“I do too, but do you really think it could raise the kind of money we need?” Anabelle asked doubtfully.
“I don't know,” Elena responded. “But I think it's worth considering. Perhaps there are things I haven't thought of that would generate more donations.”
“Donations,” Candace said in a thoughtful tone. She had been considering Elena's idea carefully, trying to imagine the space transformed. “That might be the key.” She looked around at the others. “What if there was no set price for the bricks? If people simply gave according to their hearts, we might actually raise more than if we put price points on the bricks.”
“I think that's an excellent idea.” James looked at Candace with approval.
“But how do you keep people from going overboard with the engraving?” Anabelle wondered. “That could cut into profits pretty quickly.”
“Maybe we set a limit as to how many letters engraved on any one brick,” Candace suggested promptly.
“You should take this to Zane McGarry,” James told her. “He's the Chief Financial Officer. He's a good man. He would listen to you.”
Elena nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it and let you know what he says.”
There was a lapse in the conversation as they all focused on their meals for a moment.
Breaking the silence, James said, “Your idea is wonderful, Elena. But the more thought I give it, the more I see that I can't go without a job if Hope Haven does close. I have to have an income, so I’ve decided to start looking now.”
Anabelle stared at him in dismay. “But you can't leave Hope Haven. You’re a fixture. How long have you been here?”
James thought for a moment. “Twenty years.” His face radiated unhappiness. “I don't want to leave, believe me. But I have to support my family.”
Candace nodded. “It's a terrible choice to have to make.” Her heart ached for him. She knew exactly how he felt; the same concern had been weighing on her mind as well. “We’ll try not to make it harder,” she promised him.
Anabelle and Elena looked a bit chastened.
“I’m sorry,” Anabelle said. “My reaction was thoughtless. I know you would never leave voluntarily.”
“And we do understand the need to support a family,” Elena added. “We’ll pray for you as well.”
“Why don't we spend a moment in prayer right now?” Candace suggested. “Every single employee in this hospital needs God's help right now, even if it's just with managing the anxiety this whole situation is producing.”
The others concurred, and after everyone clasped hands, Elena led them in a moment of prayer.
Shortly afterward, she packed her things back in her lunch bag and rose. When Candace looked at her with an inquiring expression, Elena said, “I still have a little time left in my break. I’m going to the CFO's office right now to make an appointment to discuss the Wall of Hope idea with him.”
“Good luck,” said James. “We’ll meet tomorrow and you can give us the latest report.”
“Go get ’em,” Anabelle called as Elena pulled open the door and reentered the hushed bustle of the hospital.
Chapter Six
ELENA WALKED BRISKLY AROUND THE CORNER AND past the seating area near the registration desk. She turned left into the corridor that housed the administrative offices and walked to the first door on the left. A sign on the door proclaimed, ZANE MCGARRY, CHIEF FINANCIAL OFFICER.
Elena knocked on the door, and a well-modulated woman's voice called, “Come in.”
Elena walked into the office. It felt very different from the sterile environs of Intensive Care, decorated with a mauve, gray and green color scheme, thick-carpeted floors and several thriving plants.
“Hello, Quintessa,” Elena said. The young woman had worked for the CFO for the past three years. She was one of the sharpest women in the executive department, in Elena's opinion.
“Hello, Elena.” Quintessa smiled at her, her dark eyes twinkling and warm. “I haven't seen you in a while. Not since the Christmas decorating committee, right?”
Elena nodded. “I think that's right. How have you been?”
“Great!” Then Quintessa's smile faded. “At least, I was until we got the letter.” She waved away the problem with one hand. “But you’re not here to discuss that, I bet. Did you want to see Mr. McGarry?”
Elena nodded. “I would like to speak with him, although the letter is exactly why I’m here. I have an idea I’d like to run by him.”
Curiosity lit Quintessa's face, but all she said was, “He just returned from lunch. Let me see if this is a good time.” She rose from behind her desk—a slender young woman in a smart gray pin-striped business suit and classy gray leather pumps—and disappeared into the inner office.
A moment later, she returned, gesturing with a graceful hand to the door. “Mr. McGarry will be happy to speak with you now, Elena.”
“Thanks, Quintessa.” Elena moved by her and entered the office of the CFO. It was decorated in more gray and green and less pink, but otherwise echoed the same themes as the outer office.
Zane McGarry rose to greet her, extending a hand. He had an open, engaging grin, short sandy blond hair, and sharp brown eyes that she imagined missed very little. “Hello, Ms. Rodriguez. Have a seat.”
“Please call me Elena,” she said.
“Only if you’ll call me Zane.”
She nodded, returning his firm handshake and smile. “It's a deal, Zane.”
After she sat down in one of the gray leather guest chairs, Zane returned to his seat behind his desk. “Quintessa tells me you have some kind of idea about the hospital closing.”
“It's more an idea of how to avoid a closing,” Elena clarified. “Some friends and I were discussing how to raise funds. I’m sure you’ve given all of this a lot of thought already, but I wanted to share our idea.”
“We have given it thought,” Zane said, “and I have some ideas too. The board of directors is divided on whether to pursue selling to a larger health care organization—”
“Like Prairie Health,” Elena said.
