The Best Medicine

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “Hello, Robin,” Candace exclaimed. She had wanted to get in touch with the young mother-to-be after their last discussion, but she was afraid if she pushed too hard, Robin might simply dig in her heels and tune her out completely.

  “Do you have a few minutes to talk?” Robin asked as she neared.

  “Of course.” Candace thought for a second. “If there's no one in the chapel, we could talk there. Otherwise, we’ll go to the courtyard.”

  Robin followed as Candace led the way to the other side of the hospital. As she had hoped, there was no one in the chapel. Pastor Tom, the hospital's chaplain, poked his head out of his small office at the sound of voices; but when Candace gently shook her head, he smiled and withdrew.

  “Let's sit here for a bit.” Candace took a seat in one of the few pews, and Robin joined her. For a few minutes, Candace simply sat and let the quiet atmosphere soothe her. The chapel had been her lifeline since Dean's death. How many times had she come here and shed tears? God had responded to some pretty tough, angry questions in this room. He also had carried her until she felt she could walk on her own again. She hoped Robin might experience some of the same communion here that she had, the same that she continued to enjoy.

  The afternoon sun streamed through the abstract design of the stained glass window above the altar, creating rich hues of color that slid across the interior space. The Hospital Auxiliary had raised money to add the window a few years ago, and it added a lovely dimension to the space.

  At the front of the small room stood a simple altar of lightest oak. In the left front corner was a slightly raised platform. A large, dark cross of gleaming cherry stood solidly in its center. At the base, a gentle stream of water recirculated over rocks in a little channel surrounding the cross, creating a delightful, subdued burble. A variety of green plants crowded around the cross and the water's edge. It was, in Candace's opinion, an extraordinary place of peace.

  Robin finally stirred, turning toward Candace. “I’ve never been in here before. It's lovely,” she said in a hushed tone.

  “It is,” Candace affirmed. She took a deep breath. “I’ve spent a lot of time in here. Since my husband passed away, you can imagine how my faith has been tested.”

  “And yet you still believe,” Robin said.

  “And yet I still believe.” Candace let the simple statement stand.

  After another moment, Robin said, “I’m going to have the surgery.”

  Relief washed over Candace, though she acknowledged what Robin had said with an encouraging nod. She had been trained in a variety of simple counseling techniques designed to help patients work through the mental challenges illness often presented, so she simply reflected Robin's statement and listened.

  Robin sounded more positive now. “But not just a lumpectomy. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to have a mastectomy. That way, I have a much greater chance of survival.”

  A wave of shock rippled through Candace. She had to force herself not to blurt out her first reaction, which was simply No! Nurses were expected to be extremely circumspect about offering medical opinions or diagnoses. They were trained to assist and offer care, not act as doctors. “Did your doctor talk to you about the difference in the two surgeries?” she asked.

  Robin nodded her head. “Yes, but he left the choice up to me. If I have to be cut open, I figure I may as well take a more aggressive approach.”

  Choosing her words carefully, Candace said, “Are you planning to breast-feed?” Circumspect she might be, but there were ways to lead Robin to think about all the varied issues affecting her decision.

  Robin hesitated. “Yes. I want to, but not if I still have cancer. I’m afraid of passing something to the baby.”

  Candace wanted to scream. If she were the patient, she would be talking to doctors and researching everything she could find on the diagnosis. Robin, in contrast, latched onto an idea and clung to it tightly until she was forced to reconsider.

  Shifting on the bench, she looked into Robin's eyes. “You cannot pass cancer to your baby through breast milk. But if you’re planning to breast-feed, a lumpectomy may be a better route for you to go.”

  “Why? Wouldn't it be better to be absolutely certain they get it all out?”

  Candace wished Robin would talk—and really listen—to her doctor, but for whatever reason, the young woman appeared to be more comfortable talking to her. “What did your doctor recommend?”

  “He said he would prefer to do a lumpectomy,” Robin admitted, “but that either procedure could be done and the final decision is mine.”

