by Ami LeCoeur
And, I thought, catching my breath, I would never have met Thompson.
I shook my head. That would truly be a tragedy.
I sighed, setting the now-framed paintings aside, happy with the way they’d come out.
I turned my attention away from Antonio—and Thompson—and focused on the order Gregory requested for my new lease client. Who would have thought that I could make a living leasing my paintings as decor for offices and professional buildings? And because I still owned the paintings, I could do it over and over and over again. Until or unless they sold. This would be my first new client since the Lakeside Gallery showing - thanks again, to Antonio! - and I suddenly felt as though I was on my way to having a successful business. And true independence.
With Gregory’s excellent help, and his contacts as curator of the gallery, I was pretty certain I could turn my love of painting into something that could sustain me.
I sighed again, looking at all the paintings still stacked against the wall. I had promised myself to get them better organized, but so far I hadn’t figured out a way to manage them effectively. If I didn’t do something soon, I would never be able to keep up with the business end, let alone the creative end of my new enterprise.
My phone buzzed and I reached into the pouch on my chair, glad I’d remembered to return it to where it belonged.
“Good morning.” I glanced at the phone, but didn’t recognize the number.
“Ms. Tilson?”
“Yes.” I didn’t recognize the voice on the other end either.
“This is Dr. Quesh’s office. We have an unexpected opening tomorrow at ten a.m. Would it be possible for you to come into our office to begin scheduling for the next round of tests and evaluation?”
A strange combination of excitement and dread washed over me, sending shivers down my shoulders.
On the one hand, I was anxious to start the process towards having the use of my legs. But I was also worried the doctors would tell me they couldn’t do anything. And that would dash all my hopes. So long as I’d been able to put off the full evaluation, I could keep my hope alive. Once they start the really complicated stuff, my options will begin to narrow down - substantially.
In my heart I knew I’d be able to walk again—someday. But it hadn’t been all that long since I’d fully reconciled to being in my wheelchair, and being willing to face the rest of my life from here. Maybe that was it—I was just feeling like it was too soon to have hopes of things changing—again. The chair had become a kind of protection for me. Then again, maybe that was a danger signal that I was willing to just sit back and let circumstances take over? God, I hated my ambivalence!
“Yes, I think that’ll work,” I told the receptionist, shaking off my internal dialogue. “Just let me make sure my ride is available. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m sure.” Amazing how many things can go through your mind in an instant, I thought as I hung up the phone. And how quickly a simple phone call could shift everything.
###
“Hello, Miss Maria. And how are you doing this lovely morning?” came Thompson’s quiet voice from the speaker against my ear. My tummy took a funny little jump at hearing his deep voice, and even the “Miss Maria” gave me a grin. He was obviously going to continue teasing me.
“Very well, Mister Thompson. I’m doing very well, thank you. And isn’t that Dr. Maria to you?” I responded, the slightest touch of formality in my own teasing voice. Then I giggled, spoiling it all, but I couldn’t help it. “I know we have a meeting scheduled tomorrow afternoon with the publisher, but I need a ride in the morning. To a real doctor as it turns out. Are you available?”
“Good thing the Boss is away. Otherwise you might cost me my job.”
“Don’t forget who he’s away with,” I laughed. “I hardly think you have to worry. Besides, didn’t he offer up your services to me?”
“Hmmm, yes. My ‘services’. Now, that’s a fairly broad offer. I’m wondering just what he might have been referring to. Surely not just for me to chauffeur you around? My menu of services is much more expansive than that.”
His voice had grown deeper, grittier; a low rumble that caused my belly to twist. The obvious flirtation stopped me for a moment. Well, yes, I thought, certainly to chauffeuring me around. Then, thinking about his ‘talents’ from the previous evening, and the direction my own thoughts had taken earlier, my heart started to pound and I couldn’t seem to speak at all.
“I could come by and give you another sample,” he suggested. “Or maybe we could examine my expanded menu…”
His comment took my breath away. I looked around my tiny living room, trying to get my bearings back. I wasn’t sure what it was about this guy, but suddenly I was no longer the one in control. I absentmindedly smoothed my pants with my free hand, trying to come up with something flip without sounding totally stupid.
“That might be a little dangerous,” I managed. “I have things to do this afternoon. Other things...” I finished weakly.
His voice changed in an instant, back to the more typical Thompson I was used to. “Fair enough. Rain check then,” he laughed, and I took a deep breath of relief, feeling like a silly schoolgirl.
“And tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, of course. Tomorrow is fine.”
Silence on the other end.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what?” I asked.
“For being you.”
I smiled.
His voice deepened again, barely above a whisper. Pulling me closer to the phone. “For letting me talk.”
I narrowed my eyes and shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me.
“It was nothing...” I started, my voice lowered too, matching his pitch, dancing with his tone.
“It was more than you know,” came the reply, tinged with just the slightest touch of irony.
Yeah, for me too. I’d learned some surprising and unexpectedly disturbing things about Thompson as a result of letting him talk, of insisting that he talk.
