The Best Medicine

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “Does the community even know that its hospital might close?” Elena exclaimed.

  “They will after today,” James pointed out. “There's no way this could be kept quiet, especially if several hundred people are suddenly looking for jobs in health care.”

  Candace felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Judging from the look on James's face, he felt much the same. She imagined he was the primary financial support for his family, just as she was. “There has to be something that can be done,” Candace said.

  “I imagine the board is desperately trying to find an answer.” James rubbed the back of his neck. “But if they’re sending this letter to all employees, that tells me they’re at the end of their rope.”

  “This feels like a bad dream.” Candace could feel the beginning of a headache forming, and she pressed her fingers to her temples.

  “Unfortunately,” Elena said, sighing, “we’re not dreaming.”

  Chapter Two

  WHEN HER LUNCH BREAK ENDED, CANDACE WALKED to the large elevator on the first floor, rode it to the third floor, and headed for the staff lounge to stash her lunch sack in her locker. As she walked out the door, she received a page to return to the Birthing Unit.

  What could be wrong? There hadn't been any ladies close to delivery an hour ago. Maybe she had received a new admission.

  Quickly, she took the stairs to the second floor. Cardiac Care, Peds, Oncology and Intensive Care were also located on the second floor, and a large central nurses’ station stood at the intersection where the two hallways of the cross-shaped building converged.

  She saw Marge Matthews on the computer at the nurses’ station. Marge—a full-figured woman with curly brown hair in which several strands of silver glinted—was the day shift nurse supervisor of the Cardiac Care Unit.

  “Hi, Marge,” Candace said. “I got a page from the nurses’ station. Do you know what it's about?”

  Marge glanced up. “Riley paged you,” she said. Riley Hohmann was the supervisor of the Birthing Unit during the day. “I think you have a visitor. I got the impression it was personal.”

  Candace hurried down the hallway looking for her supervisor. Riley was in a private birthing suite massaging the back of a woman in labor. When Candace opened the door, Riley said, “Oh, good. There's a lady here to see you. She's waiting in the lounge.”

  “Who is it?” Candace asked.

  Riley shook her head. “Sorry, I can't remember her name. She said she's in one of your prenatal classes.”

  “Thanks.” Candace closed the door and doubled back toward the nurses’ station and second floor visitors’ lounge. Who could be asking for her? Had one of her moms-to-be gone into labor early? Surely not, or Riley would have known about it.

  In the lounge, Candace instantly recognized the small, dark-haired woman and the taller man with reddish chestnut hair, his right arm protectively draped around her. The Overings looked scared to death.

  “Robin! Andrew! Hello. What brings you in today?” Candace saw that Robin's eyes were swollen and red. “What's wrong?” she asked.

  “Oh, Candace,” Robin said. “I received terrible news this morning.” She stopped, shaking her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her husband gripped her tighter, his expression bleak.

  “What's the matter?” Candace's heart clenched as she anticipated the worst news any pregnant woman could receive. Had something happened to Robin's baby?

  “At my appointment this morning, I asked the doctor to check my left breast because I thought I had felt a lump in the shower. He said it probably was an enlarged milk duct, but just to be safe, he scheduled some tests. I’m so afraid it might be cancer.”

  Candace was deeply concerned, though she did her best to hide it from the young couple. She embraced the pregnant woman and squeezed the hand of her anxious husband. “Let's not borrow trouble,” she said. “What tests are they conducting, and when are you scheduled to have them?”

  “She already had blood drawn and a mammogram done,” Andrew said. “Next she has an ultrasound at three o’clock today, and a fine-needle biopsy right after.”

  Candace didn't hesitate. “Would you like me to come with you? I get off at three, and I could meet you in Diagnostic Imaging if you like. That's where both procedures will be performed.”

  Robin's eyes widened and she appeared to sag with relief. “Really? You’d do that? I’d feel so much better if there was a familiar face beside me. The needle biopsy sounds scary.”

