by Janette Oke
“Did it hurt?” My eyes were welling up with tears.
Dana nodded. “Every time. I tried not to think about it, but it was hard. I had to stay in the hospital too. Mom and Daddy had thought we could all stay in the hotel together and just go back and forth from the hospital, but the doctors said they wanted to monitor what I was eating and begin records of my other statistics, so they had to admit me.” It was strange to hear her use medical terms. It didn’t sound at all like the words that should have been coming from Dana.
“I felt like a lab rat, the way they poked at me and did things without even asking if they could, or even telling me what they were doing. And it was even worse when they tried to make me laugh. I never felt like laughing—not once—the whole time I was there. And it was awkward to have someone trying to make me.
“It was so much worse when Mom and Daddy weren’t there. At least they didn’t leave very often. I think they had to go talk to the doctors sometimes. But they even took turns staying with me at night just so I wouldn’t have to be alone. Erin, I don’t think I could have slept at all if I’d had to spend a night there alone.”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry.
“There was one needle—you just wouldn’t believe how long it was. They put me out before they stuck it in me, but I saw it before I fell asleep. They stuck it all the way into my hipbone. It still hurt when I woke up. And I just hung on to Mom and cried. I know that sounds like I was a baby, but that was one time I just lost it.”
We were both crying now. I wished with all my heart that I could do something—anything—to make it easier for Dana.
“But I don’t understand. How come they were wrong? They thought you had that other thing—lupus,” I finally managed to ask.
“I don’t know. I don’t think anybody knows for sure. My lab tests might have been wrong. It’s even possible that the lupus turned into leukemia, or something like that. I didn’t ask many questions about that because it doesn’t really matter. I’ve got this for sure.
“They’ve started me on some different medicine. One makes me very nauseated. And my nosebleeds are even worse at night now. I wake up and can hardly breathe. And the aching is even worse. Sometimes I hurt so bad I can’t sleep. Pretty soon I’ll have to go back to a specialist and start chemotherapy. I hate that. From what Dr. Rutherford described, it’s just awful. They inject stuff into me that kills all the cells in my body that make new cells quickly. But it doesn’t just kill the bad cells. It also kills cells in my stomach, and my mouth. Dr. Rutherford said it would make me nauseous and I’d probably get mouth sores and stuff. I’ll have to go to a different hospital a long way from here, and I’ll have to go back three times a week for five or six weeks.” Her voice took on a strange pitch. “Erin, they told me my hair might fall out.”
All I could do was stare at her in horror. Dana’s beautiful hair! I couldn’t even imagine her without it.
Word must have gotten around quickly, for we soon started to get plenty of phone calls. Then Pastor Dawson came to visit, and he looked very somber, not even attempting to tease Corey like he normally did. The next thing I knew I was opening the door to casseroles and loaf cakes. That scared me even more. That was usually what Mom did when someone in a family had died. I kept thinking about what Dana had whispered across the room that night in the dark … about dying. It had sounded preposterous then. Now it took mental effort to keep it out of mind.
Next our youth pastor came and talked to my folks. He said that the youth of the church were remembering Dana in prayer. I heard them discussing the details of Dana’s situation and then, for the first time, heard them use the word “cancer.” Surely leukemia wasn’t the same thing as cancer. I knew about cancer. Trisha Morgan’s grandma had died from it. So had Mr. Perkins, my sixth-grade science teacher, and Jessie Landry, who had been only in her thirties at the time. If everyone had exclaimed over and over that Mrs. Landry had been so young to have fallen prey to this disease, how could cancer possibly have touched Dana? Cancer was a frightening word—far worse to me than leukemia.
“But God can do wondrous things,” I heard over and over, “and these days treatments are curing many children with leukemia.” I clung to that … with my whole heart. We just had to pray. I started praying even more and more fervently. I begged God to make Dana better—and by the end of basketball season in February too. It looked as though we might make the finals. I was sure she’d want to see the playoffs. Why not pray for that? God could do it. This time, I was determined to believe hard enough. No more vague prayers. I was ready to be specific. If God commended the friends who had carried the paralytic man to Jesus and then ripped off a roof just to get them together, then I would do the same for Dana—figuratively speaking. If prayer was what was lacking, I would pray like I’d never prayed before.