“My pleasure,” I responded. That brought a laugh.
“That’s what I mean... about you being you.”
I smiled again. It was nice to be appreciated—by someone other than my sister.
“Yeah, I like being with you, too.”
“Thank you,” he said again, just as quietly. “Are you up for a day out this weekend, with Em?”
Emily! “Of course! Did you make up with the ex?”
“No, nothing so simple - or so complicated.” His voice had taken on that growling quality again. “It’s my weekend, though, and there’s not much she can do about that.”
I decided to leave well enough alone. “Do you have something specific in mind? Or just a get-together day?”
“Mmmm, you decide. You two seem to be on the same wavelength.”
“Okay, this will be Emily’s weekend. It’s my turn to come up with a surprise.”
Chapter 8 — Maria
“All settled?” Thompson asked, slipping into the driver’s side of his Suburban, the car he drove when not behind the wheel of Antonio’s limo. I liked this better, sitting beside him instead of in the back, seeing the world in front of me. The limo was luxurious, of course, but… I glanced over at Thompson’s rugged profile… the view was better up here.
Pulling away from the curb, he asked, “How did it go, Miss Maria?”
He was still calling me Miss Maria. After everything we’d shared over the past twenty-four hours?
Suddenly I felt exhausted. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I’d been a intrigued and worried about what the doctor would tell me - and not just because it was a lot of medical jargon. After the accident, I’d done my own research to better understand what had happened to me. Then, recently when they offered me the opportunity for what had been explained to me from the beginning as being experimental surgery, or, more precisely, an experimental process, I’d spent hours online tracking down the current research.
>
I understood what stem cells were, and that some people felt they were still pretty controversial. In essence, they were little more than healthy new cells like the kind the body has when it first begins to develop. The controversy was more about which cells were used and how they were obtained.
There’d been an undercurrent of excitement as the people in the office talked about the possibilities. Certainly they knew more than I did, and I’m sure they were excited to be part of this leading edge procedure. But at the same time, it made me feel like I was in a science fiction movie. Or some kind of futuristic scenario, anyway. Maria the Human Guinea Pig! Probably not a best seller.
“Well, it wasn’t like anything I had expected,” I said, looking out the side window. What was it that I’d expected? I really didn’t know. Actually, I had no way of knowing. This whole thing was more than just experimental, and I’d only just been through the first of what I now understood would be many visits.
“Care to enlighten me?” he asked.
I stared down at my hands, realizing that I’d twisted my skirt into a knot. I released it, smoothing out the fabric, almost absently. I took a deep breath and looked back over at his profile.
I was grateful to have his ‘services’ as my personal chauffeur. And even more grateful that we had begun to actually discuss things that brought us closer. But I’d never spoken with him about my accident, so I was more than just a bit nervous about bringing it up.
“Well, you know it’s experimental,” I started. “No one really knows what to expect, least of all me.”
“I imagine that’s pretty scary,” came his reply.
If you only knew. An involuntary shiver ran down my spine. Just thinking about everything - the past, my present, the promise of the future - I took a deep breath, willing my mind to shut up, and pushed past my anxiety and the weighty ambivalence.
“I was unconscious for several days after my accident. I didn’t even know that my mother... was dead. Angela was the one who had to tell me. Not only about the loss of my mom, but the loss of my legs, also.” I stared out through the window for a moment, turning back to see him glancing at me from the corner of his eyes, almost like he was giving me some measure of privacy as he kept his face turned towards the road.
“I never, in a million years, expected to be able to walk again. So, of course this comes at a huge price for me, emotionally.”
After everything we’d been through the last couple days, it seemed fitting and even necessary that I share my own past with Thompson - including the tragedy of losing my mom and my continuing fears—just as he’d done with me.
“Must have been tough,” he said softly.
“It changed everything.” I tried not to let the knot in my chest restrict my breathing. I could think about it now without falling into total dismay, but it still brought a lump to my throat, remembering the loss. Remembering… everything.
“And now you have a new opportunity. Something to look forward to.”
“Or to dread.” My hands were all clammy again, so I carefully wiped them on my skirt, pretending to smooth it. No matter what kind of pep talk I gave myself, I just couldn’t shake the idea that maybe none of it would work. And then, I would have gotten all my hopes up—maybe even gone through who knows what other kinds of poking and prodding—for no reason at all.
“Well, I guess there’s that also.” Then he laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You are. You’re so upbeat with everyone else, but not necessarily for yourself. Especially with this wonderful new opportunity. If it was for anyone else, you’d be cheering them on, assuring them of how great it was all going to turn out.”
I’d never thought of myself as being ‘upbeat’, but I do try to look for the best of any situation. Maybe this was just too close for me. Certainly I was afraid. I didn’t want to be, and I didn’t mean to be, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking, What if it doesn’t work? Somewhere in the back of my brain, there was an even more sinister voice asking, What if it does? Who would you have to become, now, if you were fully healed?