  Candace reached out and lay a hand over Robin's. She gave it a brief squeeze, then casually added, “If I were you, I might consider the lumpectomy a little more closely. Not only will you retain the ability to breast-feed any other children you and Andrew might have, it's a much less invasive surgery and your recovery time is faster.”

  “The doctor says neither one will be outpatient surgery because of the baby.” The pregnant woman looked anxious. “He wants me to stay at least one night.”

  “Given your pregnancy, I think that's a very wise precaution,” Candace approved.

  “He wants me to follow it up with chemotherapy.” Robin looked troubled. “But he said that could wait until after I deliver, so it wouldn't affect the baby.”

  Silence fell between them, broken only by the soothing sounds of trickling water. Finally, Robin looked over and gave her a crooked smile. “Candace, thank you so much. I don't know what I would do without you.”

  Candace cast her a wry look. “Listen to your doctors?”

  Robin giggled. “Maybe. You just seem to have a gift for calming me down and reducing everything to its simplest form.”

  “Would you like to pray with me?” Candace asked. Since she already had shared her faith with Robin, she felt no constraint in doing so again.

  Robin smiled at her. “I would like that. You do the honors.”

  Candace smiled as she took Robin's hand. She prayed for wisdom, for Robin's return to health, and for the health of her unborn child. She asked blessings on the Overings and guidance in the couple's decision-making process.

  When Candace finished her prayer, Robin said, “That was lovely. Thank you.” She slid her weight to the edge of the pew and used the one in front for support as she rose to her feet. “I’ll talk to Andrew about all this, and we’ll go talk to the doctor again.”

  “Keep me posted,” Candace requested.

  “Don't worry.” Robin chuckled. “I’ll probably be back again begging you to explain more of this stuff to me.” Her amusement faded. “Sometimes I still can't believe I’m living this, you know? What a nightmare.”

  “I do know.”

  Robin immediately looked remorseful. “I’m sure you do. And I feel stupid whining about my problems to you, when there's a very good chance I’ll recover and be my old self in a few months.”

  As opposed to me, Candace thought, understanding the words Robin hadn't uttered. Her life had been irrevocably altered when Dean died—but she refused to dwell on the negative. Life was a wonderful gift, and there was much to savor.

  She encircled Robin's shoulder and gave her a little hug as they began to walk toward the exit door. “Worrying about your health is never stupid. I’m glad you feel you can talk to me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, CANDACE CAME OUT OF ONE of the birthing suites and walked to the nurses’ station to pick up some meds. It was nearly lunchtime, and as soon as she delivered the requested medications, she was going to get her lunch and meet her friends in the courtyard.

  As she walked toward the desk, she noticed Elena standing with a youngish-looking woman with some of the brightest red hair Candace had ever seen.

  “…would like to feature an article about the campaign on the front page,” the redhead was saying.

  The words caught Candace's attention. “Elena,” she said, “you didn't tell me you’d gotten the board to approve
the Wall of Hope. That's wonderful!”

  Elena winked at her. “I didn’t. Yet. Valera's doing an interview now so that as soon as we get permission, she’ll be able to run it immediately.”

  Candace skirted around them and entered the nurses’ station, wondering exactly what her friend was up to. But her friend was still speaking. “This is Valera Kincaid.”

  Candace looked at the woman and smiled as Elena continued. “She's a reporter with the Deerford Dispatch, and she wants to do a story about the campaign.”

  “That's wonderful.” Candace was sincere. “Elena has worked hard to make her wonderful idea a reality.”

  “Oh, good sound bite. Can I quote you?” asked the reporter.

  Candace nodded, a little taken aback by the young woman's perky enthusiasm. “Of course.” At Valera's request, she provided her name and her affiliation with the hospital. Then she went about her work as the two continued to speak. A moment later, she saw them shake hands, and then Elena smiled at Candace. “I’ll tell you more at lunch, I promise.” And she walked back into the ICU while the reporter headed for the elevator.