I secretly hoped that we’d waken one morning to see her bouncing through the house as she used to do—completely restored. But, in the meantime, the treatments proceeded. Mom and Dad were talking to doctors again, and Dad was searching the Internet to discover as much information as he could about Dana’s condition and the medical procedures that would follow.
“Well, you know they’ve made considerable advances in chemotherapy. And the new drugs can counteract many of the side effects,” I heard Mom say to Mrs. Ramsay, the prayer coordinator, who was calling again for an update. “I’m told that it’s not as bad as it used to be.”
I listened while I unloaded the dishwasher. Mrs. Ramsay must have been talking, because Mom was listening and saying, “Uh huh,” and periodically nodding. Mrs. Ramsay was a nurse. I figured she probably knew much more about this than Mom. “Well, yes. They do. Yes. They can. … We realize that they can go further if they need to, but we’re praying that the chemo will be all that’s necessary. Sometimes it is … yes. She’s to start the first series next week. The sooner the better, of course.” Mom looked spent, but she labored through the conversation dutifully. “No, we’re not looking forward to it, but it’s certainly better to be able to begin some type of treatment. … I don’t know if Dana really knows what to expect. The doctor said they’d talk to her on the first visit. … Yes … I’m dreading it. … Well, thank you.” Mom wiped a tear and drew the conversation to a close. “We’re really learning again how important it is to be part of the church family. It’s so good to know that folks are praying. We need your prayers. Yes … thank you. We appreciate it so much. Yes … we’ll keep you informed. Bye now.”
When Mom finally hung up and turned from the phone, I saw that she was still blinking back tears. The feeling I’d had the night Dana and I talked together in our room had returned. Now Mom’s broken conversation gave me the added fear that the treatment might not even work—that it might be necessary to do more than that. How could that be? Medical therapies were supposed to fix things. Mom and Dad had been so anxious to discover what was wrong with Dana so it could be fixed. Well … it had a name now, and there were treatments for it. If the doctors couldn’t fix it, then I was dubious that all this medicine and chemotherapy were God’s answer after all.
Dad spent a lot of time checking e-mail. He and Grandpa Tyler, who had already left for Bolivia again, seemed to be sending daily messages back and forth. The worry lines on Dad’s brow were never completely absent anymore, but they were even more pronounced when he thought no one was looking.
I’d seen it happen. Once I went to his office just after he had an e-mail conversation with Grandpa. He didn’t know I was there. He was sitting, his head down, his eyes shut and his hand rubbing back and forth over the nape of his neck. He looked so tired. And so old. I just stood and stared at him, and wondered if this was how Grandpa Walsh looked before his heart quit and he died. The thought sent cold chills through me.
Dad must have sensed there was someone in the room, and he opened his eyes. As soon as he saw me, he straightened in his chair and managed a smile. But the old look didn’t really leave his eyes, even though
he tried to be normal.
“So … how’s basketball?” he asked. I knew he was trying to make me forget what I had just seen.
I went along, pretending that I might have just entered the room. “Fine,” I said, attempting to make my voice sound light. But it really didn’t work well. I was glad when the pretend conversation didn’t last long, so I could leave the room. I had forgotten what had brought me there in the first place.
Chapter Ten
Corey got the sniffles. It wasn’t really surprising, since many of his schoolmates—including Rayna, whom he always sat with on the bus—had been home with colds. The cold symptoms were hardly noticeable at first, but soon he was sneezing and dripping. Normally sniffles didn’t throw our household into panic. They came—and eventually went. But that was before Dana’s problems. Now we were all concerned. Dr. Rutherford had warned that if Dana picked up any type of sickness before her treatment began, they might be forced to delay the entire procedure. There had been a discussion between Grandma and my parents as to whether or not we kids should be around Dana. Grandma maintained that it was better to keep us apart, but I don’t think Mom had the heart to impose quarantine. I’m sure she thought it really wouldn’t be good for Dana or the rest of us.
