by Janette Oke
Christmas Day was fun too. We tried to stay in bed a bit later. Mom had asked us to think about the older people in the household, but it was Grandpa who knocked on our door and poked his head in.
“Thought it was Christmas,” he teased. “We used to get up before the chickens on Christmas morning.”
We were out of bed in a hurry after that. Grandma Tyler was already up. She had a cup of coffee in her hand and was sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Dad already had a nice cozy fire going. I could hear Mom in the kitchen stirring about, and then Grandma Walsh’s voice let me know that Mom wasn’t alone.
Soon Brett came straggling in. He still didn’t like to get up in the morning, even on Christmas. Corey and Dad came in with armloads of more wood for the fireplace. Corey, as usual, was talking a mile a minute.
“So how does he, then?”
I didn’t know who he was talking about, but Dad smiled as he answered Corey.
“Maybe he doesn’t.”
“But Chad says he does.”
“Maybe Chad likes to pretend. That’s fine. We’ll just let Chad think what he wants to think.”
Corey dropped his load of wood in the box Dad had put there for that purpose. Then he shook small wood chips off his shirt right onto Mom’s newly vacuumed carpet. She didn’t say anything.
“Come over here, sport,” said Grandpa, sitting down on the sofa and patting the place beside him. Corey bounded over, a big grin spreading across his face.
“So …” Grandpa asked. “Do you think anything under that tree belongs to you?”
Corey nodded. He had already checked out the presents—many times.
“Will you share with me?” Grandpa went on.
“You’ve got your own. I saw.”
“But I bet mine are just grown-up stuff. Socks and soap and stuff. It’d be a lot more fun to play with yours.”
Corey looked doubtful for a moment, then nodded his head. I knew he was solemnly agreeing to share his toys—whatever they were—with Grandpa. Grandpa tousled his reddish hair playfully and hugged him closer.
I guessed Mom got her love for life, and for people, from Grandpa. They seemed to always be laughing about something together. Grandma was a bit more reserved. She spent a lot of time reading to Corey or talking quietly with Dana. She asked Brett to drive her—in his car—to the store a couple of times. I could see in his eyes that it made him feel really proud.
Our grandparents even came to one of my basketball games. I had never wanted to play a good game more in all my life. But I fouled out, third quarter. It was embarrassing until Grandpa told me that I’d played a superb, “intense” game. I liked that word, intense. It seemed to justify my being a little too aggressive.
But our time with our grandparents was going to be over soon. I knew that within a few days they would need to travel on to the clinic where Grandpa was going to be working with the others on the new drug. I hated to have them leave. I had no idea when I would see them again. When grandparents live on a mission field, you don’t get to see them very much.
Though Grandpa loved fun, I knew there was a serious side to him too. It appeared almost every time he looked at Dana. He seemed to be studying her. Once or twice I heard him asking her questions. And I saw his hand go to her forehead several times. He even rubbed her back and asked where it was aching.
Grandma seemed concerned about Dana too. I knew she was a nurse, and I supposed it was quite natural for nurses—and doctors—to want to know things about how people felt. Even so, I wasn’t prepared for the little conversation that I overheard the evening before Grandpa and Grandma were to catch the plane for the West Coast clinic.
“I don’t want to alarm you,” Grandpa was saying to my folks, “but I think you should probe further for the cause of Dana’s illness. I know lupus is ‘iffy.’ Hard to pin down. But some of the symptoms aren’t consistent in my view. When I did a little research on the Internet, I noticed that lupus is associated with pain in the joints. Dana is complaining of pain in her bones themselves. That doesn’t seem right to me.”
I had entered the kitchen to get myself a drink of water. Now I stopped short and listened. It wasn’t the words as much as the tone of Grandpa’s voice that frightened me.
The four of them were seated around the kitchen table. They had been having a cup of coffee together, but now the cups had been pushed aside. All four faces looked somber and tense. I don’t think they even knew I was near.
“What do you think … ?”
Mom didn’t finish the question. Grandpa answered anyway. “I wouldn’t want to guess. There are a number of things it could be. But the important thing is to find out. You can’t administer proper treatment until you’ve diagnosed the proper illness. And it may be extremely important not to lose any more time.”
“How do—what should we do?” Dad asked, his voice holding an edge of frustration and worry.
“Well … certainly she should have more blood work done. Extensive blood work. That’s the place to start.”
“Our doctor doesn’t think—” began Mom.
But Grandpa cut in, almost sharply. “Then find one who does. ”
Mom’s head dropped. I could see there were tears gathering in her eyes. I guess Grandpa saw them too. He reached out and took her hand. “I don’t want to worry you, my dear, but I’m concerned or I’d never press you like this. I think you need to pursue this further. I’m not prepared to say—”
But Grandpa stopped. He looked as worried as my folks. I moved forward and managed to stub a bare toe hard on the leg of the kitchen stool. Four pairs of eyes lifted in surprise. Mom was the one who spoke. “You okay?”
