Just then, my phone rings. Seeing Dr. Becker’s name flash on the screen sends fear racing through me. I glance up at Lincoln just as his eyes leave the phone to meet mine. I snatch the phone up, swipe across the screen, and press it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Molly Bradshaw?” a female voice asks.
“Speaking.”
“This is Kelly from Dr. Becker’s office. He wanted me to inform you he got the genetic tests back from the lab and wanted to know if you could come in tomorrow at two to go over the results?”
My gut tightens, and I keep my eyes locked on Lincoln as I talk. “I don’t understand. The results weren’t due back for another week.”
“Dr. Becker was able to have the results rushed. Are you able to come in tomorrow at two?”
“Yes,” I nearly shout.
“Okay. That’s great. We’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Thank—” I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
I hang up, my hands fumbling with the phone, and it drops to the table.
“Tomorrow at two.”
I don’t need to elaborate for Lincoln to know what I’m referring to. His jaw tightens, and he nods.
Tomorrow.
I don’t know which emotion is stronger. Relief or fear.
Tomorrow at two, we’ll know the fate of our kids.
We finish lunch, but spend another hour outside. Gemma helps me plant the flowers we bought the other day while Lincoln shows Gray how to use the Weed Eater. Every so often, I stop and simply look at my family. How much longer will I be able to spend time with them like this? How long before I’m stuck in the house too weak to move?
According to Dr. Becker, my body will slowly shut down, effectively trapping me in a useless body. The muscles that control my breathing will become impaired, which could cause pneumonia. There’s a chance I could lose my hearing, and I’ll lose muscle coordination. I’ll eventually become bedridden, won’t be able to eat without assistance, and I’ll be unable to communicate. The two most common causes of death are pneumonia or death after a coma.
I sat in that chair in Dr. Becker’s office, terrified as he explained what would happen to me. The physical symptoms were hard to hear, knowing my family would have to watch me slowly die. But it was the mental symptoms I’d suffer that scared me the most. Dementia is very common in GSS. Will I eventually forget my kids and Lincoln? Will I look at them like they are strangers? I can’t imagine that ever happening. How can I forget the three most important people in my life; the three people who give my life meaning?
Tears prick my eyes thinking about that possibility.
And what’s worse is the pain I know they’ll go through watching me. It’s hard enough knowing I may forget them, but knowing the pain they’ll suffer, sends a sharp and unforgiving ache through my chest.
I shake my head and force my thoughts to a better place, determined to live in the moment and not the uncertain future.
Leaning over, I kiss the top of Gemma’s head, and when she looks up at me with her beautiful grin, I smile back.
Chapter Thirteen
LINCOLN
“Please, take a seat,” Dr. Becker says, gesturing to the two chairs we sat in a week ago.
My nerves are shot to hell. From the pallor on Molly’s face and the death grip she has on my hand, I know she’s not faring any better.
Dr. Becker takes his seat and steeples his fingers together in front of him. Relief hits instantly when he smiles.
“We have good news. Neither Gray nor Gemma carry the gene.”
Molly’s hand jerks in mine. “Are you sure?” she croaks.
Dr. Becker nods, his smile growing. “We are one-hundred percent certain. There were no traces of the gene.”
“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, sagging against the back of her chair. When she looks at me, tears appear in her eyes, but they’re happy tears. I feel my own eyes prickling. “Our babies are going to be okay.”
I get up from my chair and pull Molly with me, straight into my arms. She buries her face in my shoulder. I take a deep breath, pulling more air into my lungs than I have in days. A huge weight is lifted off my chest, but my heart still weighs a thousand pounds. Our kids are healthy and will live long lives, but I’m still going to lose the woman in my arms. How can I feel so much relief while still feeling like my heart is splintering in two?
“I know, baby,” I soothe, keeping my voice low to hide the sorrow I still feel. “Gray and Gemma are going to be fine.”
My eyes meet Dr. Becker’s over Molly’s shoulder. His expression is solemn with understanding. Yes, the news he just gave us was the best news we could have gotten today, but it doesn’t change Molly’s fate.
After a moment, Molly pulls back and looks to Dr. Becker. “What about Lindsay and Aubree?”
Lindsay and Joe are due to come in after us for their results, but I know it’ll eat at Molly until she knows. Federal law prohibits doctors from giving out patient information to anyone who is not the patient, but Lindsay has given permission for Dr. Becker to do so. We have their parents and Lindsay on all of our forms, just as they have us on theirs.
“I’m happy to inform you that neither Lindsay nor Aubree have the gene either.”
Molly’s eyes fall closed, and her shoulders sag in relief. The tension that’s been on her face for a week slowly fades.
“Thank you, Jesus,” she whispers.
After we retake our seats, Dr. Becker asks, “Tell me, Molly, how have you been the last week?”
Her voice is small when she answers. “My legs have been going stiff more often. I almost fell out of the shower a few days ago.”
A flash of finding Molly lying on the bottom of the bathtub after hearing her scream flares through my mind. It scared the shit out of me, finding her like that.
Dr. Becker nods and jots something down on a notepad in front of him. “Anything else? Any cognitive symptoms?”
“There’s been a couple of times I’ve gotten my words jumbled, but nothing too bad yet.”
“Okay. I want you to continue to document each time you exhibit a symptom.”
“Okay.”
Although Molly’s current journal is only about a quarter of the way full, I gave her a new one to use. She asked for it to document her symptoms, wanting to keep the two separate from each other. So far, she only has a few lines filled out.
How many pages will be full by the time her hands won’t let her write anymore?
Later that day, Molly and I are on the couch with Gray and Gemma sitting between us. We picked them up from Molly’s parents’ house an hour ago. More tears were shed when we told them the good news about the kids’ genetic tests. Lindsay and Joe were there; Aubree was in the living room with Gray and Gemma.
Molly and I decided to tell the kids about their mother today. Neither of us felt right keeping it from them any longer.
Behind the kids backs, Molly and I have our fingers linked together as we attempt to do one of the hardest things we’ll ever do.
“Mom, Dad, what’s going on?” Gray asks, his head turning back and forth as he looks at us both. “Are you going to tell us what’s wrong with Momma now?”