The time leading up to the treatment had been spent focusing on cleanliness and sanitation. Our house took on the strange smell that I associated with a hospital ward from my trip in to see Mom when Corey was born. It was rather a strong medicinal odor that I didn’t like. We washed our hands so often that mine began to chap and bleed. Every time I caught the basketball the chapped places on the backs of my hands smarted. I tried not to resent it, but, I had to admit, it was very difficult. Especially since Dana seemed closed off again. She kept herself distant and guarded, even when we were alone. I wondered if it was because she was afraid. But I didn’t ask. I just hoped she’d let me know when she was ready to talk.
Instead, I stumbled through halfhearted conversations about unimportant things in an effort to cover up my feelings of discomfort. It seemed to help her relax a little when I talked about homework deadlines and team stats. I knew she couldn’t really be interested, but she responded best to those everyday events. It made me feel cold and unsympathetic, though. Here she was, battling serious medical problems, and I could only offer my complaints about a difficult term paper that was coming due.
Now, after all the efforts we’d made to keep her from catching anything, Corey had brought home that cold virus. And of course it wasn’t long until Dana picked it up. Dad called Dr. Harrigan at the cancer treatment center to let him know, and he advised that the treatment be postponed. It was a momentous setback. Dr. Harrigan also cautioned that Mom keep a close eye on Dana’s temperature. We would know soon enough if the bug had overcome Dana’s collapsing immune system.
By Wednesday, her temperature had begun to spike. Mom insisted that Dad take the rest of us to the usual family activity night at the church, but we weren’t really interested. We only went because it seemed to ease Mom’s mind somehow. Maybe the normalcy of it.
It was a very quiet ride, until Corey broke the silence. The rest of us had been so lost in our own thoughts that we hadn’t realized how pensive he’d become in the last few days.
“Daddy, I’m sorry.”
Dad turned to him, puzzled. “What do you mean, son?”
“That I made Dana sick. I’m sorry.” His lip quivered a little.
“Corey, did you think it was your fault?” Daddy sounded shocked. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault. There was nothing you could do.”
“Maybe I shoulda washed my hands again. But, Daddy, I didn’t even see the bug.” He was crying now, and I think Dad was too, because he coasted to the side of the road and stopped the car. Through my own tears, I could see him pull Corey to him and hold him for the longest time. Even Brett began to sniffle.
It was then that I made my decision. There were so many people watching out for Dana. There were doctors, nurses, parents, and grandparents. But Corey had been overlooked for a long time—though no one had meant to do so. I decided that I would be the one to look after him. Never again would I allow my little brother to be alone and scared and feeling guilty about things he didn’t even understand or couldn’t help. Dana wasn’t talking much anyway, so I’d concentrate my energy on Corey, who had in his own way become a victim of this sickness too.
After that Dad allowed me to take Corey along wherever I went, and he became somewhat of an amusement to my friends. His vivacious personality made everyone fuss over him. He found himself once more in the familiar role as the center of attention.
Brett had picked up on my technique too. He often asked Corey if he’d like to go for a ride, and together they would be gone for long hours at a time. We weren’t sure what it was they found to do with themselves, but we were certain that anything was better for Corey than to stay in our house with Dana’s illness pressing down on it.
The first week of Dana’s bout with the cold virus turned into two. She was now sleeping in the empty guest room, and she hardly left the room. I was able to sleep through most of the nighttime activity, but Mom must have slept very little. Just as it looked as if Dana was recovering from her cold symptoms, Mom made a gruesome discovery. One day, after Dana had complained of pain, Mom found that Dana had developed an infection deep under the skin of her upper right arm. It had set in quickly and was now swollen and painful. Mom tried to treat it and then wrap it protectively so that it would cause as little pain as possible, but it pressed against the bed as Dana lay on her back and throbbed when she tried to raise her arm.
