by Lisa Mills
Danielle wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulders. “This is Trevor Jordan.”
She typed the name into a computer terminal and nodded. “You’ll need to visit Registration to take care of paperwork and insurance. If you fill out these forms with some basic information, it will facilitate the process.” She handed Danielle a clipboard and directed them to a cluster of sofas and chairs on one side of the lobby. “Someone will call you shortly.”
Trevor sat in a chair swinging his legs in a wide arc and humming a tuneless song. She took the seat next to him, crossing her legs and propping the clipboard on her knee. She breezed through the first form, which asked for basic information about the patient’s address, contact information, and insurance provider. The next form outlined their privacy rights.
The third form was a questionnaire about Trevor’s medical history. Trevor’s pediatrician had advised her to come prepared. Danielle pulled out the medical records she kept for him and filled out the form to her satisfaction. By the time she finished, her hand was cramping and her eyes were tired from staring at the tiny print.
“Mommy, I have to go potty.” Beside her, Trevor had stopped swinging his legs and was now pressing his knees together.
“Okay. I’m sure there’s a bathroom nearby.” She glanced around and spotted a restroom sign on the other side of the lobby. Clutching her purse and the clipboard in her arms, she walked him over to the bathroom door then visited the drinking fountain while he took care of business.
He emerged too quickly. “Washed your hands, right?” She gave him a you’re-not-fooling-me look.
With a huff, he went back inside and returned a minute later with dripping hands and wet spots dotting his shirt.
“Better … I think,” she said, laughing.
As they returned to the waiting area, a woman wearing tan pants and a colorful blouse with a nametag pinned to her chest stepped out of a nearby hallway and called Trevor’s name.
“Guess it’s our turn, bud.” They followed the woman down the hall and into a cubby housing a desk, computer terminal, and two chairs.
When they’d taken their seats, Danielle handed the woman the clipboard. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to fill out all the forms.”
“No problem,” the woman, whose nametag read “Michelle” answered kindly. “We can finish them together.”
Michelle leafed through the paperwork, glancing over the pages that Danielle had filled out and nodding approval. “Good work on the first few. The information is very thorough, which will be a big help. Looks like we still need to go over family histories. Let’s start with the maternal side. I’ll read through this list of common diseases and conditions. If you hear one that applies to your family, stop me. Diabetes, heart disease, liver disease, high blood pressure ….”
Danielle only half-listened, her mind racing. She was barely eighteen when her parents threw her out. Before that, she’d been too young to be concerned about things like family medical conditions. After, she didn’t much care. But now, her lack of family connections made her feel as if she were failing her son.
Michelle came to the end of her reading list. “Well?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“I’m sorry,” Danielle stammered. “I’m afraid I’m not very aware of my family’s medical history. I can’t really say one way or the other if those things apply.”
Michelle waved away her apology. “This should be enough to go on for now. If the doctors need more information, do you have a way to get it? Is there someone in the family you can call and ask?”
Danielle’s lungs seized up. Call her family? Could she do that? She hadn’t spoken to anyone from her hometown, her parents and her younger brother included, since she’d left eight years ago. She didn’t know whether any of them still lived there, or if they lived at all.
“I, uh … I probably could, I guess.” She swallowed hard at the thought. Maybe she could find Brandon. She’d always loved her younger brother, despite his orneriness. But her parents … the thought of talking to them made her break into a sweat. “There’s probably someone who would know.”
Michelle stared at her, eyes curious but not accusing. “Very good,” she said in an even tone. “Let’s move on to the paternal medical history.”
Panic shot down her arms and legs. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any medical information on the father or his family.” Why had she not realized they would want this kind of information? She could have prepared careful answers or pre-empted them altogether. This was not a conversation she wanted to have in front of Trevor.
She felt Trevor’s gaze on her and glanced down at him. Questions filled his eyes, ones he’d probably never thought to ask before.
“Can you give us a number or contact information so we can inquire?”
“I don’t know how to contact him.” A few years back, she’d used the Internet to search for him. Not because she wanted to find him, but because she couldn’t escape her curiosity. What was he was doing? Where did he live? What life had he chosen over the one he’d planned with her? The Internet hadn’t given her any clues, and she didn’t have money to hire a private investigator. She thought of calling his grandmother who lived in the town where Danielle had grown up, but the elderly woman was no longer listed in the phone book. She’d been sick during their senior year of high school and had likely gone to a home or passed away.
Michelle pursed her lips. “You understand I’m not trying to pry. This information can be crucial in diagnosing and determining the best course of treatment for our patients. We are only trying to give you the best possible medical service.”
“Thank you, but I can’t tell you anything more. I just don’t know.”
Taking the hint, Michelle dropped that line of questioning and set the forms aside. “We’re almost finished. After I make a copy of your insurance card, I’ll have a porter walk you to your first stop.”