  “It won't be so bad,” Candace promised her. “I’ll come upstairs and find you as soon as I can, all right?”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Candace called her mother after leaving the lounge.

  “Hello?” Mom sounded breathless when she answered the phone, and Candace remembered she sometimes did aerobics with a DVD in the afternoon.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, honey. What's up?”

  “I won't be leaving on time today.” Candace explained that she wanted to accompany one of her patients for some testing. “Do you mind picking up the kids?” As she normally did, Candace had intended to pick Brooke up from school herself. Candace felt strongly that it was important to not take her mother's presence for granted. And it gave her special time with her daughter as she heard the details of Brooke's day. The good details and bad, she thought, recalling the Mr. Whiskers incident from Friday.

  Candace's mother Janet Fuller had retired and moved in to help after Dean's unexpected death, and Candace was more grateful than she could ever express. Consequently, she tried to ensure that her mother wasn't always imposed upon. Howie attended preschool a few hours a week and would be starting kindergarten in the fall; but until then, Mom watched him every day Candace worked. She swore she didn't mind, and Candace believed she was sincere; but she was still leery of letting her mother take on too much.

  “Of course I don't mind,” her mother said. “Do you think you’ll be home for dinner?”

  “I hope so. I don't expect this will take long.”

  “All right. We’ll see you then. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom. Thanks.” Thank You, Lord, Candace prayed, for my mother. What a blessing she is to me in so many ways.

  The afternoon passed quickly. There were two women in labor in rooms across the hall from one another, and a planned cesarean section was on the schedule. Candace had been assigned to one of the laboring mothers that morning, and everyone was delighted when the labor progressed quickly. The baby was born healthy and alert, shortly after one o’clock.

  Upon finishing her shift at three, Candace headed for the third floor. She took a moment to wash and change into fresh scrubs before crossing the hall to the Radiology and Diagnostic Imaging suite. Andrew was seated in the small waiting area. He leapt to his feet the moment he saw Candace, his hair sticking out in all directions as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly.

  “Thanks for coming,” Andrew said, shaking her hand with such fervent gratitude that she feared for her bones. “Robin will feel so much better with you by her side.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “Do you know where she is?”

  He shook his head. “They took her back. All they said was that they would do the biopsy immediately after the ultrasound.”

  Candace nodded. “How about if I go see how she's doing and let you know? Then I’ll stay with her.”

  The young man's eyes looked moist. “You’re an angel,” he said in a choked voice. “I can't thank you enough.”

  Candace smiled. “It's what I’d like someone to do for me in the same situation. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She left Andrew in the waiting area and walked to Radiology where a staff member directed Candace to Robin's room. She opened the door and peeked in.

  “Candace!” Robin exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  Candace patted her hand. “I was happy that my shift ended on time. What's happened here so far?”


  “The ultrasound is over, but the technician couldn't tell me anything about what she saw.” Robin made a wry face. “I’m waiting for a doctor to review the results, and then they’ll take me for the biopsy.”

  Candace nodded. “Let me bring Andrew up to speed. I’ll be right back.”

  It took her only a moment to update Andrew. When she returned, she was directed to another room where the radiologist would discuss the results of the ultrasound, mammogram, and blood work. When the doctor entered, he shook hands with them. “I am Dr. Hashimi,” he said in lightly accented English.

  Although she knew of him, Candace had never been introduced to Dr. Omar Hashimi, a slim, handsome man with striking dark eyes and a warm smile. She introduced herself, and he nodded when she explained who she was and why she was with Robin. “This is a very good thing,” he told her. Then he turned to Robin. His dark eyes were sober. “I am very sorry to give you bad news. The lump you felt has distinct characteristics of malignancy.”

  Robin drew in a sharp breath as Candace put her arm around the young woman.

  “I suspect the results of the biopsy will confirm this,” the radiologist continued. “The fact that you caught it early gives us every reason to expect a positive outcome.”