He nodded. “That's one group under consideration. The other half of the board would like to pursue fund-raising efforts. I’ve been charged with coming up with a potential fund-raising plan before the next meeting of the board.” He grinned. “So your appearance here is fortuitous. What do you have in mind?”
Fortuitous. Better file that one away to use on James someday. Then she addressed herself to the question. “Have you ever been in the little courtyard in the back? It's rather basic compared to the rest of the hospital.”
“It certainly is,” Zane agreed. “I wonder why, especially when everything else around here has been done with such attention to comfort and beauty, like the landscaping in the front.”
“My point exactly. I think it would be great if that courtyard could be made into a more attractive, inviting area.”
Zane's forehead creased as he frowned. “But what does that have to do with fund-raising? It would just be one more expense on what little additional income we might get.”
“Not if we used it as a fund-raiser.” Elena forged ahead. “What if we created a Wall of Hope in the courtyard? It could be made of bricks that members of the community receive when they make a donation to save the hospital. We could have each brick engraved in honor of loved ones.”
Zane sat up a little straighter in his chair. After a moment, he said, “That's an excellent idea. I was thinking more along the lines of soliciting bequests and corporate donations, but your idea would involve the community and generate publicity. I think the more people hear about a possible closing, the more likely they are to become concerned and proactive.”
“That's what I was thinking as well—a real community effort,” Elena said. “I have to get back to work now, but we could discuss it further if you like.”
Zane nodded enthusiastically. “I would indeed. Why don't you mention it to Quintessa on your way out and find a time that works for bo
th of us? We might want her to be here too. That woman is scary when it comes to organizing efforts.”
Elena laughed. “I know. She and I get along just fine.”
The following day was Candace's day off. It was delightful to have a leisurely morning to wake her daughter before school and share a hot breakfast. She made Brooke's lunch and walked the two blocks with her to school, allowing her mother to sleep in.
Although, she thought with a wry smile, Mom never did much sleeping in. On Candace's days off, Janet ran errands, did her volunteer work and visited family. It was an arrangement that had worked well for them for the past three years.
On the way home from the school, Candace picked up her pace and continued to walk for forty-five minutes. She rarely had time for other types of exercise, but she enjoyed walking, even in the winter.
Howie woke up soon after she returned. He rarely slept past eight thirty. She made him breakfast, and then let him choose what he would like to do that morning. Her bet was, “go to the park,” and she was right.
“See you later, Mom,” she called up the stairs as they departed.
“Good-bye, honey,” Janet called. “’Bye, Howie. Have fun at the park.”
“’Bye, Grammy,” Howie shouted. “Don't forget! Meatloaf for dinner.”
As she walked out the door with her son, Candace could hear her mother laughing. Howie adored meatloaf, and she made it once at least every two weeks. It had become a family joke. If Mommy was off, chances were they were having meatloaf for dinner.
Howie loved the enormous sandbox in the Deerford Public Park; as often happened, several of his little friends from preschool and Sunday school were there. Candace spent a delightful morning playing with her son and chatting with several other mothers while she watched him dig in the sand.
She allowed Howie to play until almost noon. Most of his little friends had left by then, and she sat alone on a bench watching him push a yellow bulldozer through the sand. From where she sat, the motor noises he made were clearly audible. Funny, how her son seemed to gravitate toward those kinds of noisy play activities. She couldn't recall Brooke ever doing anything like that. No, her ladylike little girl had been far more apt to swaddle and rock a baby doll or don layers of clothing from the dress-up box Candace kept with the toys.
Thinking of Brooke reminded Candace of Tuesday morning's unwelcome discovery of the invitation Brooke had disregarded. They had gone shopping after school that day and afterward, had taken the gift—a new book Brooke knew Tiffany wanted—over to the birthday girl's home. Tiffany had appeared delighted to see them, and her mother had remarked that Brooke had been missed at the party. Candace had made a general response without offering details. But the whole encounter had raised her antennae even higher. There wasn't even a hint of tension between Brooke and Tiffany. So why had Brooke not wanted to attend the party?
“Mommy!” Howie shouted. “Look at my mountain!”
Snapping herself back to the present, Candace made approving noises, then beckoned to her son. “Time to go home for lunch, buddy. I don't know about you, but I’m starving.”
When they had finished their midday meal, Candace dropped her son off at preschool, which he attended three days a week. Then she turned her car in the direction of the oncology center on Cahokia Street to meet Robin and Andrew.
Candace took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she stepped out of the car. Lord, she prayed, give me the wisdom to comfort this family through Robin's illness and the compassion to calm their fears. Robin had been so distraught the other day that Candace feared more bad news could make her fall apart completely.
The Deerford Oncology Practice was a building of deep brown brick. Its windows and doors were trimmed in creamy white and the caduceus symbol of the medical profession was part of the practice's bold logo that appeared on a sign out front as well as on the double front doors of clear glass.
Candace pulled open one side of a second set of doors and entered the foyer.
“Candace!” Robin and Andrew already were seated in the waiting area. The young woman leaped to her feet and rushed over to give Candace a hug. “Thank you so much for coming. I’ve been so frightened about this appointment that I’m making myself sick.”
