Love from a to Z

people you don’t know. “Can you text her back a thumbs-up emoji and write
‘Great, glad you liked the saluki shelter’? And then text her asking for her
aunt’s number?”
“Yes. Done . . . and now done with the request for aunt’s number,” Zahid
said. Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “The nurses think I’m your
uncle. That’s why they let me stay. So I will stay until your family comes.
This is what I would want for my own nephew, you understand?”
I nodded. I wished I could see Zahid’s face clearly. I thought from his
voice that he was South Indian, one of the many in Doha. Maybe after this
clears, after the doctors help me, I can see him again, thank him properly.
If the doctors help me? No. I shook my head, and Zahid came to my side.
“You need something, Adam?”
“No, just wanted to say thank you, Zahid.” I held my right hand out.
“Uncle Zahid,” he reminded me, taking my hand in both of his. He shook
it, then let go as a ding sounded from my phone in his pocket. “Ah yes, your
friend Zayneb wrote back. Just a number. No emoji this time.”

---

“Can you dial it for me? Put it on speaker, please?”
It rang and rang and then went to voice mail.
Oh yeah, Ms. Raymond was probably at school teaching. “Hanging up is
fine. Thanks.”
A doctor came in then, clipboard in hand.
“I will try your aunt again, Adam-nephew,” Zahid said, walking away. “I
am outside, Doctor.”
“Thanks, Uncle Zahid,” I said, dropping back on the hospital bed, fear
descending again.
• • •
After a round of tests—vitals, blood, X-ray—I was ordered an IV of
steroids to treat the inflammations taking over my body.
As a nurse set it up, the doctor wrote on his clipboard and then addressed
me. “What you’re experiencing is an attack on your immune system. In
order to arrest it, we’re going to prescribe you a course of IV treatments for
the next few days. We’ll start the first treatment here now. But your
subsequent treatments can be done at home with a visiting nurse or at a
clinic we can recommend. It takes about an hour, but schedule time to prep,
too. About an hour and a half.”
The door creaked open a small increment.
“Doctor? Can I come in?” Ms. Raymond asked. “I’m his aunt.”
The doctor nodded and gestured with his hand. “Your husband can come
in too.”
“Uncle Zahid,” I said quickly, knowing Ms. Raymond would be
perplexed.
She went out and brought Zahid with her.
The doctor repeated the things he’d told me, using the words “nervous
system,” “myelin,” “attacks,” “immune suppression.”
“Multiple sclerosis.”
“Nerve degeneration.”
I kept my eyes closed throughout his entire explanation.
When he got to the part about my IV treatments, I opened them.
Ms. Raymond came over and picked my hand up. The one free of the IV
needle that had just been inserted. She rubbed this hand between her own

---

hands and spoke to the doctor. “So he can get it done at home? The IV
treatments?”
I went back to closing my eyes. Dad.
Why am I still so reluctant to involve him?
“If it’s suitable. You would just need a space for the nurse to come and
set up the IV apparatus and for Adam to be comfortable.”
“We have a large apartment, Doctor. I could take tomorrow off from
work to be at home with Adam. And then it’s the weekend. You said two
more days of treatment, right?” She stopped rubbing my hand but continued
holding it, and I felt strangely happy she did.
It made me feel like someone was going to take over now.
I wasn’t on my own with this. For the first time.
I let the tears fall, surprised at the intensity of the relief washing over me.
It wasn’t just my problem to figure out.
For the first time since the attack started, I had something other than pain
to concentrate on.
I was also relieved, tentatively, for another reason: Did Ms. Raymond
mean that I could get the treatments at her place?
Did she know somehow that I didn’t want to involve Dad?