“Mr. Shin, it’s neuroblastoma.”

Hyesung straightens at the statement, not quite sure if he’s heard it wrong.

“I’m sorry.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady. He unfurls his fingers on the light pine desk in front of him, but keeps his gaze on the doctor sitting behind it. His hand brushes past the bronze plaque on the surface: ANDY LEE, it reads. PEDIATRIC ONCOLOGIST.

“I’m sorry.” Hyesung repeats, his voice a little louder now, his tone just a smidge sterner. “Could you say that again?”

The doctor on the receiving end of his scrutiny seems unaffected by his approach. Despite the hefty title and his reputation, Dr. Lee is young (well, seemingly younger than he is), but is practically expressionless, as compared to the high spirits he was in a while ago as he was asking Junjin questions based on his test results. A stuffed frog clings to his stethoscope, which Junjin had laughed at and that the walls had vibrated with. There is no laughter now, only silence that keeps getting thicker as the seconds tick by.

“Neuroblastoma.” Dr. Lee says. “Mr. Shin, it’s a type of cancer.”

He says it as quickly and casually as though Hyesung had asked what day of the week it is. The word…that dreaded word…once set loose, seizes all time, space, and air.

“Cancer…” Hyesung’s hands fall onto his lap and he squeezes them into fists. A million questions are racing through his mind that he suddenly can’t seem to find the words to express. For the first time in his life, he flounders, his tongue solidly plastered onto the roof of his mouth. A small pragmatic part of him appreciates the directness of it all, as it leaves him no room for any mawkish shows of sentimentality, which he would hate to be subjected to or express. Across from them in the waiting room, he can see Junjin through the glass, giggling at a Mr. Bean rerun, unaware of how drastically his future has suddenly changed.

He relaxes his fists. His hands are trembling.

“It’s stage two, so it remains hopeful. We had to rule out other illnesses when the symptoms you initially reported persisted, so we ran other tests. There is a tumor in his chest, localized in his lungs.” Dr. Lee speaks with an easy cadence, although his expression remains painfully stoic. “It’s not spread to any other organs yet, and it’s operable. My professional opinion is that we do the operation as quickly as possible.”

Hyesung finds it odd that he would have a choice in this at all. Of course he’d want whatever can be done accomplished at the soonest possible time. His eyes flit over the doctor’s shelves, already bursting at the seams with medical books and journals dedicated to oncology in various detail. He doubts that the books would actually answer the questions throbbing in the most primitive part of his brain – how many children have you operated on? How many have survived this and…how many have not?

“Stage two…” Hyesung’s voice comes out as a whisper before he suddenly clears his throat. He straightens his posture, a feeble attempt to regain control. “It’s…recoverable?”

Dr. Lee nods. “It has around an 85% recovery rate. Junjin’s initial prognosis looks good, and this hospital can provide him the best care, should you wish to pursue the operation.”

“Is that a joke, Dr. Lee?” Hyesung says with a hollow laugh. His fingers are twitching; he’s itching for a cigarette, or a blunt. Maybe several. “Because it’s not a very funny one, unfortunately.”

“I know this is a lot to take in, and I’m sorry.” Dr. Lee clasps his hands and he leans forward in his seat. There’s a flash of pity in his eyes that Hyesung doesn’t care to see, but there is very little choice in the matter now. “We can operate as soon as two days from now. Should you need to consult first your spouse—”

The word sends a fresh wave of pain anew, but Hyesung is careful not to wince. “There is no spouse, Dr. Lee.”

“No other guardians that should be notified? I can see here your son’s last name is—”

“No.”

Dr. Lee nods, swiftly putting the matter to rest. “All right. Well, once we have your permission, Mr. Shin, we can already start making arrangements.”

“Will it be here?”

“We can do it here in Langone. I also work out of the Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”

Hyesung sits up straighter at the news. “That’s supposedly the best.”

“Yes,” Dr. Lee agrees easily. “But it’s also substantially more expensive.”

“I don’t care.” Hyesung is surprised at how quickly his voice snaps. The weight of the news he’s just been given is suddenly pressing against his rib cage, making it hard for him to breathe. Money is the least of his concerns at the moment. “This is my only son, Dr. Lee.”

“I understand.”

No, you don’t, Hyesung wants to say, because he is angry, so angry, but he can’t afford to take it out on the good doctor who is at least going to make an effort to save his son’s life. He spares a final glance at Junjin, still haplessly laughing at Mr. Bean who is trying his damnedest to stay awake in church but is miserably failing. Their positioning is oddly metaphorical: Junjin in a separate room, away from the sadness and worry that will eventually overwhelm them, but remaining visible to Hyesung, despite him being decidedly beyond his reach.