Dana did not describe to me what she was going through. She may have confided in Mom, but she certainly shared her struggle with no one else. I was sure if I were in Dana’s place, I would have verbalized more—probably complained more—but then there had always been a marked difference between the two of us.
Sometimes it actually made me angry that she was being a martyr and suffering in silence. Then I was dis~gusted that I’d allowed myself such selfish thoughts when I considered all that she was going through. I felt like an emotional Ping-Pong ball, my feelings shooting off in one direction and then ricocheting to the exact opposite, seeming to become even more chaotic with every turn.
I had almost convinced myself it would be easier to bear if Dana could just seem real again—if she could allow herself to cry or scream and fight. At least I’d feel like she was still a person. Then I heard her groan while Mom was redoing the bandages on her arm, and I had to flee from the room, even stepping outdoors to escape the thought of her pain. It was almost too much to bear.
Finally, the cold and the infection seemed to have receded, and Dad called Dr. Harrigan back to set a new date for the treatment. Dana had weakened, but she claimed to be anxious to proceed. Mom, on the other hand, looked haggard and tired as she struggled to keep up with everything.
She seemed only too willing to let Dad make the arrangements with the doctor. She no longer hovered at his elbow, straining to hear every word that was said. Maybe she was just afraid that something would happen to upset the plans again. Every day of delayed treatment made Dana’s situation more precarious.
Dad finished his calls and entered the kitchen. He stood stiffly by the door as if he were gathering courage to speak. “She can begin treatments next Tuesday,” he said, looking over at Mom. “We’ll need to check her into the cancer treatment center on Monday night—so long as she doesn’t have another setback. But it’s a long drive, so we’ll have to leave pretty early.”
Mom silently dropped into a kitchen chair. To the rest of us, it meant that the treatments would finally proceed. To Mom, it no doubt also meant that she would need to begin again the extensive and tedious process of trying to make sure nothing happened to change the new schedule.
“Angela.” Dad’s voice was tight, and he didn’t look up as he spoke. The expression on his face was one I hadn’t seen before. “I’ve made arrangements for you t
o spend some time at a hotel.”
“That’s fine. Will it be the same one as last time?” Mom was clearly not comprehending Dad’s meaning.
He took another deep breath, then continued, emphasizing each word. “For you. Alone. Now.”
“Mother can’t manage—”
“Mrs. Ramsay will be here tomorrow morning. She’s a nurse, so there’s no reason she isn’t qualified to care for Dana while you’re gone. And this time I’m insisting that you go. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Her head came up and her eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve told you repeatedly that you need to take a few days off and get some rest if you expect to be able to continue to help Dana. She’ll need you next week even more than she needs you now. You just can’t keep up this pace. You absolutely cannot.”
A flush crept over Mom’s countenance that I recognized as anger, and I was suddenly afraid. “You know I don’t have a choice.” She said the words one at a time, as if she were trying to strike Dad with them.
“No. I’m not giving you a choice. I’m insisting—and I’ve already called Deb Ward to pick you up at nine-thirty in the morning. Your bag is packed and you’re ready to go. If you back out this time, you’ll have to explain it to Deb in the morning.”
Dad held his ground, deliberately using Mom’s friend as leverage. That was a tactic I had never seen used in my household before. We’d always considered family privacy to be a virtue. Nor had I heard Dad openly confront Mom in such a manner—and seen her flash of anger in return. I’d never witnessed a fight before—not like I was seeing now.
I grabbed Corey’s hand and hurried him out. There was anger—cold and hard—in the room. I didn’t care how it would end, but I didn’t want to be there. In my fear and frustration, I even hoped that she would go away. That she’d take the ugly expression she had allowed to mar her face and go far away from me—and Corey. And she could take Dana too, for all I cared. We would be better off without them. Maybe then things could return to normal.