Candace felt a wave of protectiveness wash over her. She put a comforting arm around Robin and led her back to her seat, taking the empty chair on her other side. “This appointment is a good thing, Robin. Once we know what we’re dealing with, we can begin to consider treatment options.”
“If treatment is even necessary,” Andrew put in.
Candace smiled at him. “Yes.” But privately, she was a little dismayed. Had Robin downplayed the results of the earlier testing? Dr. Hashimi had set up this appointment for Robin because her test results indicated a strong likelihood that the mass in her breast was malignant.
She didn't have time to worry about it, in any case, because Robin's name was called. When the office staffer smiled and said, “Please follow me,” Candace and Andrew both moved to accompany Robin.
They were shown to a comfortable room that looked like a very small conference room. The oncologist was Dr. Joseph Prelutski, a tall, thin man with a craggy, forbidding countenance that melted into a much warmer expression as he introduced himself to them.
Robin was so tense, she was practically vibrating.
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Overing.” Dr. Prelutski's smile was kind. He extended his hand to Candace as Robin introduced her, telling the doctor, “She's an old friend of mine, and she also teaches our childbirth class.”
“Ah.” The doctor smiled. “You’re an OB nurse. I thought you looked familiar.”
Candace smiled as she nodded. “I am.”
“Please have a seat.” The oncologist waved them to butter-soft leather chairs in front of his desk. Rather than seating himself behind the desk, he perched a hip on the front edge.
“Mrs. Overing, Dr. Hashimi told you that the mass in your breast had classic characteristics of breast cancer. Unfortunately, the biopsy confirms that you do have a malignant tumor.”
“Oh no.” Andrew's face lost all color as the arm he had placed around his wife's shoulders tightened. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” the doctor said with somber eyes.
Robin cleared her throat. “Shouldn't we get a second opinion, doctor?”
Dr. Prelutski met the question head-on. “Second opinions are always a smart idea. I can give you the names of several other oncologists whom I respect, and my office can set up a speedy appointment with one for you. There is no time to waste here, so everything must move quickly.”
“As far as you know,” Robin said.
Dr. Prelutski pinned a sober gaze on Robin.
“Mrs. Overing, this type of malignancy typically grows quickly. You should make a decision on how to proceed with treatment as soon as possible.”
Robin looked so stricken that Candace began to worry. “Breathe,” she said to her young friend. “Let's listen to what else Dr. Prelutski recommends.”
“There is some good news.” The doctor raised one finger. “A recent study from the University of Texas M. D. Anderson Cancer Center shows that pregnant women respond to treatment in the same way nonpregnant women do, meaning there is no difference in mortality rates.”
Andrew Overing looked at the doctor blankly. “Is that good news?”
“Most certainly. For many years, it was believed that higher hormone levels in pregnant women were responsible for an increase in mortality. But in reality, the complicating factor isn't hormones at all. Plus, we’re at an advantage because you caught yours quite early.”
Robin said, “My obstetrician said it was a good thing I noticed it when I did.”
Dr. Prelutski nodded. “It was a very good thing. At present, this is a stage I cancer, which means we have a good chance of nipping this in the bud quickly.”
“How?” Andrew sat forward.
The doctor smiled at the young husba
nd, and then returned his gaze to Robin's face. “I would recommend that you have a lumpectomy as soon as possible.” He went on to explain the surgery and to talk about following it up with radiation, chemotherapy or a combination of both after she delivered, if necessary.
Suddenly, Robin interrupted him. “But I don't want anesthesia while I’m pregnant. A friend of mine had anesthesia for a root canal when she was pregnant, and her baby didn't make it.” Her eyes welled with tears.
There was a brief silence in the room.
Dr. Prelutski cleared his throat. “Are you sure the anesthesia was the reason? It would be unlikely—”
“She didn't say so, but I know that's what it was.” Robin clutched at Andrew. “I can't have surgery until after the baby comes. I just can’t.”
“Honey, you can't afford to wait,” the young man said in a worried tone. “The doctor says this cancer is very treatable now, so you need to treat it. Waiting a dozen or more weeks could change everything.”
The oncologist nodded. “We won't know exactly what we’re dealing with until the surgery is done, but waiting that long would be very unwise. An extremely treatable condition gives you very good odds. Those odds go down dramatically with advanced stages of cancer.”
Candace sat in stunned silence as the doctor and Robin's husband attempted to talk the expectant mother into surgery. Didn't Robin want to seize any chance she might have to be there to see her child grow up? Didn't she understand how safe modern medicine made such procedures?
Apparently she didn’t. Robin was having nothing to do with it. “I’ll think about it,” she said, although it was obvious her mind was made up. “But I’m not scheduling any surgery today.”
Andrew looked at the doctor, fear plain in his eyes. “How long can she wait to make the decision, Dr. Prelutski?”
The physician shook his head. “Every day of delay changes the possible outcome. I can't tell you what to do, but if you were a member of my family, I wouldn't want you to delay much past two weeks. Four at the very most.”
“Because the cancer might spread?” Andrew asked.
The Best Medicine Page 6