(He wonders if this is karma, but then he stops, not able to comprehend how any divine power could bestow such suffering to an undeserving child. It’s just entirely too cruel.)

He’s only six. Hyesung thinks, before realizing he’s suddenly said it out loud.

“We know.” Dr. Lee’s tone is gentle now. His eyes are brown and wide, like a child’s, and the thin-rimmed glasses he’s wearing makes him look even younger than he probably is. Hyesung feels an odd affinity towards him. “And we’ll do our utmost best to make sure he can still have many more years to spend with you, Mr. Shin.”

His words hold no promise, and Hyesung knows this. A doctor’s word is very different from a lawyer’s word. His instincts kick into gear as he struggles to hold on to a semblance of control.

“Will you be doing the operation?”

“Yes.” Dr. Lee nods. “But there will also be a team to support me. Dr. Sooman Lee is one of the best pediatric thoracic surgeons in the tri-state area. I’ll personally make sure that he also sees to Junjin’s case.”

Hyesung mentally takes note of the names, already knows that there will be little to no sleep taking place for him in the next two days.

“Money is no object.” He says, because it bears repeating. He doesn’t know what else he can say to ensure his son receives only the best care. “Nothing should be spared when it comes to Junjin’s treatment.”

Dr. Lee smiles the smile of someone who has been on the receiving end of the same statement before, and Hyesung wouldn’t be surprised.

“We will do our utmost best, Mr. Shin,” is the only reply he receives from the young doctor. Careful. Measured. Hyesung is not foolish enough to push any further.

He forces a smile, although it feels like pulling teeth. “What should we be doing next?”

“We can have him admitted by tomorrow. Then we’ll run a few more tests prior to the operation. We can be set to go by Saturday should everything go well.”

Hyesung nods. “What time?”

“Let’s have him checked in by 9, what do you say? The nurse outside can give additional instructions.”

“Perfect.” Hyesung says, although it feels nothing like it. He makes to stand and extends his hand to give a firm handshake. “We’ll see you then.”

--

(2) New Message(s)

From: Kangta
Updates? Is JJ all right? Was it asthma like we thought?

Are you coming back to the office?

--

He takes Junjin to lunch at Shake Shack in Madison Square Park and orders them an unhealthy serving of cheeseburgers, onion rings, and strawberry shakes, ignoring all previous rules they’ve already set down about eating from certain food groups. Junjin is bug-eyed and open-mouthed as they sit down in the outdoor seating area, with Hyesung bearing a full tray of food. Around them, the park buzzes with the warm glowing hum of a slowly-setting summer.

“Dad, is anything wrong?” Junjin stares at him suspiciously. “Are you sick?”

His question drives something like an enflamed sword down Hyesung’s throat. Despite his reputation, he can never make a poker face good enough to fool his child. Somewhere among the large crowd they’re in, a baby squawks in indignation; a flock of pigeons takes flight; a phone clatters to the ground. Hyesung’s heartbeat pounds in his ears.

“No, of course not.”

“Am I sick?” Junjin asks, his face already smeared with melted cheese.

Hyesung feels his heart stutter.

“What makes you think that?”

Junjin shrugs, both his hands clutching the cheeseburger that’s far too big for his mouth. “I dunno. We went to the hospital a lot, but I still feel weird.”

“Bad weird, or good weird?”

“Bad...” Junjin makes a face as he instinctively brushes a hand over his chest, a seemingly harmless habit he’s developed the past few weeks but now means something entirely different to Hyesung. “Ooky. Like right here.”

“Well…we’re going to try to fix it, okay?” He steels himself together and opts for the no-nonsense approach. He cannot and he must not let Junjin feel he’s anything less than calm. “Tomorrow we’re going to have to check in at the hospital to try to make you feel better. It’ll be…” he gulps down his disdain for childish metaphors; he’s always preferred being honest with his son, but this moment calls for a suspension of belief, “…like an adventure.”

Junjin nods. “At Papa’s hospital?”

“What?”

“With Papa?” Junjin looks at him expectantly, mouth set in a hopeful pout. “Will Papa be there?”

“Junjin.” Hyesung ignores the familiar outline that he sees in every curve and angle of Junjin’s face, adamant to not add to his existing heartache. “We talked about this.”

“I know but…can’t he fix me?”

