The Healing Place

by Leigh Bale

Quietly listening to this conversation, Mark shifted his weight and set Angie’s MRIs on the counter as he signed in on the clipboard kept by the front desk. Angie sidled closer to his leg, slipping her hand into his. She’d pulled her flowered hat low around her ears, self-conscious of her bald head.

  Tom slapped the newspaper against his thigh. “I’ve worked here almost two years and we’ve never had an office party. Have you ever seen Dr. Shields like this?”

  They were talking about Emma again. For some reason, it made Mark angry and defensive. He didn’t like them talking behind Emma’s back, and yet this was good news he heard.

  “Nope.” Darcy looked pointedly toward Emma’s office door, which was closed. “What do you think made the difference?”

  Tom laughed and wiped his hands down the front of his blue smock. “Maybe she’s got a new boyfriend. I hope he sticks around for a long time.”

  A boyfriend? He didn’t think so. Emma would have mentioned it to him.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Somehow their souls connected in a way he couldn’t explain. He missed her and wished she could spend more time with him and Angie.

  If he got close to her, would she hurt him? He couldn’t stand another failed relationship. Losing her mother had been hard on Angie and he wouldn’t bring another woman into her life to abandon her again at the first sign of trouble.

  “I hope she does have a boyfriend. It’ll take her mind off us,” Darcy said.

  Tom grinned. “Well, I guess now we’ll have to call her something besides The Ogre.”

  Mark opened his mouth, prepared to let them know what he thought of their name-calling. Emma deserved better than this and he—

  “How about calling her the Boss? Remember, she signs your checks.” Sonja caught them off guard when she came from the supply room carrying boxes of syringes and cotton balls. She stood in the doorway of the break room and flashed them a stern look, her voice filled with warning.

  “Sorry, Sonja,” Darcy said. “We didn’t mean any harm. We really appreciate the changes Dr. Shields has made. She’s just so different lately.”

  “I’m glad you’ve noticed, now get back to work,” Sonja said.

  Darcy walked out of the break room and returned to her desk where she started tapping away on her keyboard. A satisfied smile curved Tom’s lips as he also exited the break room and whistled his way down the hall.

  Seeing Angie, Sonja bent at the waist so she could greet the child at eye level. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

  Angie nodded but kept her cheek pressed against Mark’s thigh, no sparkle in her hollow eyes. “Fine.”

  “Good. Have you got your EMLA patch on?”

  Angie nodded and pressed her hand to her chest. “Yep, Daddy put it on for me.”

  “Okay, let’s wait for Mrs. Valdez to get here and then I’ll take you down the hall.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Valdez entered the reception room a few minutes later and Angie’s eyes brightened as she hurried over to take Mrs. Valdez’s hand. As usual, no words were needed between these two kindred spirits.

  Mrs. Valdez had lost substantial weight, her intense chemo protocol taking its toll on her body. Angie didn’t seem to notice.

  “Okay, let’s get started.” Sonja led them all into the treatment room.

  As was his routine, Mark translated for Sonja and she got Mrs. Valdez set up with an IV drip.

  Angie stayed close by, holding Mrs. Valdez’s free hand, patting the woman’s shoulder now and then.

  “Okay, Angie, let me go get your injection, and I’ll be right back,” Sonja said as she left the room.

  When Emma poked her head around the door, Mark looked up. Dressed in a light pink skirt and white blouse with purple and yellow pansies embroidered along the collar, she wore her hair long and curling against the top of her shoulders. What a change. Where was the stern hairstyle and clothing? Without the severe clip at the back of her neck, she looked stunning. He was half tempted to invite her to the movies Friday night.

  He noticed tenderness filled Emma’s eyes as she stared at Angie and Mrs. Valdez. “So, how are my two favorite patients?”

  Her gaze swerved over to Mark and suddenly a veil dropped over her eyes. The cold, professional doctor had returned. And yet, when they’d gone shopping together and she’d come to his house for dinner, he’d felt a strong connection with her. Had he only imagined it?