I nodded. But my toe really hurt. Still, I was anxious to get my drink now and limp back up to our bedroom. I felt scared. Really scared … and I didn’t know why. It was just that the faces around the table all looked so worried.
“Want me to check that toe?” Grandpa Tyler asked, genuine concern edging his voice. But I shook my head even as I grimaced.
Mom sighed. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“I tried … but I was thirsty.” No excuse, I knew, for standing and listening in.
“Come here and give me one more hug,” Grandma invited. They had to leave very early the next morning. We had all hugged them good-bye—several times. But one more sounded okay to me. I crossed to Grandma and let her pull me close while I wrapped an arm around her neck.
“You kids will be nearly grown-up when I see you again.” Her voice sounded wistful. “That’s the hardest part of being away.”
Grandpa had reached for my hand. He nodded. “If only we could tie a brick on our grandkids’ heads. Keep them from growing up,” he teased. I smiled at the thought.
“We have a prayer time together before we go to bed,” Grandma explained. “Is there anything special you would like us to pray about?”
I thought about basketball and the big game that was coming up, but it really didn’t seem right to ask them to pray about that. I just shook my head. Then I remembered the reason I still felt butterflies in my stomach. “Dana,” I said.
I wanted to say more, but right then I couldn’t. I felt scared all over again. Grandma’s arm tightened around me. “We’ll be praying for Dana,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “God knows all about Dana’s needs.”
I felt a little better as I pulled back from Grandma’s arm and kissed her on the cheek one more time. I was awfully glad that Dana’s condition was being brought to God’s attention by so many people. I’d been told that He was even better at fixing things than my dad.
Chapter Nine
Dad was the one who talked to the doctor. I guess he got some results, because Dana was soon scheduled for new blood work. They had to go to a distant city hospital with better laboratory facilities than our hospital had. She would be staying for a couple of days. Unfortunately, the date they were given meant they had to be away for one of my most important basketball games. Previou
sly Dad had said he’d be at the game. So when he discovered the scheduling difficulty, he called me into his home office to talk about it.
“Erin, you know I said I’d be there to watch you play this game even if I had to take off from work early.”
I nodded.
“Well, the appointment for Dana’s specialist means that we’ll have to leave home that morning.”
I knew I couldn’t protest. Not when Dana’s health was at stake. I just swallowed … hard. I didn’t trust myself to look up.
“You know what that means?”
I tried to nod.
“This doctor is an exceedingly busy man. If we don’t take this appointment, we won’t be able to get another for months.”
I still didn’t say anything. I wanted to, but the words just wouldn’t come.
Dad reached for my hand. “You’ll give me a rain check?” He searched my face.
I shuffled a foot. “Sure,” I managed. The season was drawing to a close, and there would be few opportunities for “rain checks.”
“You understand?” he pressed.
“Sure,” I said again.
“It’s important that we find out exactly what is the matter with Dana. We can’t get her the right help until we know.”
I finally looked up. “I know,” I agreed. “I want her better too.”
Dad squeezed my hand. “There’ll be other games,” he said. I knew that was his promise that he’d be there. I nodded. Sure there would be other games. But I had really wanted Dad at this one. Coach said I was in line for the Most Improved Player award if I kept on playing the way I had been. I really wanted that award. There was even a chance that I’d be first string for the big game. Kelly Thomas was out with a sprained wrist. I nodded again, anxious to leave. There really wasn’t anything more to say.
They didn’t have to worry about us kids much as they packed up to take Dana to the hospital. Grandma Walsh was with us, and she promised to take care of things while they were gone. I’m sure it was a relief to my folks, but I still saw a worried look in Mom’s eyes. I think Corey was making her concerned. He was already discovering that Grandma was a bit easy to talk into liberties. He’d stretch out his bedtime or eat snacks just before meals or just play in the tub when he was supposed to be scrubbing. And we’d all noticed that he had begun whining when he didn’t get his way.
But Mom’s concern for Dana overrode any worries about Corey. She would have to take him back in hand once they had seen to the more immediate needs of Dana. Mom hugged us all a few extra times, and finally the car was pulling out of the driveway. I saw Dana wave one last time, and something about it made my stomach curl up in a ball. It was scary to see your sister go off to the city hospital for tests that might bring bad news. How were we to know what the verdict might be?
Then I remembered Mom’s last words. “Keep praying,” she’d told all of us. “Remember … we have an awesome God.”
That made me feel a little bit better.
Brett was allowed to drive me to the basketball game. I was named in the starting lineup. It was exhilarating. I played a fair game—for as nervous as I felt. Though I wished Dad were there to see me. We managed to win the game, but only by two points. Still—that was enough. In fact, the closeness of the game had made the win feel ten times better.
I had a hard time going to sleep that night. I don’t know what was on my mind the most. The basketball game or Dana. My mind seemed to swing back and forth between the two. The good and the bad all mixed up. I tried to pray, but my thoughts kept wandering.