“Papa fixes different things, you know that.” Hyesung ignores the growing lump in his throat. He belatedly realizes that he’s shredded an onion ring in the process of speaking and so hastily shakes his palms free from crumbs. “But this doctor we met today can fix it, so you don’t feel ooky anymore. You want to feel better, right?”

Disappointment seeps into Junjin’s tone. “I just wanna play baseball.”

“You will.” He knows how hard it’s been for his son to sit out most of the season that’s been underway, for his body to be unable to keep up with his usually formidable willpower. This is the most restrained Junjin has ever been, and it tears at Hyesung from the inside. “After you get better, you can play as much baseball you want. Promise.”

Junjin brightens up at this, already over his initial slump. “Even in winter?”

“Well…”

“Okay, Dad.” Junjin says cheerfully, and proceeds to nibble at the rest of his cheeseburger. He’s already eaten more than halfway through. “Will you tell Papa though?”

“About what?”

“That I’m sick and have to go get better at a hospital?”

“I’ll tell him.” The answer is automatic, requiring no thought process or feelings. “You don’t have to worry, sweetheart. Everything will be fine.” Hyesung adds, although he isn’t sure if he’s saying it for his benefit. His son nods in agreement.

“That’s what Papa always tells me.” Junjin says, smiling, his eyes bright with blind confidence. “It’ll be okay, Dad.”

--

(2) New Message(s)
From: Kangta
Kettering? What are you trying to say?

From: Eric
OR in 2 mins. Will call after.

--

Hyesung is at a loss and so copes with it the best way he knows how: purchasing an overabundance of things that neither of them needs and ending up having to flag a cab to get back to the house in Park Slope. Junjin sits on his lap as he peeks into the packages that take up most of their leg room, pulling out various items to hold and study: a Jewish artichoke, a new pair of pajamas, a bottle of expensive lotion, a Ghibli DVD. There are also two new Lego sets that Hyesung allowed him to pick out, but once they’re finally home, Junjin insists on only opening one.

“So I have something to open when I get home from the hospital.” Junjin says, grinning as he sits on the braided rug in the living room, already surrounded by hundreds of tiny multicolored bricks from previously unfinished sets. “Dad, look: this will form a pirate ship. Isn’t that cool?”

“Very.” Hyesung is clutching his phone so tightly his knuckles are already aching. In the spare moments that’s been afforded to him he’s already made enough calls, sent dozens of text messages across his networks, and scoured Google for all testimonials on the Doctors Lee, Sloan Kettering, and anything and everything related to neuroblastoma. He’s already bookmarked at least fifty articles that he plans on plowing through that night, but prior to anything, he needs to hear from Eric…

“Dad!”

Hyesung blinks.

“Can you help me build it?” Junjin asks, holding up the Lego box. He shakes it so they can hear all 2000+ odd pieces rattle against the cardboard. Hyesung hesitates.

“Now?”

“Yeah. Please, Dad?”

There’s a handful of seconds when he considers not doing it (because there’s dinner and laundry and we need to pack and if Eric doesn’t call me soon I may have to go out to Mt. Sinai myself to yell at him) but Hyesung surprises even himself by getting down on his knees to clear enough space on the floor so that he can settle beside his son, who eagerly hands him the instructions.

“This will be so awesome!” Junjin exclaims, his usually pale face now tinged pink with excitement. Hyesung can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, although he already feels as though he’s cracking into two.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. This isn’t the last time. It’s not. It’s not. It’s not…

“Dad, it has cannons!” Junjin, oblivious to his plight, peers and prods at the instructions. “Let’s build it already, come on!”

“Okay.” Hyesung checks that his phone’s ringer is set to the loudest it can possibly go and that it has enough signal for a call to go through. Only then does he let it go to turn his full attention at his captivated son, energetic for what seems like the first time in weeks.

“Watch how Dad does it, okay? Let me show you how it’s done.”

--

(1) New Message

From: Kangta
Hyesung? What’s going on?

(3) Missed Calls from Kangta

--

He wakes that night to a soft scuffling in their (his) bedroom. Instinct shakes him awake and he automatically extends his arm to switch on the lamp on the bedside table near him. Soft orange light illuminates the room in a glowing circle and reveals Eric standing, rumpled and exhausted, by the foot of the bed, dressed in jeans and an old green sweatshirt, with his bag still slung over his shoulder. Hyesung sees as Eric notes Junjin sleeping on what used to be his side, arms and legs currently wrapped around Hyesung’s own limbs; he also sees the slightly raised eyebrow that comes as a reaction to it.