  Candace felt Robin's shoulders shake as her friend began to cry, and she tightened her grip. Her own throat felt as if she had swallowed a rock, but she nudged Robin and said, “Did you hear what he said? If this is malignant, there's every reason to believe you’ll beat it.”

  Dr. Hashimi went on to explain what was involved in performing a biopsy. “I will call you personally with the results,” he told her. “If it is malignant, we will help you schedule an appointment with the oncologist to develop a treatment plan.” He gently answered a few other questions and then shook hands with them again before leaving the room.

  Robin immediately turned to Candace, tears streaming down her face. “What am I going to do?” she cried. “Will Andrew have to raise our baby alone?” Her sobs grew even more wrenching.

  Candace put her arms around her young friend. She suddenly remembered hugging and comforting Robin in very much the same way after she’d fallen off her bike and skinned her knee. If only this were as easy to fix. She rubbed Robin's back and then pulled back to look at her. “Breast cancer is very curable these days, especially in the early stages. And you heard what Dr. Hashimi said—he has every reason to believe it will be gone soon.”

  “But what will they do?”

  “I imagine the first thing to do is schedule the surgery to remove the lump, and then maybe there will be other treatment to follow.”

  “I can't have surgery or chemo now! It would do terrible things to the baby, wouldn't it?”

  “Shh-shh-shh,” Candace said. She fully embraced Robin, her heart aching as the pregnant woman began to sob again. “The doctors would never do anything that might harm your baby.” She took Robin's shoulders in her hands, pulling back to look deep into her eyes. “This hospital is called Hope Haven for a good reason,” Candace said with a small smile.

  “It's hard to feel positive,” Robin mumbled, leaning her head against Candace's shoulder.

  “I know.” Candace took the younger woman's hands in hers. “Are you ready to go out and tell Andrew what you’ve learned?”

  Robin's lip quivered. “Will you explain it to him?”

  “Of course.” She rose and put an arm around Robin's shoulders as they left the room and made their way back to the waiting area.

  Anabelle Scott had certainly had better days. She’d worked at Hope Haven for over thirty years, but this was the first time she had ever worried about losing her job. And on top of that, she was filled with worry for her daughter Kirstie, who was finishing moving into her own apartment this evening.

  Her spirits were low as she pushed through the heavy side door near the first-floor elevators that opened to the physician and staff parking lots. Her brand-new, silver Ford Fusion was parked at the far end of the lot. As she walked briskly toward the car, Anabelle reflected bleakly that her timing couldn't have been worse: just six weeks ago, she had traded in her trusty ten-year-old Ford Escort, which had been paid off. While she had bought the new car—a dealer's demo model with a few thousand miles on it—at a reduced price, it still meant an extra monthly payment she wouldn't have taken on if she’d known she might lose her job.

  “Hey, Anabelle, wait up.”

  She turned around to see Nellie Harvey, her oldest friend at Hope Haven, whom she’d met at orientation. Nellie stopped at Anabelle's side. “So what did you think of the letter?” she asked in a rush.

  Nellie was a registered dietician and head of the hospital's dietary staff, a position of importance belied by her fluttery mannerisms and trilling voice. Today, strands of her fine, wispy hair had slipped free of the knot pinned at the back of her head and blew about in the light breeze. With blonde highlights covering the liberal streaks of silver, Nellie looked younger than her fifty-six years. Her wide gray eyes normally sparkled with good humor, but today they imparted serious concern.

  “I was pretty shaken up,” Anabelle admitted with a sigh. “I’ve heard so many stories about Hope Haven's grim financial picture that I’d become immune to them. Boy Who Cried Wolf and all that.”

  Nellie nodded. “Same here. I can't believe there's a chance the hospital might close.”

  Anabelle's shoulders sagged as she exhaled. “I think there's way more than a chance, Nell. It takes a staggering amount of money to keep even a small hospital like this running.”