Danielle dug through her purse and pulled out the card, breathing deeply to calm the raging storm that Michelle’s questions had stirred. Did people think she wanted to be a single mother? That she enjoyed being estranged from her family? She wanted love and support like anyone else. She thought she’d found a place of belonging with Kevin—and him with her—but those dreams had shattered and her heart with them. Thinking about that time in her past thrust her into a vortex of memories that she’d rather forget—some good, some bad, all of them painful to her. She blinked her eyes hard and fast so no one would see the tears building there.
Chapter Five
Danielle pulled her hands off the keyboard and reached back to knead her aching shoulders and neck. She should have been done with Mr. Hartog’s brochure by now, but the oncologists, nurses, and lab technicians had hijacked her schedule. The team of medical professionals headed by Dr. Shanglin performed a bone marrow biopsy along with a few blood tests. While Trevor had been sedated for the procedure to make it easier on him, he was left with a large bruise and sore spot on his rear hipbone where they’d inserted a thick needle.
She hated seeing her baby enduring so much difficulty, but the doctors felt it urgent to identify the type and extent of his cancer so they could prescribe a treatment program as soon as possible. Lots of hugs and a few tears got Trevor through the ordeal. Overall, he seemed to be handling it better than Danielle.
The visit to the hospital along with a two-and-a-half hour drive each way had consumed the whole day, which meant she wasn’t able to work on her advertising project. With the deadline so tight, she didn’t have any buffer time built in. She glanced at the clock. Nearly three in the afternoon. She’d arranged to drop the revised draft of the brochure off to Mr. Hartog for his final approval at four.
Ever the optimist, she’d risen early and worked all day, hoping to make up for the time she’d lost yesterday. But a few hours couldn’t replace a full day’s work. She’d have to call him and plead for a few more hours.
Dread snaked through her middle as she dialed his office and
asked to speak with him. After an extremely long wait, he picked up and groused, “Got my brochure done, missy?” No small talk or even a polite greeting. Just pure surliness.
“Mr. Hartog, my son had a medical emergency yesterday, so I’m running a few hours behind.”
“A few hours will take us past the close of business! You don’t expect me to wait around here for you to get your act together, do you?”
“I apologize for the delay, sir. It wasn’t intentional, but—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. Your personal problems are none of my concern. All I want to hear is that my brochure is finished and that it’ll be ready for the show.”
“I understand and I plan to stay at my desk until the layout is complete. I just need to arrange a time to get a final draft to you for approval.”
He huffed his disgust, making her feel two inches tall. “Tomorrow is Saturday, so I won’t be in my office. Makes this situation rather inconvenient, don’t you think?” The accusation and anger bleeding through the phone line was enough to make Danielle want to drop the phone and run.
“I’m willing to come to your house or anywhere that is convenient for you.”
“What would have been convenient for me is if you had kept to the schedule! As it stands, I guess I’ll have to cancel the plans I had tomorrow to accommodate your incompetence.”
A slow burn started in her stomach and crawled its way up to her cheeks. She was not incompetent and how dare he call her that! He was a crotchety old jerk who had to bully people to do his bidding because he couldn’t command respect or loyalty any other way. To keep from saying as much, she gnashed her teeth together until they ached.
“I am sorry about disrupting your weekend,” she choked out. “If you’ll name a time and place, I’ll be there with the final draft.”
He barked out an address. “And you’d better arrive by one-thirty sharp or we are finished doing business.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
She set the phone in its cradle then lowered her face to her hands and let the angry tears fall. Why do I put up with this? If she didn’t need the money so badly, she’d tell him where to stick his brochure and let him find someone else to persecute. But the income was more important than ever with Trevor’s medical bills about to come piling into her mailbox. Chemo was expensive, even with insurance to cover a percentage of the cost. Then again, with all the difficulties she was facing, the pay she would earn hardly seemed worth enduring Mr. Hartog’s abuse.
Sighing, she scrubbed the tears off her face. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t change the situation. She needed to conserve her energy, focus it in the direction that would have the most impact. Like finishing this brochure as fast as possible so she could collect her check and end her business association with Mr. Hartog.
She opened another digital photo file and began preparing the picture for placement in the brochure. Her fingers clicked through the process as if on autopilot. She’d done this so many times it required little thought from her now. Like any job, layout and design had its fun, exciting side. She loved the thrill of creating, of envisioning a logo or a page layout in her head then seeing it come to life on the screen before her. But there were also plenty of hours of drudgery, making incremental adjustments to color or placement, trying font after font to find the exact one to fit the project’s personality, or as in this case, sizing photo after photo.
Regardless, running her own agency out of her house had its perks. She arranged her work around Trevor’s schedule, eliminating the babysitting expense most single moms paid. And if she needed more money, she could simply hunt up extra work rather than waiting for overtime like some of her friends.
On the downside, companies sometimes paid sixty days or more after she finished the job and invoiced them. And she had to purchase her own medical insurance, which wasn’t cheap. In addition, the policy was more basic than a group policy that might have been offered at a larger company.
The thought send a frisson of worry through her gut. What kind of coverage did she have for Trevor’s treatments? They’d never used the coverage for anything more serious than a common cold. Danielle hadn’t read the fine print for more extensive care. Her stomach began to churn, sending out that acidic feeling that was becoming all too familiar these days.
