Till Death Do Us Part

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “I do, but not the way I'd like to. I'd race as a career.”

  April realized that Mark's CF probably kept him from such a career. Would she be unable to do the things she wanted to do if something really bad was wrong with her?

  “Would you come with me to the track sometime?” Mark's question pulled her away from her dark thoughts.

  “I don't think so.”

  “Why?”

  “You know I'm already dating somebody.”

  Again the quicksilver smile. “Can't blame me for trying.”

  A rap on April's door caused both of them to start. A nurse entered. “There you are,” she said to Mark, her hands on her hips. “We've been looking for you. It's time for therapy.”

  Mark rose. “I know, but I was hoping you'd forget.”

  “No way. Not when you're this close to being released.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  The nurse studied him fondly. “Go see your therapist. He's in your room.”

  He turned back to April, seized her hand, and planted a kiss on it. “Thanks for the company. I'll be back tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  He was out the door before she could finish.

  “I see he finally met you,” the nurse said with an amused smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He's been maneuvering an introduction ever since you checked in.”

  “Is he harmless?”

  “Very. In fact, Mark's one of the nicest kids to ever come through these doors.”

  “What kind of therapy is he supposed to have?”

  “Respiratory. CF victims don't have the ability to break down mucus, so it turns thick and gummy and clogs the lung tissue so they can't breathe. The mucus is broken up by medications, inhalants, and by thumping the victim's back and chest several times a day.”

  “Every day?” April asked. Cystic fibrosis sounded awful to her. “For how long? Until his breathing gets better and his cough goes away?”

  “If only,” the nurse said with a sigh. “No, it's a lifelong thing for him.”

  “Won't he ever get well?”

  The nurse shook her head. “There's no cure for CF. It's one hundred percent fatal.”

  Early the next morning April was brought to the hospital's radiology department. She would spend a portion of the day undergoing X-ray procedures, such as CAT scans and an MRI. Her mother had taken the day off from the store to be with her. April had left her floor while most of the patients were still asleep, so she hadn't seen Mark. But she couldn't forget what the nurse had told her about him.

  “Do you know anything about cystic fibrosis?” April asked her mother. April lay on a gurney in the hall outside one of the radiology rooms, waiting for her turn.

  “Not much. Why do you ask?”

  April's mother was a slim, blond-haired woman in her mid-forties. She was stylishly and expensively dressed, perfectly groomed, and smelled of expensive perfume. The two of them had always been close, probably because Janice Lancaster had endured medical hell in order to conceive a child. April knew that her parents had spent thousands of dollars on four attempts of in vitro fertilization before she'd been conceived.

  She knew her parents loved her, but sometimes she felt as if she were being smothered by them. They showered her with material goods and made certain that she had every advantage. She was their princess and they treated her like one.

  Kelli once told April that she couldn't believe she was so down-to-earth and not spoiled rotten. April was kind and sensitive, almost mushy, actually. She cried over sad songs, wounded animals, and even TV commercials. When she was little, she'd cried for days after seeing the movie Bambi, because Bambi's mother had been killed and the fawn had been orphaned.

  Now, looking back, she suspected that what had happened to her when she was five contributed mightily to the person she had become.

  “I met this guy on my floor who has CF,” April explained to her mother. “He's sort of goofy, but really nice. Lonely too. A nurse told me that CF is fatal, that it has no cure.”

  Her mother frowned. “How awful.”

  “But he doesn't let it get him down. His hobby is rebuilding old cars and racing.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  Unable to get her mother interested in discussing Mark, April asked, “Mom, do you think the same thing's wrong with me now as when I was five?”

  Her mother stiffened and a worried frown settled over her face. Now that the words were out, April could see just how much her headaches and blackout had affected her mother. “That's why we're doing all this testing,” her mother said softly. “To rule it out. I personally don't believe the two things are related. They told us then they were sure they had gotten it all.” Her mother affectionately tugged April's long thick red hair. “I think we should talk about something else and let these tests tell us what's wrong. No use making up scenarios. So, are your friends on their way to Vermont yet?”

  April was disappointed. She wanted to talk about her fears, but it was clear her mother didn't. Perhaps her mother was right. Why get all worked up before the tests results were in? “They left this morning. Fd give anything to be with them.”

  “I wish you were, honey.”

  “Kelli said maybe we could all take off for the shore this summer before we go our separate ways.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “I like the beach better anyway.”

  April's doctor came into the waiting area. “How's it going?”

  “Okay,” April said, mildly surprised to see him in the middle of the day. He usually visited in the evening.

  Dr. Sorenson was a big man with a head of white hair and intelligent blue eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. He was wearing scrub greens. “I'm just out of surgery,” he said. “I wanted to check on you. See if that medication is working.”

  April had been taking special pills for three days for the headaches. “It's doing a good job. I haven't had a headache since I got here.”

  “Maybe April could just take a prescription of the pills and it would straighten her out,” her mother suggested.