  “Excuse me.” A young woman with brilliant red hair stopped them, her blue eyes intense. “I’m Valera Kincaid with the Deerford Dispatch. I’ve heard the hospital may be closing. Do you know anything about that?”

  Anabelle and Nellie exchanged worried glances. “What have you heard?” Nellie asked the reporter.

  Flipping back through her small notebook, the young woman paused. “Rumor has it that the hospital is going to be sold to Prairie Health Corporation. Prairie Health is a large organization that takes over small failing hospitals.”

  “We’re familiar with Prairie Health,” Anabelle said, knowing her tone wasn't complimentary. “The company has a reputation for streamlining, for sending a lot of services to their main hospital in Peoria.”

  “But,” the reporter continued, “I haven't been able to verify the hospital will be sold. Is there anything you can tell me?”

  Nellie looked at Anabelle and said, “This isn't going to be a secret for long, and I think the community needs to know what's going on.”

  Nellie had a point, Anabelle had to concede. With a sigh, she told the reporter, “Every employee received a letter about it today.”

  The reporter's eyes widened. “May I read it? Maybe jot down a few notes?”

  “Here,” Nellie said, handing the woman the envelope she’d slipped into the side pocket of her handbag.

  The reporter scanned the contents, then handed it back to Anabelle and scribbled furiously for a moment. “How are the employees feeling about this? Are you worried about your jobs?”

  “We’re, of course, very worried about personal issues like our incomes and finding new jobs,” Anabelle told Valera, “but we’re most concerned that there won't be a significant local medical facility in Deerford. The people of this town need their own hospital.”

  “Perhaps they’re preparing us for the worst so that another option might not seem so horrible,” Nellie theorized.

  Valera was taking notes as fast as she could. “Thank you, this is great information,” she enthused. “May I use your names?”

  Anabelle and Nellie looked at each other again. “I don't see why not,” Anabelle said. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. Everything we said is nothing less than the truth. The two women shared their names and occupations at the reporter's prompting. Then Anabelle gestured over Valera's shoulder. “Here come some more folks if you want to get more reactions.”

  The you
ng woman wheeled around. “Thanks,” she said as she dashed off. “Be sure to check the paper tomorrow!”

  Chapter Three

  JAMES BELL SQUARED HIS SHOULDERS BEFORE HE opened the kitchen door and walked into his home after work. There was little he dreaded more than being the bearer of bad news. Fern, his wife of twenty years, had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis seven years ago; and stress invariably caused her symptoms to flare up.

  James recalled the day Dr. Andrews in Chicago had broken the news. The physician had been the latest in a long line of doctors they had seen in an effort to find out exactly what was wrong with Fern. She didn't have lupus. She didn't have Lyme disease. She didn't have a B12 deficiency…but no one was sure exactly what she did have. Her symptoms included extreme fatigue, impaired coordination and vision trouble, but only sometimes. Other times, many of her symptoms seemed to disappear.

  Finally, they had been referred to a highly regarded specialist in Chicago. After Dr. Andrews had reviewed earlier test results and put Fern through yet another round, James had been prepared for the same thing they’d heard several times before: “Your wife doesn’t have…”

  Instead, the doctor had sighed, came around the end of his desk and placed a chair in front of Fern. “You have multiple sclerosis, Mrs. Bell.” He’d gone on to discuss the specifics, pointing out newly formed lesions from her most recent MRI, the definitive clue to the elusive diagnosis.

  Seven years later, they were still learning new things about the disease. But one thing James knew for sure was that the prospect of losing his job was not going to be helpful in keeping Fern's illness in check.

  Fern sat in a rocking chair near the hearth in their cozy kitchen, her Maine coon cat, Sapphire, in her lap. They made quite a picture. His tiny wife wore a dark blue dress which accentuated the cat's striking silvery fur.

  Fern's pretty brown eyes lit up when she saw him and she smiled; Sapphire lifted her head and meowed once, then laid her head back down and closed her eyes as if the effort had exhausted her.