“Something’s wrong.” Eric says decidedly, although his voice soft. Hyesung holds off responding to him, prioritizing first unsticking their son from his person while Junjin remains too deeply asleep to notice. Once he’s free, he motions Eric to follow him into Junjin’s bedroom across the hall. He leaves both doors slightly ajar in case their son wakes and starts crying.

“I asked you to call.” Hyesung says, trying his very best to keep his tone even. The watch on Eric’s wrist reads 2:13AM, ten hours since he had sent Eric a message. “We made a deal that if it was about Junjin, we would put him first. You said you would call.”

Eric’s face is an oncoming storm. “I was in surgery for nearly 11 hours. I came straight here when I could be in bed. I should be in bed, actually.”

“You could have still called me right after.”

“Hyesung, it’s 2AM. I know you enough to know that you won’t pick up. The only time you do that is for your clients or…” Eric’s voice trails off but the space he leaves is heavy with implication. Hyesung chooses to ignore it. “Whatever.”

“Neuroblastoma.” Somehow it sounds different when said by him. The word tastes bitter in his mouth, each syllable like poison that makes his teeth ache. In front of him, he sees as Eric stiffens.

“What?” Eric asks, glaring, his eyes dark like flint.

“You heard me: stage two neuroblastoma. He has it. Junjin. Our son. Your son. He has it.” Hyesung doesn’t even bother with filters; Eric would understand it anyway, possibly even more than he ever would. He watches as the color drains from Eric’s face, then as he backs away to sit on Junjin’s unmade bed. Hyesung himself sags against the nearby chest of drawers, his knees suddenly weak after finally letting his husband know.

(Ex-husband.)

“Who told…How…?” Eric holds his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his hair. When he removes them, his hair remains sticking up in unruly spikes, much like Junjin’s does. “Where did you take him to get diagnosed?”

“Langone. Doctor is Andy Lee. The tumor is in his lungs.”

“Is it metastatized?”

“No.”

“Did he mention the recovery rate?”

“85%. He recommended doing the surgery and I’ve already accepted. It’ll be in Sloan Kettering.”

“When is it going to be?”

“Saturday.”

“Jesus Christ, Hyesung!”

Hyesung isn’t fazed. He’s already gone through the rigamarole of preparation and had spent a better part of the evening prior to falling asleep poring through articles and taking notes. He studies Eric whose expression is now livid.

“We should contact the…” Eric pauses before the woman’s name. They were never too sure how to refer to her. “The surrogate. See if they have a history of this.”

“I’ve already checked.” Hyesung says, because he really has. He inwardly thanks himself for his foresight: “Remember all that paperwork we had her do? We’ve run these tests on her before and she’s clean. No family history or any genetic anomalies. No allergies either. Nothing has shown up on her yearly scans either.”

“I need a copy of those records.”

“She sends them to us every year, Jesus, Eric. They should all be in your email.”

Eric waves him off, burying his face in his hands. The light catches on the wedding ring still on his finger.

“I’ll bring you to Sloan Kettering tomorrow.” Eric says. It isn’t a request. “Junjin? How is he? Were there any signs? He looked all right the last time I saw him!”

There’s a veiled accusation there that Hyesung’s doesn’t appreciate.

“You can’t pin this on me, Eric. We’re not doing this.”

“I didn’t say it was. Christ, Hyesung, it’s cancer, not the ing flu. Were there signs that you saw? What made you bring him to the doctor?”

The past few weeks have been such a dizzying blur that Hyesung doesn’t even know where to start: ironically, there had been a slight bout with the flu at the beginning of the month. Then the chest pains, bad enough that they had to skip out on Little League practices.

“He just said his chest hurt and he couldn’t breathe properly. I had to have him pulled out of a game and I brought him to the hospital.”

Eric opens his mouth to speak but quickly shuts it. In his eyes burns the question even Hyesung can’t bring himself to answer: Me. Why didn’t you call me?

“What have you told him?” Eric asks instead. “Does Junjin know what’s going to happen?”

“He knows that he’s sick and needs to go to the hospital to get better. I’ve not explained the finer details to him yet.”

Eric sighs, the sound of it like something dark and heavy from his chest.

“Okay. I’ll tell him tomorrow. What time did the doctor say he should be checked in?”

“9 AM.”

“Okay. We’ll be there.”

To his surprise, Eric falls back on Junjin’s bed, again covering his face in his hands. For a moment, Hyesung almost reaches out to him, an instinct borne out of nearly a decade of marriage and finding his exhausted husband asleep on any available surface that would fit him. A former version of him would have tugged Eric up on his feet and led him towards his (their) bedroom and the king-sized bed that, once upon a time, could fit all three of them. Now, he’s only able to cross his arms over his chest, his skin cold where there should have been someone else to warm them.

