to imagine how Hector would react to my current self.

He had texted me on Thursday, asking how my mother was doing. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to reply and was glad it was Good Friday so I didn’t have to check in with him. Since Viktoria worked on a different ward and had been visiting since Thursday, I figured Hector was well-informed.

Maya gently asked, “I’m assuming you don’t plan to go to work on Tuesday, correct?”

Shaking my head, I said, “No.”

“Okay, then … I’ll take care of it,” Maya said and left the room.

She also knew that the doctor, Viktoria Lando, was my boss’s wife. By Wednesday evening, the fact that I was involved with her husband had lost all significance. An affair might have once seemed glamorous, but that was far from how I felt now.

My muscles ached from being barely used over the past few days.

My head throbbed from dehydration, and I had grown accustomed to the stomach cramps.

I felt as if I was under a glass dome. The world outside kept spinning, but I moved in this microcosm.

When I wasn’t at the hospital, I was at home, attempting to distract myself with writing and catching some sleep—though it was only minimally effective.

With what little strength I had left, I tried to hold on to hope.

On Wednesday evening, a clattering noise and distant voices startled me awake.

It took me a moment to reorient myself, but before I even opened my eyes, I realized I had fallen asleep in the chair.

The darkness outside surprised me. The staff was usually very strict about visiting hours and didn’t hesitate to enforce them.

The scene before me was etched into my memory. The doctors were working frantically, performing chest compressions and administering medications to revive my mother. After several attempts, they stepped back, and Dr. Berger announced the time of death.

Struggling to my feet, I stumbled over to my mother’s side. While kneeling beside the bed, a nurse brought a chair for me. I took my mother’s cold hand and rested it against my cheek, and then the tears began to flow.

I was a wreck. It wasn’t just the endless sleepless nights that had drained me; I was also overwhelmed with shock.