  “Okay, Angie, we’re ready for you,” she called.

  “Ah, do I have’ta?” Angie groaned.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, champ,” Mark said.

  Careful not to bump the IV in Mrs. Valdez’s arm, Angie slid off the woman’s lap and walked over to Emma. Mark picked up the packet of MRIs and followed as the doctor led them down the hall.

  Inside the examination room, Angie lay back against the pillow on the couch and stared at the wall. Sonja came in and administered the injection. When Sonja asked Angie to pick a toy out of her special stash, Angie refused.

  “No, thank you.” Her voice sounded small.

  Sonja’s brows lifted in surprise. “You don’t want anything today? But I’ve got some new coloring books.”

  Angie shook her head and looked away.

  “Why so gloomy?” Emma asked.

  Mark handed the large packet of MRI scans to Emma. She held them dumbly, wondering what he wanted her to do with them.

  “Angie’s been on the chemo for two months and there’s no shrinkage of the tumor.” His gaze didn’t meet Emma’s. “The neurosurgeon was disappointed.”

  So was Mark, if Emma read the concern in his eyes correctly. She hoped he didn’t blame her for the lack of shrinkage. She had explicitly followed the protocol given to her by the doctors at U.C.S.F., yet she felt responsible. Her ex-husband’s accusations jangled inside her mind and she dreaded hearing the same from Mark.

  Emma pulled out the scans, holding them up to the overhead lighting. She never looked at MRI scans for her other patients. That was the neurosurgeon’s job. This time, she had to see for herself.

  “Scan after scan shows no change.” Mark stood close beside her, pointing at the hazy-white tumor, which was big as a plump grape. The tumor was not very large when compared to fruit, but when it was inside a child’s head, it was enormous and deadly.

  “Has the neurosurgeon said there’s been more growth?” Emma asked.

  His nearness caused her heart to hammer against her chest.

  Mark shook his head as he stared at Angie’s hands folded in her lap. The child stared at the wall. “No, thank goodness. No growth, no shrinkage. We’re at a standstill.”

  He stepped back and Emma breathed with relief, hardly able to think with him standing so close.

  “Well, that’s a good sign. We’ve stopped the growth. Now, we just need time to back it up and shrink the tumor.”

  She spoke in a confident tone, but her hands trembled and she found it difficult to respond in a professional manner. She refused to believe Angie would die. God wouldn’t fail her again.

  Or would He?

  “Don’t be discouraged, you two,” she admonished lightly. “We’ve only just begun treatment and it’s quite common this early in the process for there to be no shrinkage. It takes time for the drugs to get through the blood-brain barrier.”

  “Blood-brain barrier?” Mark asked.

  “Yes, it’s the body’s natural defense to keep impurities out of the brain. I think this is a positive sign. We’ve stopped the tumor from growing and now it will start to shrink.”

  A flicker of hope flashed in Mark’s eyes and he blew out a deep huff of air. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that.”

  She already knew. When Brian had been ill, she’d clung to every thread of hope the doctors offered. But how could she encourage this man and his daughter when she herself feared Angie might die? Those were the odds.

  Trust in Me, and I will show you the way.

  The words filled her heart, giving her more confidence. Her fl
edgling faith in God burgeoned like a tiny seed planted in fertile soil. The opposite of faith was worry and she decided to trust in the Lord.

  Just once more.

  “How often is your neurosurgeon requesting MRI’s?” she asked.

  “Twice a month,” Mark replied. “It if starts to shrink, he said we’d go to once a month. Do you really think we just need more time for the tumor to shrink?”

  “Absolutely!” Emma’s voice was filled with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  Never in her career had she ever responded in such a manner. She didn’t want to get sued if the chemo didn’t work. It was almost as if an outside force directed her to speak the words.

  I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.

  She needed to prepare Mark for what could happen when the protocol ended, but she didn’t want to speak so bluntly in front of the child.