  “We have to know the cause of the headaches,” Dr. Sorenson said. “Unless we know why her head hurts, the pills will only be a temporary fix. I'll have more information after the results of today's work.”

  “When can I go home?”

  “Not for another few days.”

  April was frustrated. “I hate this place.”

  “Food getting to you?” He smiled.

  “This entire place is getting to me.”

  He patted her arm. “Not much longer.” He looked at Janice. “I have her old records from when she was five and I've gone over them. Unfortunately, the doctor who treated her then is deceased.”

  “Dr. Rubin was a good doctor. He operated, drained the tumor, and said he thought she'd be fine.” Her mother's voice sounded challenging, as if daring Dr. Sorenson to contradict the other doctor's diagnosis.

  “Yes, April had a low-grade astrocytoma.”

  April hated their talking around her, as if she were still five years old. She remembered the nightmare of that time all too well. She hadn't understood what was happening to her, but she'd never forget the terror from the shots and IVs and being separated from her parents during the X-rays and surgery and recovery in ICU. But she'd recovered fully and up until now had led a perfectly normal life with a perfectly uncomplicated future.

  “The headaches aren't the same,” she told the doctor and her mother. “Before, when I was little, I mostly got dizzy and fell down a lot.”

  “She had a seizure,” her mother confirmed. “We rushed her to the emergency room. But this time it seems different.”

  “No use speculating,” Dr. Sorenson said. “We'll have some answers soon enough.”

  He left and April again thought about Mark. It was easier to think about him and his disease than it was to think about her own problems.

  Eventually, her session
in radiology was complete and she returned to her room. By now it was late afternoon and pale spring sunlight slanted through the window. Her father was waiting when they arrived. “How's my girl?”

  She hugged him. “Bored. I didn't expect you here so early.”

  “I couldn't concentrate at the office, so I came over.” He kissed his wife.

  April saw the look that passed between them: “Any news!” her father's gaze asked. “Nothingyet,” her mother's eyes answered.

  “Did you bring me these flowers?” April asked, wanting to distract them.

  “I brought those.” He pointed to a huge spring bouquet of irises, jonquils, and sweetheart roses. “I don't know who sent the other.”

  The other was a single red rose in a blue bud vase.

  “It has a card.” Her mother handed her a small envelope.

  April opened it and read: You're beautiful. Mark.

  “A secret admirer?” Her father craned his neck to see the signature. “I'm jealous.”

  April quickly shoved the card back inside the envelope. “No need to be. I'm still yours.”

  He laughed and looped his arm around his wife's waist. This was the way April was used to seeing them. None of her friends' parents acted as much in love as hers did. When her friends complained about parents who argued and threatened divorce, April could only listen, glad that her parents' relationship was so totally different.

  “When this is over,” her father said, “when they release you to go home, why don't we think about, going to Spain again? We had such a good time there last summer.”

  “Oh, Hugh, let's!” her mother said. “Caroline won't miss me at the store. I'll tell her I'll pick up some special pieces. We actually had a customer come in looking for some fifteenth-century Spanish chairs the other day.”

  “Excuse me,” April said, holding up her hand to stop their plan before her father rushed out and bought the tickets. “But I still have this small matter of finishing my senior year.”

  “You could miss a couple of weeks,” her father declared.

  April smiled indulgendy. “Sorry, I don't want to go. I've spent twelve years slogging through classes so that I could enjoy being a senior. Kelli and I have a big countdown calendar on the inside of my locker where we're marking off each day till graduation. So conint me out of your impromptu trip.”

  “We can't go without you.” Her mother looked thoughtful. “Maybe we could think about going right after graduation.”

  “It could be your graduation present,” her father added.

  April wanted to spend the summer with her friends and Chris, and plan for their beach trip. But she decided not to make an issue of it just yet. The ratde of the dinner cart coming down the hall interrupted the conversation. “Are you two going down to the cafeteria?” April asked.

  Her mother wrinkled her nose and her father shook his head vigorously. “I've made other arrangements.”

  “Such as?” her mother asked.

  He grinned impishly. “How does The Red Dragon sound?” That was their favorite restaurant—and one of New York's most trendy. “Don't worry,” he added quickly, “I've gotten special permission from the hospital. Turns out that the chief administrator is one of my clients. What could he say when I asked? I mean, he still wants his investments to earn for him, doesn't he?”

  “Daddy!” April squealed. “That's criminal.”

  “No … what they pass off as food here is criminal.”

  Within the hour, two waiters rolled a small cart into April's room, complete with a bright red linen tablecloth and napkins, candles, and succulent-smelling platters of Chinese food. April heard the commotion in the hall as the cart neared her room and she wondered what the other patients and the staff must be thinking. And she wondered what Mark might be thinking too.

  She put some classical music on her portable CD player. Her mother made a special arrangement of flowers from those she'd received, and her father turned off all the lights. The three of them ate by candlelight. April listened to her mother describe various oddball customers and her father talk about a client who was also a rock star. And she almost forgot where she was and why she was there.