The next morning Grandma’s voice called us for breakfast. With Mom gone, I had to make the school lunches, and I struggled with the job. The PTA at our new school was working on getting a lunchroom going that would supply hot meals, but so far it hadn’t happened. I sure hoped it would be operating soon. What I could offer to Brett and Corey fell far short of Mom’s usual creative cuisine.
The school day seemed to drag. I was tempted to see if Brett would drive me home before he went to his job, but I knew it wouldn’t work. So I took the bus as I was supposed to. Corey traveled on the same bus, and I was afraid if I weren’t there with him, he’d go and do something foolish for attention. He had taken to showing off among friends.
Things at home weren’t much better. It wasn’t the same having Grandma looking after us. Corey decided he didn’t like the supper of pork chops and green beans, so he talked her into making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for him. I knew Mom would never let him get away with it, but I wasn’t going to argue with Grandma, who said she thought it would be all right. This once.
That night I was brushing my teeth for bed when the phone call came. Dad told Grandma that Mom was feeling pretty tired. It had been a long day—and Dana’s tests were just beginning.
I talked to Dad too. He asked questions about the big game, chores, and homework. I answered as best I could, but my heart was still a little sore from disappointment that he hadn’t seen it. Then he talked to Corey. I noticed that Corey omitted any report on the peanut butter and jelly business. He did talk about school. Then he asked about Dana. If she was better yet. He sounded disap~pointed when Dad said she wasn’t.
Then it was Brett’s turn. He had already been listening to all the other conversations, so he didn’t even ask about Dana. In fact, he didn’t talk much at all. Just answered Dad’s questions. Grandma took the phone again, and I turned and headed off to bed.
But I couldn’t go to sleep. It seemed so strange to look across the room and see Dana’s empty bed. I could hardly wait till they were all home again and things could get back to normal. I loved my Grandma Walsh and was thankful that she was there to take care of us, but it sure wasn’t the same as having the family all together.
In the morning I still felt listless and ill at ease. Without Mom and Dad to make sure we kept up on the daily routine, it was easy to let things slide. Brett had already decided that the trash could wait another day, and I noticed Corey hadn’t bothered to make his bed yesterday or this morning. Grandma hardly ever went upstairs, so there was little chance that she’d ever notice.
Strangely, I found that I had wandered to the piano and had taken a seat on the bench. I’d been brooding about Dana, and somehow I seemed closer to her there. Before I realized it, I was practicing. Not necessarily the assigned songs, but at least some of the ones I enjoyed. I even liked the sound of the scales, because it brought a little of the feeling that Dana was home again—the Dana we all used to know.
Before long the half hour had passed, and Grandma called that the school bus would be arriving. I gathered my school books and went to hurry Corey. Brett had already left.
It wasn’t until I was seated on the bus that my mind began to plot. If I worked especially hard the next day, I could probably play the recital piece I’d been assigned weeks ago for Dana when she got home. She’d often chided me about not taking my piano seriously, and I was pretty sure it would make her proud to hear that I’d been serious for her sake. It was about the only thing I could think to do as a gift for her. So I determined that I would be ready.
When my parents finally returned with Dana, none of us could greet them with the usual excitement. We had already heard the diagnosis, and it had been grim. Mom walked Dana slowly in and got her seated at the kitchen table as Dad retrieved their luggage. We spoke of daily things, and Mom asked questions about how we’d done in their absence, but none of us really paid much attention to the conversation. I was watching Dana’s face, wishing there was something I could say to her. It didn’t seem the least bit appropriate to bring up the recital piece now.
There was little that I understood about the medical jargon Dad had reported over the phone. Many of the words I hadn’t understood at all. The only one I had even heard before had been “leukemia,” and it had an eerie sound. I had never known anyone with that disease. Somehow, it seemed even more frightening than lupus had. At least the expressions on the faces of people who were
old enough to understand had given that impression.
I’m sure Dana was scared too, but she had become difficult to read. She didn’t say much, and she looked even paler than when she had left. I decided to save my questions until we were alone in our room.
When we retired that night, I mentally fumbled through the questions I wished to ask. Dana hadn’t seemed anxious to discuss her experiences earlier, but I hoped to be able to coax her to open up a little to me.
I dropped down beside her bed, where she was already resting, and leaned against it. “Want to talk about it?”
“Okay.” Her eyes looked a little pathetic as she said, “I guess I don’t mind.” It took her some time to gather herself and continue. “It was really scary. There were so many doctors and so much that I didn’t understand. Once my blood tests came back, I guess everybody realized it wasn’t lupus. That I had leukemia. I really didn’t want to ask what that meant. I don’t know much. But it’s bad, Erin. It’s really bad.” She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a while.
“The worst thing was how much blood they took,” she finally continued. “I thought I wouldn’t have any left by the time I got home. Just look at my arms.” She drew them from under the covers and showed me the marks where the needles had gone in.