  “I can't wait to hear this. See you at lunch.”

  Thirty minutes later, Candace emerged onto the little terrace that Elena hoped to transform with her fund-raising project. Her three friends were already seated, and Anabelle slid over a bit so that Candace could join them at the table. As she did so, the others welcomed her.

  “Hello,” she said in response. “How are you all today?”

  “James was telling us about his son's swim meet yesterday,” Anabelle informed her. “Nelson broke a team record in the butterfly!”

  “That's exciting. Tell him your friends said congratulations,” Candace said, smiling warmly at James. It would be a very long time before she forgot how kind he had been during her post-conference meltdown on Friday.

  James's blue eyes twinkled as he looked across the table at her. “Thanks. I’ll pass it on.”

  “Anything exciting going on in your life?” Anabelle asked, directing the question at Candace.

  For some ridiculous reason, the image of Heath Carlson flashed through Candace's mind. Instantly setting it aside, she said mildly, “Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid, unless you count Brooke and Howie pleading with me to let them get a kitten. One of Brooke's friends’ families let their cat have a litter. There are five little bundles of fluffy joy that need homes, if anyone's interested,” she said, eyeing her friends purposefully.

  James laughed. “Don't look at me. I’ve already got one cat. The fact that she thinks she's a dog is beside the point.”

  Everyone chuckled. James had told them before about Sapphire's retrieving talent.

  “No kittens for us,” Anabelle said. “We have barn cats. I get them spayed or neutered, but every year there's another new one or two that I have to catch and take to the vet for shots and snipping.”

  Elena grinned when James winced noticeably. Then she shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “Cesar is allergic to cat dander.”

  Candace looked at her friend. “All right,” she told Elena. “Spill. What, exactly, is going on with the Wall of Hope? I thought it was tabled by the board.”

  “It was,” Elena said. “But let me start from the beginning. On Sunday morning, as I left church, I ran into one of the board members who attends my church. Anybody know Will West?”

  “Oh, I do,” James said. “Nice guy.”

  “Very nice,” Elena said. “He's very supportive of the idea. He suggested I speak personally with every board member and answer their questions and concerns. So I spent the rest of the day contacting the board members and either speaking on the phone or visiting them.”

  “Even Frederick Innisk?” Anabelle asked.

  Elena grinned. “Yep. At least, I tried. He wouldn't give me the time of day. Anyway, the upshot of all this is that Bernard Telford got a majority of the board to agree to another meeting this Wednesday to hopefully approve the project.”

  “Holy cow.” Candace blinked. “I need whatever kind of vitamins you take.”

  Everyone laughed, and James said, “Terrific job, Elena.”

  Just as Candace glanced at her watch, the door from the hospital opened and Valera Kincaid stepped through into the tiny courtyard.

  “Picture time!” she announced.

  “Oh, I forgot,” Elena said. “Valera's going to take a picture of the four of us holding bricks. It will accompany her article on the Wall of Hope.”

  “It’ll be in the paper as soon as Elena gets board approval,” Valera added. “Can you all step over here?” She indicated the ratty, overgrown privet hedge that divided the area from the parking lot.

  “But that's not a very attractive background,” Anabelle protested.

  “That's the point!” Elena said, gently herding Anabelle into position. “We want folks to see the current setting and be able to contrast it with what we hope to do.” She leaned down and grabbed a canvas bag that had been propped against the leg of one picnic table. “Ugh. That's heavy.”

  Candace realized the bag held several bricks. “No wonder,” she said, laughing.

  Elena pulled the bricks out one by one, handing one to each of her friends. In just a few moments, Valera had teased them into beaming smiles, as she then showed them on her digital camera.

  “I never like pictures of myself,” Anabelle announced. “But that one's really good!”

  Valera perched on the edge of one of the picnic tables, pulling a notebook from her pocket. “Now. I assume each of you will be contributing a brick to the Wall of Hope?”

  Candace nodded. Together, James and Anabelle said, “I will.”

  “Who will your bricks commemorate?” the reporter asked.