  At the end of the meal, they each opened a fortune cookie. Laughing, they read the strips of paper aloud. April's mother was informed that she would be showered with riches; her father that he was wise and admired.

  April pulled out the fortune tucked inside her cookie and a small shiver crept through her as she read the words on the paper. It read: A change is coming. Be prepared.

  April was alone in her room the following day when Mark knocked on her door. “You up for a visit?”

  “Sure.” April closed the book she was reading. “How are you doing?”

  “I may get out tomorrow if I pass all my breath tests.” She must have looked puzzled because he explained, “There's a machine I have to blow air into and the gauge has to jump into a certain zone. That lets my doctor know how much lung capacity Pve regained.”

  “I hope you pass.”

  “How about you?” he asked. “Know anything more about your problems?”

  “Not yet. I'm not too sure I want to know either. I mean, as long as I don't know, I can pretend it's nothing really bad.”

  “Why do you think it might be bad? You look healthy. I'll bet you've never been sick a day in your life.”

  “You're wrong.” April wanted—needed—to confide her fears to somebody. On impulse she decided to tell Mark about her childhood brain tumor. “I've got plenty of reason to be worried,” she said, and told him her story.

  Mark listened intently, nodding and looking grim. “It must have been horrible for you.”

  “It was. But why am I telling you? You're certainly no stranger to hospitals.”

  “I honestly can't remember my life without them. CF and I reluctandy share the same body. Unless medical science comes up with a miracle, it's here to stay.”

  “I don't know how you stand it.”

  “I consider the alternative,” he said with a wry smile.

  April sighed. “I guess you're right. The alternative is what you're trying so hard to avoid.”

  “So let me get this straight,” he said, moving back to their original topic. “After years of feeling fine, you suddenly start getting headaches and dizzy spells again.”

  “I staggered around like I was drunk. And I blacked out too.”

  “So you're afraid the tumor is back, even though they told you twelve years ago it was gone?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  He looked at her and for a minute nothing existed except the dark brown of his eyes. “I hope you're wrong,” he said softly. “I can't imagine anything terrible happening to you.”

  April suddenly felt self-conscious. She struggled to find something else to talk about. Her gaze fell on the bud vase. “Thank you for the rose. It was nice of you.”

  “It looks pretty puny next to your other bouquet.”

  “My dad never does anything halfway.”

  “You're lucky he can afford to do things first class.” He paused. “April, when this is over, when you're out of here, can I call you? Come see you?”

  April hesitated. His interest in her was flattering, but she couldn't lead him on. “No, Mark. I told you I have a boyfriend.” His expression told her that he didn't think this was a good reason. “I mean it, Mark. Once I get out of here and back to my real life, I don't want any reminders of this place.”

  “Including me?”

  “You've been nice to me and I appreciate it. But this is only a temporary interruption of my life.”

  “No matter what your tests say?”

  She squared her chin. “No matter what the tests say.”

  Her parents were with her when Dr. Soren-son came in, pulled up a chair, and said, “I believe we have a diagnosis.”

  April's mouth went dry and her heart began to hammer. Her parents were on either side of her bed. They reminded her of guard dogs jealously su
rrounding their young. “May I have the envelope, please?” she said, trying hard to keep things light.

  “You are having a recurrence of your earlier problem,” Dr. Sorenson told them matter-of-factly.

  “But they told us it was gone,” April's mother said fiercely.

  “They told you it was a low-grade astrocytorria and that the chances were good that it would not return,” Dr. Sorenson corrected her. “But it's never been gone; it's only been dormant.”

  April suddenly felt cold, as if all her blood had turned to ice. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  “So what is it now?” April's father growled impatiently.

  “Now it's a high-grade astrocytoma.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It's growing rapidly and consequendy it will be harder to treat.”

  “This is ridiculous,” her father snapped. “First it's there, then it's gone, now it's back. Can't you doctors get it right? This is my daughter we're discussing.”

  “I'm very sorry,” Dr. Sorenson said. “I wish I had better news for you.”

  Her father rocked back on his heels. “What are our options?”

  April scarcely heard him. A rushing sound was filling up her ears and their voices seemed to be coming from far away. This couldn't be happening. It had to be some mistake.

  Dr. Sorenson attached X rays to a portable light board he'd brought into the room with him. A human skull was outlined perfectly. “This is your skull, April. And here”—he pointed to a dark area at the base of her skull—”is the tumor. You can see it better on the MRL” They peered at the contours of her brain on another piece of film. The tumor looked dense and sinister. “The tumor's entrenched here, and it's growing.”

  April shuddered. How could something be growing inside her body without her knowledge or permission? “Can't you cut it out, remove it?” she asked.

  “Maybe not.”

  “Why not?” asked her mother.

  “It's embedded itself in the cerebellum here, near the brain stem.” Dr. Sorenson pointed to the area on the MRL “This is the part of your brain that's responsible for involuntary reflexes, like breathing and coordination. That explains your dizzy spells. The tumor mass is pressing and intruding into these areas. If we do traditional surgery, you could be maimed for life. No scalpel can untangle it.”