Living Voice. Karen West

back at me through his rear view mirror. I dropped my head and pretended to be interested in the iPad on Libby’s lap. She had her Facebook page open on a photograph of three boys standing with their tongues hanging out like the giraffes during feeding time at the zoo. Sometimes, I think that the zoo should have a cage for teenage boys.

      Blue, green, yellow, orange, and once again we were on the lowest level of the car park. I took a deep breath in preparation for the lift ride.

      We stepped out of the lift into the corridor of the ICU. Dad left us and went off in search of Dr Wong. I half expected that we might bump into the boy with the blond hair and the undone laces who was here yesterday.

      When Dad returned, he said, ‘Steph, stay here with Aunt Cass and Libby. I won’t be long.’ I reached out and grabbed his arm.

      ‘No way, I want to see Mum’s doctor with you.’

      ‘Steph, please.’

      ‘Dad, you’re always telling me to grow up and take responsibility, but when it suits you, you treat me like a kid. I don’t want second-hand information; I want to hear what the doctor has to say. I’m coming with you.’

      Aunt Cass reached out and touched Dad’s arm. ‘She’s right, Glenn.’

      Dad’s face relaxed, making me think that he was giving in, but I was wrong. ‘No,’ he decided, and my body jolted. Usually, I’d stand and fight, but I chose to quietly back away. So not fair, I screamed at him in my head, and took off outside, with Libby following.

      I sat on a brick wall, watching the traffic with Libby beside me. She was dangling her legs, tapping the back of her shoes on the wall. ‘Sometimes parents just don’t get it,’ she explained.

      ‘Yeah, like most of the time. I can’t believe he didn’t let me go in with him. He’s always dragging me into the vet’s clinic, sharing stuff with me, stuff that most kids would never see. I was six when he showed me the guts of a Tasmanian Devil – there were worms in it. I still have nightmares.’

      Libby screwed up her face. ‘That’s sick.’

      ‘And when I should be included, I’m not.’

      A truck sped past, expelling a black cloud of pollution. ‘Maybe that’s your dad’s way of protecting you?’ she said, pulling the neck of her top over her nose.

      ‘That doesn’t make it fair.’

      After forty minutes of breathing in the fumes of the traffic, I had a full-blown headache. ‘We’d better go back,’ I said, pushing off the wall.

      Libby pointed to a man striding along the footpath towards us. ‘Hey, isn’t that your Dad?’

      ‘Yeah, it is.’ I stopped, and Libby kept walking.

      ‘I’ll meet you upstairs,’ she told me, leaving me with Dad.

      Dad scanned the surrounding buildings. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

      ‘The café is over there,’ I said, pointing, and we started walking across the road.

      The café was too noisy inside, so I chose a small table out of the sun, shaded by a tree. Dad came out and handed me a bottle of water. He placed his coffee on the table and proceeded to pour sugar into his mug. ‘Stop, Dad,’ I told him. ‘That’s enough.’ I leaned forward. ‘What did the doctor say?’

      Dad placed his elbow on the table, swept his hand over his face, and shook his head. ‘Dr Wong said that your mother has cardiomyopathy, but with the correct medication they should be able to keep it under control.’

      ‘Is Mum going to die?’

      ‘No,’ he said, and his eyes told me that he was telling the truth.

      ‘How do you get cardiomyopathy?’

      ‘Genetics, which they’ve ruled out because there’s no family history, or infections caused by bacteria, viruses or parasites. Some people make unhealthy lifestyle choices.’

      ‘But Mum’s a health freak,’ I said a bit too loudly, and noticed a woman turn around.

      Dad put his hand on mine, leaned forward and whispered, ‘Sometimes it’s just bad luck. Healthy people get sick. Sometimes a pre-existing condition, like your mother’s asthma, can mask the signs of something more serious, doing something out of the ordinary …’

      ‘Like snorkelling?’

      Dad nodded. ‘Yes, like snorkelling.’

      I bit my bottom lip. ‘Don’t do that,’ said Dad, frowning, and I stopped.

      ‘Have you spoken with Mum?’

      ‘No, not yet, but Dr Wong has. He stated that she took it well, she was calm, and went on to ask a lot of questions, which he answered in depth.’

      I sat up straight to take the weight off my heart. ‘That’s good,’ I said, nodding, knowing that the scientist in Mum would have kicked in. ‘So, we just have to wait to see if the medication works?’ Dad smiled, but his eyes remained serious.

      ‘Dad, I know you, you’re holding something back.’

      ‘I am not.’

      ‘I’ll call Dr Wong and ask him myself. If the medication doesn’t work … the doctors might consider …’

      I frowned. ‘Consider what?’

      ‘A heart transplant.’

      ‘Transplant?’

      ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

      The hospital was suffocating. I stopped short of the lift. ‘I’m not ready to see Mum,’ I told Dad.

      Dad’s hand squeezed my shoulder. ‘I’ll send Libby down.’

      Libby came out of the lift and threw her arms around me, and I cried. ‘Here,’ she said letting go, taking my hand, guiding me to a chair. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’

      I nodded. ‘Yep, it is.’

      ‘But she’ll recover, right?’

      ‘Dad explained that they can give Mum medication, and if it doesn’t work she might need a heart transplant.’

      ‘That’s horrible.’

      ‘How can this be happening to my mum?’

      Libby reached out and hugged me. ‘I read that if you have positive thoughts, it can help create a positive outcome.’ I grinned. Libby stared back at me. ‘What?’

      ‘Teen magazine?’ I asked, screwing up my face.

      Libby pouted.