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, going back over what had happened in the doctor’s office, looking for any concrete indication of what might be in store in the future.
The receptionist had been very kind to me, helping me into the office and through the labyrinth of rooms. The examination room we ended up in looked like any other examination room, except that there was a small desk to the side, with the computer sitting on top.
“Hello. Miss Tilson? I’m Peggy, Dr. Quesh’s Nurse Practitioner. I’m here to gather some additional information and schedule your next several appointments for you.”
Just sitting there, my hands had been so sweaty. I’d done my best to answer her questions and listen to everything she had to say.
“I’m also here to answer questions and explain anything that doesn’t make sense to you.”
“Then we might end up being here awhile,” I said and laughed nervously. “This is all so new to me. I mean, after the accident and the physical therapy, I was told I’d never walk again. You can imagine my surprise and excitement about all this.” And my nervousness.
Her gentle smile relaxed me a little. “Researchers from around the world are looking to stem cell application as a way to help bring patients with spinal cord injuries—SCIs—back into mobility and sensory control. Obviously we’re hoping for full mobility eventually...”
“...but anything you can do for us in the meantime will be an improvement,” I interrupted.
“Exactly.”
“Isn’t there controversy surrounding stem cells?” I had heard about people being up in arms about using the cells of fetuses, and as much as I wanted to walk again, I wasn’t sure if this was something I was willing to participate in if it meant being involved in something controversial.
“Well, yes. There was an outcry at one time about people getting pregnant just to create the cells needed for surgical procedures, but stem cells are simply special regenerative cells, and truthfully, the body is constantly regenerating itself. What makes stem cells so attractive is that they are able to differentiate into many different kinds of cells. Thus, the use of fetal cells, where the cells are still in the very early stages of dividing and developing, was seen, at that time, as ideal.”
“If somewhat controversial,” I couldn’t help responding.
She smiled again. “I don’t mean to minimize your concerns, but research has come a long way, and we’ve discovered other viable and less controversial sources and methods than were used in the original stem cell research. Researchers today are looking not only at embryonic cells, but also at stem cells from umbilical cords, bone marrow, brain tissue, the lining of the nasal cavity and even cells in tooth pulp.”
She looked down at my chart. “Did anyone explain what happened when you had that first spinal injury from the automobile accident?”
“They did, but it was pretty much a blur.” I shook my head. “They said most spinal injuries are the result of traffic accidents or sports-related injuries, and that I have a compression of the vertebrae in my spine. But ever since the doctor brought up the possibility of this new procedure, I’ve been doing my own research. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have a lot of pain. Unless I do something stupid like falling down steps.”
She nodded. “Well, your fall is what brought you to our attention in the first place, and luckily it didn’t create any further issues. It might be useful for you to understand what happened with that first accident, so you can see how the therapy could help.”
Peggy pulled out a folder, opened it to the image of the skeletal system and continued, “Anytime there is an injury or trauma, your body immediately goes to work to protect the injured area. That’s normal and natural. That’s why you get a bruise when you bump into something—the blood rushes to the area to protect the damaged cells. Unfortunately, with SCIs, that prote
ctive action by the body is part of what creates further problems. In its attempt to isolate and thus protect the injury, the body redirects the normal cellular processes to areas that are not damaged. And in these cases, by doing so, it actually inhibits its own ability to repair the damage. The injured area, being isolated, doesn’t get the opportunity to regenerate.”
She looked up at me and paused, her head tilted in a ‘you following so far?’ gesture. I swallowed, looked up at her and said, “Our bodies are incredible in how they work, and don’t work, at times.”
Peggy smiled. “Yes, very much so.” She pointed at the spinal cord of the skeleton again and went on. “The goal with stem cell therapy is to repopulate the areas of damage that result from spinal cord injuries. By using cells that can differentiate into other types of cells, this should help the body repair the damage in the area of the injury. At least, that’s the working theory—that the stem cells will differentiate into the types of cells that can bridge the gaps that are created by an SCI injury. In other words, they will replace lost cells and create an environment where the neurons can repair themselves. If we’re successful, over time this should improve your ability to move as well as to feel. Our best hope is that you will become fully functional again.”
Once again, I thought about everything her words had implied: Fully functional! Walking. Dancing. Climbing a tree. The swell of hope blossomed in my chest, crowding out my breathing, making it more shallow. Making love. Having sex while standing under a waterfall. Fantasies I hadn’t dared to see as anything other than a fairy tale.
“So far the studies have mostly involved animals,” she’d continued. “But now we’re moving into clinical trials with humans, and the preliminary results look really good.”
I’d laughed. “So I’m a kind of guinea pig.”
“Kind of. You aren’t the first to undergo this treatment though. There was a very successful study recently in New Jersey. In the program, people were given injections of stem cells obtained from their own bone marrow at the injury site, along with continued physical therapy. Everyone who received the combined stem cell and physical therapy had positive improvement, including muscle strength. At the end of the eighteen months, nearly half of the patients had significant improvement in mobility, and some were even able to walk with assistance.”