  “Angie, why don’t you go with Sonja while I talk to your dad?”

  “Ooo-kay.” Pressing her lips together, Angie slid off the couch and shuffled out the door.

  Emma stared at her clipboard, wondering how to begin.

  “Mark, I think you need to know the most we can expect is a twenty percent shrinkage. And you can expect the tumor to begin growing again within two years after the protocol is completed. Of course, there are exceptions. I’m just telling you the odds.”

  Mark’s face whitened, his words filled with trepidation. “And if it starts to grow again?”

  “We’ll determine how we should proceed when we come to that point. Every child is different. We just don’t know for certain how Angie’s body will react to the treatments. I’m just telling you what happens with the majority of children with this type of tumor.”

  “Will Angie need to have MRI’s the rest of her life?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. The good thing is, if there’s no growth after we shrink the tumor, your neurosurgeon will probably request fewer MRIs. No matter what, Angie will always need an annual MRI, just to keep an eye on what’s happening inside her pretty head.” Emma tried to smile, hoping to alleviate the distress her words caused.

  Her heart went out to Mark. Angie had an illness that would need to be carefully monitored the rest of her life. The sleeping giant in her head could awaken at any time. After the chemotherapy, there could be hormone and kidney damage.

  Emma tried to show a reassuring smile. “Really, you mustn’t be discouraged. Give the protocol time to work. It’s going to be okay.”

  She’d done it again, saying things she shouldn’t. Giving him false hope when she didn’t know for certain what might happen.

  Mark faced Emma and she couldn’t mistake the tone of panic in his voice. “Emma, what if the tumor doesn’t respond to the chemo? What if it starts to grow again?”

  She dreaded this question. If Angie died, he’d blame her, just like David did after Brian died.

  Taking a deep breath, Emma chose her words carefully. “Miracles have been known to happen, and you and Angie are due for a big one.”

  “Yes, but I’m also a realist. God could take her from me, and I don’t know if I can handle that. I can’t lose her—” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “I feel so helpless, Emma.”

  She inhaled a shaky breath and let it go. “Remember what you told me that day we went shopping at the warehouse?”

  “I remember.” His voice sounded hoarse with emotion.

  “Well, if you’re right and God is real, how can you doubt Him? He’s the only one that can save her, Mark. Not me. Not the drugs. Just Him.”

  An invisible energy folded around her, filling her with the courage to believe what she said. She didn’t know why God had taken her precious son from her, or why he allowed tragedies to happen to innocent people, but she realized He wanted her to learn to trust in Him. From His perspective, Brian wasn’t dead. The little boy had returned home.

  Mark’s brow crinkled with thought. “How did you cope with your divorce?”

  The words fell against her heart like a ten ton sledge.

  “I didn’t. David blamed me for—” Her voice broke and she tried again. “David blamed me for so many things, and I blamed myself, too. Looking back at my marriage, I wonder now if David ever loved me at all, or just wanted to marry me because I could get him in doors he couldn’t open on his own. You might say I was his trophy wife.”

  That was the main reason she didn’t want to become involved with Mark. He’d married Denise Johnson for the same reason: because she looked good on his arm. Emma wanted more. She wanted someone to love her for herself, not for prestige or wealth.

  “I came to realize I deserved better than to be married to a man who disliked me,” she said.

  Mark’s quizzical expression showed his confusion. “You’re right about that, Emma. And yet, you still wear his ring. I thought you still loved the guy.”

  “It’s my ‘no pest’ strip.” She gave a shaky laugh. “It keeps men from hitting on me.”

  She had confided much more than she’d intended. A small part of her wished she and Mark could be close again—

  “So…Darcy can get you set up with your next appointment,” she hedged.

  His eyes filled with unasked questions, but she didn’t want to answer them. She headed for the door.

  “How can you lecture me about God, Emma? You live in your sterile world with no one to care about and nothing to lose. It sounds very comfortable and safe.”

