It Goes From There

“Ruby,” he says. “You are a goner,” he says. Only he says it this way, “It is between the brainstem and the cerebellum.” He holds a pointer. He uses the pointer to point at it on the MRI results. MRIs are expensive, which is why a year ago they said, “Anxiety, take these,” and “Depression, take these.” I tell him I fall over a lot, more and more lately. I tell him I have a child and the husband. The husband is a big man who gets tired. He watches movies no one else can watch. The daughter is one year old almost to the day. The daughter is a lot of work, so I get tired, too. This is why Nana moved in. Nana is the mother-in-law with the veteran’s pension from a dead father-in-law. It is enough to pay the rent so no one else has to work. This makes time for more movies. Nana retains water. They put her on a machine that takes out all the extra water she retains when it gets really bad. One time they took out ninety pounds of water. She was still over three hundred when they wheeled her out the door after. She does not ever check how they bill to Medicare, so they never mind seeing her. Mold grows between the folds of Nana’s rolls. “If we do nothing, it will be days,” he says, interrupting me wherever I am. He is a neurologist so he is someone who says this the way people say, “Dressing on the side.” He shows concern. “Ruby, where is your husband?” he says. “I have a one year old daughter,” I tell him. “That’s good, Ruby,” he says. “Something to fight for,” he says. “Not really,” I say, and it goes from there.