When did I become such a nervous wreck, worrying myself sick about everything?
The doorbell rang, saving her from exploring that line of thought.
She saved her file then went to answer the door. Janna and Cory stood on the front step.
“Hey, guys,” she said, forcing some cheer into her greeting. She was glad to see them, but part of her dreaded facing her best friend. Janna would ask questions Danielle didn’t want to answer. Talking about Trevor’s prognosis gave reality claws and fangs. If she didn’t keep the beast tightly caged, it would shred her. But she couldn’t shut the door in their faces.
“You wanna come in?”
Janna held Cory back with a hand on his shoulder. “You sure it’s okay? Cory said Trevor wasn’t at school yesterday or today.”
“He’s not contagious. It’s fine.” She stepped aside and Cory flew past, heading toward Trevor’s room.
Janna entered at a slower speed and pushed the door shut behind her. “Sorry I didn’t call you after I saw you at ball practice. Wednesday got away from me with dinner and church. I tried calling a few times yesterday, but I got the machine.”
Danielle led the way to the kitchen and pulled a jug of sweet tea from the refrigerator. “We had to take a trip.”
A frequent visitor in Danielle’s kitchen, Janna knew where to find the glasses and pulled two from the cupboard where they were stored. “On a school day?”
Danielle set the jug of tea on the counter and closed her eyes, bracing herself, dredging up courage to say the words.
Janna set the glasses on the counter and grabbed her hand. “What is it, Danielle? You’re so pale, you look like you’re about to faint.”
“It’s leukemia,” she blurted. “Trevor’s fevers. The doctor says it’s leukemia.” All the emotions she’d been holding back burst past their restraints and gushed out of her in violent sobs. “My baby has cancer, Janna. Why is this happening to us?”
“Oh, Dani!” Janna’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her close and wrapping her tight.
It had been so long since anyone besides Trevor had hugged her, since anyone had offered to share her burdens, to reach out and touch her like she mattered to them. The gesture made her weep that much harder. She clung to Janna, needing to share the pain, to draw support from someone outside herself so she didn’t feel so alone.
Janna stroked her hair and rubbed her back and told her to cry it all out. Danielle quit pretending to be strong and emptied a bucket of tears on Janna’s shoulder. The crying jag was cleansing and brought a sense of relief.
When her tears slowed to a trickle, Danielle pulled away. With her tenderhearted soul, Janna appeared to have cried harder than Danielle. She looked frightening, mascara smudged around her eyes and streaked down her cheeks. Her wiry red hair—which was exceptionally unruly today—frizzed around her temples, giving her the look of a crazed circus clown.
A watery giggle burst from Danielle’s lips followed by a snort.
Janna’s eyebrows shot upward, causing the mascara circles to jerk.
Riding the emotional edge of hysteria, Danielle couldn’t control her reaction. Her giggles turned into laughter which quickly spiraled out of control. She leaned against the counter to keep her balance as the belly laughs shook her. She doubled over, stomach clenching until it hurt so much she could hardly breathe.
Janna stood quietly beside her, looking perplexed. “Are you losing it, honey? I’ve never seen you like this, and it’s worrying me.”
“You look …” she gasped between laughs. “You look like … a raccoon.”
“What?” Janna grabbed the toaster and stared into its reflective surface.
“Wow!” She jerked away from her image as if startled. “That’s frightening! No wonder you’re hysterical.” She exchanged the toaster for a damp paper towel and scrubbed at her face while Danielle calmed down.
When the laughter faded, a sober silence fell over the kitchen and the two women stared at each other.
“So, do you wanna talk about it?” Janna asked.
Danielle shrugged. “Not much to talk about. They know it’s leukemia but they had to run more tests to find out what kind and how extensive it is.”
“That was yesterday?”
“Yeah. They said they’d have most of the results within forty-eight hours. Dr. Shanglin is supposed to call me tomorrow afternoon with more information.” Thirsty after her crying jag, Danielle grabbed the jug and poured them each a glass of tea. “I’m not sure I really want to know,” she confessed, embarrassed but needing to tell someone what was in her heart. “Right now, I can pretend it isn’t real. I can do everyday things and convince myself that nothing’s wrong. But once Dr. Shanglin makes a diagnosis, I have to face it. Deal with it. I have to find the strength to fight, and I’m just so tired.” Her voice broke on the words, and the tears began again.
“What if I can’t do it? What if I fail my son?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What if I lose him?” Feeling lightheaded, she leaned over the counter and rested her elbows on the laminate.
Janna stepped up beside her and rubbed her back. “It’s okay to be afraid. You’re allowed to have doubts and feel weakness.”
“Not when Trevor needs me,” Danielle argued.
“You expect too much from yourself. You carry an impossible load.”
“I’m all he has. He’s all I have. We either get by alone or not at all.”
“You’re not alone in this, Danielle.”
Danielle looked at her friend through watery eyes. “I appreciate all of your help, Janna. I do. But you have your own family. I can’t ask more of you than you already do.”