  A lash of pain ripped through her chest and she anchored her grip on the doorknob. It hurt so bad, she thought there must be blood on the floor. If only he knew all she had lost, he’d eat his words.

  She turned to leave.

  “Emma, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that I’m afraid.”

  She hesitated, her back to him. It must have taken a lot for him to admit his fear and to apologize for hurting her. Neither the old Mark nor David would have done such a thing.

  “No, you’re right, Mark. I’ve tried to keep myself safe so I won’t be hurt again.” She glanced at him from over her shoulder. Her heart melted at the site of his handsome face torn with anguish. “But my plan failed the moment you and Angie walked into my life.”

  Stepping out into the hall, she headed straight for her office, praying he didn’t try to stop her. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed the issue.

  Her heart pounded. Three more steps and she entered her sanctuary, closing the door behind her. Leaning her head against the smooth paneling, she tried to steady her rapid breathing.

  She laughed out loud. What good was she to Mark when she couldn’t be strong for herself? And yet, something had broken loose inside her. Something she didn’t understand. She was consumed with the desire to help heal Angie and to believe the Lord wanted the best for them. Something else sat on the fringes of her mind. Something she couldn’t understand.

  Please, God! Please help me save this child.

  Would God answer her simple prayer this time?

  I am here, my child. I have heard every plea from your heart.

  Emma gasped and looked around. The words sounded as clear as if someone stood right beside her, speaking into her ear.

  “Show me the way, Heavenly Father. Please show me what I must do to help Angie.”

  A flash of insight opened in her mind. It speared her with such powerful intelligence and light that her entire being filled with it. Within seconds, she knew what she should do, what treatment she should suggest to the doctors at U.C.S.F.

  Of course! She should have thought of it before. It seemed so simple and yet it had eluded her and the other doctors.

  The next step would be the hardest she had ever taken. She had resolved to trust in God, but what if she failed again? What if she was wrong?

  You will not fail. I am with you.

  No longer hesitant, she walked to her desk, then picked up the telephone and dialed t
he number for Larry Meacham at the U.C.S.F. hospital. If this was what the Lord wanted, then she must have faith. Angie’s life depended on it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Friday was a hectic day. Instead of going golfing or attending conferences like other doctors, Emma kept her office open for appointments. Work kept her from dwelling on Mark and Angie.

  By three o’clock in the afternoon, she found herself longing to seek some sunshine and fresh air. Her last patient had just left, so she stunned herself and her staff by giving them the rest of the day off. Their gasps of pleasure delighted her and she smiled as they shut off their computers and dashed for their purses and car keys.

  After she locked up the office, Emma headed out on McCarran Boulevard, driving toward Highland Cemetery.

  Thump, thump, thump!

  Now what?

  She pulled off to the side of the road and got out to inspect her car.

  A flat tire.

  She took a deep inhale of hot summer air. Cars whizzed past, but not a service station or convenience store in site. Being stranded on the road in this heat was not her idea of fun.

  She wiped beads of perspiration from her upper lip and considered her options. Could she fix the tire herself?

  No, she had no idea where to begin.

  Call her ex-husband?

  He’d resent her for pulling him away from work. She’d rather try to change it herself.

  What about roadside service? She had coverage through her insurance company, but it always took so long. In this heat, the wait could prove miserable.

  She popped the engine hood to signal she was in trouble, then got back in the car and reached for her cell phone. When she called the service, they confirmed her fear it would take a while for a mechanic to arrive.

  So much for her free afternoon.

  She settled in for the long haul, running the air conditioner, her hands resting on the steering wheel. She stared out her windshield, wishing she had a book to read.

  Sunshine blazed across the brown hills surrounding the city and she longed for the water bottle she’d left sitting on her desk. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander. Bitter memories swamped her as she recalled years earlier when she and Brian had been stranded with a flat. When her husband arrived, he’d berated her for driving over a nail, as if she’d done it on purpose.