  Elena immediately said, “Mine will be in memory of my parents.”

  “Mine is in honor of my wife, Fern,” James said, going on to explain that she suffered from MS.

  “My brick,” Anabelle told Valera, “will honor Dr. Drew Hamilton, who is on the staff here at Hope Haven.”

  “Any special reason?” Valera asked, her pencil poised expectantly over her pad.

  “Oh yes.” Anabelle nodded. “He saved my daughter's life after she was badly injured in an accident ten years ago.”

  “My goodness,” Valera said. She lifted her head and looked at Candace. “How about you?”

  Candace took a deep breath. “My family will donate a brick in memory of my husband, Dean Crenshaw. He passed away unexpectedly three years ago.” It was startling to hear Dean's name spoken aloud. She rarely had cause to use it now, and she bit her lip as her voice faltered.

  Elena put an arm around her.

  Valera let the silence hang for a moment. Then, in a quiet voice, she said, “Thank you all for sharing your stories with me. They will give the Wall of Hope a very personal face. I hope I can convey that to our readers.”

  Anabelle was late. Doesn't it just figure, she thought as she rushed into the cafeteria the next afternoon. She had invited Marge Matthews and Phyllis Getty to have coffee with her, and she wasn't even on time to greet them.

  “Hi, Anabelle.” Marge waved one beefy arm aloft, and Anabelle immediately turned toward the booth where the two women sat. They were a study in contrast, with Marge planted as solidly as a mountain while Phyllis resembled a tiny hummingbird as she dashed over to get a napkin from the dispenser on the counter.

  “Hello,” Phyllis said as she returned. “Rough day?”

  Anabelle blew out a breath and sank onto the red vinyl seat beside her. “When it rains, it pours,” she said. “We’ve had three cardiac admissions this morning.”

  “We’ve been busy in the ICU too. I wonder if there's a full moon or something.” They all laughed as she referred to an old wives’ tale that said more people got sick or did crazy things on the night of each full moon, but Marge looked sympathetic as she pushed a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee toward Anabelle. “Here. I got you a drink. No sweetener or creamer, though.
”

  “Thank you.” Anabelle plucked one of the small blue packets of artificial sweetener out of the little metal dispenser and tore it open. Adding a tiny amount to her drink, she stirred it vigorously for a moment.

  “So what's up?” Phyllis asked. “Marge and I were trying to guess what you wanted while we waited. I told her you might want us to pool our funds and buy lottery tickets together,” she went on with a gleam of humor in her eye, “but she was sure you were going to invite us to join you on a white-water rafting trip.”

  Anabelle choked on the sip of coffee she had just taken as she began to laugh. “I have an extremely detailed mental image of two sixtysomethings and an eighty-four-year-old in bright orange life vests and fluorescent helmets paddling like mad as our raft gets tossed toes-over-nose into a Class V rapid.”

  Phyllis began to laugh, her deep, hoarse tones sounding as if they couldn't possibly come from such a tiny little person.

  Marge grinned too. “You’d have to knock me out to get me to go white-water rafting. Terrifies me even to watch it on TV.”

  “I agree.” Anabelle took another sip of her drink. “No, as much as it pains me, I have to confess. I need your help with a hospital-related matter.”

  “A hospital-related matter?” Phyllis repeated. “Not nearly as exciting as we were guessing.”

  Anabelle leaned forward. “Have you two heard about the Wall of Hope?”

  “Of course,” Phyllis said promptly. “You can't walk through this hospital without hearing about it.”

  Marge nodded. “Elena told me about it. That woman's got some serious ideas for saving this hospital, doesn't she?”

  Anabelle nodded. “She's a marvel.”

  “So,” Phyllis prompted. “The Wall of Hope.”

  “Right. Elena has some publicity lined up with the Dispatch if she ever gets the board to approve the project. Valera Kincaid wants to do several human-interest stories in conjunction with the launch of the fund-raising campaign to save the hospital. And I need your help.”