“You’re staying here then?”

Eric makes a noise that could pass off as an agreeable grunt. He doesn’t look at Hyesung but instead rolls over on his side and into a fetal position, pulling the baseball-decorated duvet over him as he does. He doesn’t say anything further and Hyesung knows it’s the end of the conversation.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Hyesung says, backing out of the room before turning off the overhead light. His eyes are burning with something other than exhaustion, and he tries not to be overwhelmingly disappointed when the only reply to him is silence.

--

SUBJECT: RE: Request for Leave

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

 

Dear Hyesung,

Confirming your request for a 2-week leave.

If you need anything, just let us know. We’ll endorse your cases to Kangta for the meantime. We’ll still copy furnish you on things as needed.

Wishing your son a speedy recovery! We’ll go out for drinks when this is better.

All the best,
JJ

--

Eric’s presence in the house doesn’t go unnoticed by Junjin. He clings to his father like a limpet from the moment he discovers he’s there, and to his credit, Hyesung sees as Eric ensures all traces of his fatigue don’t show every second he’s faced with their son.

“Papa, I wish you would stay here all the time.” Junjin says over a mouthful of French toast. He’s eating with gusto this morning since he prefers Eric’s cooking. Hyesung knows this, although it’s never said out loud.

“Oh?” Eric says. He’s standing by the kitchen island, eating a granola bar. There’s only enough French toast for two, mostly because they’ve also run out of bread. Hyesung pokes at his toast with a fork; he doesn’t have any appetite. “Didn’t Dad and I explain to you? I can only come when it’s not too busy at my hospital.”

The lie slides easily from Eric’s tongue, his expression not even changing once. Hyesung wonders if it’s a trait all doctors have.

“Yeah, I know. But I miss you a lot.” Junjin frowns. “And aren’t you bored in your apartment?”

There’s a flash of a smile. “Sometimes. But I’m soooo busy, I don’t have the time to be bored.”

“Are brains that cool?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool. Didn’t you say you wanted to be a brain surgeon like me when you grow up?”

“Sometimes.” Junjin sneaks a glance at Hyesung; it’s his way of being diplomatic. “But I’m not sure yet.”

“It’s not boring, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, but I wish you weren’t so busy, Papa.” Junjin whines. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course, I do.” Eric says, and Hyesung sees as he takes this particular moment to really look at their son, the doctor replacing the father as he scrutinizes every detail to see the signs that Hyesung would have glossed over or missed. Eric’s fingers lightly brush over Junjin’s face, his expression hardening slightly as he focuses. Throughout the whole inspection process, Hyesung holds his breath; Junjin, on the other hand, concentrates on the syrup off his fork.

“How do you feel today, Jin?” Eric asks, his voice gentle. Junjin shrugs.

“Yellow Seven,” he says, using a measuring system he designed a long time ago. Although it has no clear meaning apart from the numbers coinciding with the usual pain index, it’s something both Hyesung and Eric have always understood without much difficulty. “But only because you’re here.”

“Is that the truth?” Eric smiles, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The sight of it makes Hyesung’s heart twinge. “Seven is pretty high though. Where does it hurt?”

“Right here.” Junjin points to his chest. “But it’s Yellow because I feel better when both you and Dad are here. So, it’s okay.”

“How is it then when we’re not both here?”

“Maybe Blue Eight...”

Hyesung coughs as a wad of saliva gets stuck in his throat. Both Eric and Junjin look at him with twin expressions of concern, although on Eric it’s less so. Hyesung flushes and averts his gaze.

“Junjin, finish your breakfast and start getting ready.” Hyesung says, his eyes watering as he clears his throat. “Papa has to shower and we have to get going soon.”

“Dad, we never finished the ship.” Junjin says, pointing to the mess of Legos that they’ve moved to the kitchen counter. Only a fourth of the pirate ship has been formed; the rest of the bricks are still kept away in their plastic packets, lined up by the empty box for when they’ll next start assembling.

“When you get home from the hospital, we’ll finish it.” Hyesung lifts his son off the bar stool that he’s sitting on and kisses the crown of his head. “Promise.”

He meets Eric’s eyes at some point and knows there’s uncertainty in it, but Hyesung isn’t having it.

85%, he reminds himself. 85% is a good number. My son will beat this. We’ll be home by next week.

He isn’t going to accept any other outcome.

--

(2) Missed Calls from Kangta

tbc