“The good news is that the tumor has responded to the
treatment.” The doctor sighed, without giving his patient time to celebrate the
good part. “The bad news is that it hasn’t responded like we had hoped. We need
to get more aggressive with your treatment, Mrs. Klingensmith. I want to start
you on a second round of chemo today.”
Sandra closed her eyes to let the information sink in. She
had hoped to hear that she was cancer-free at this appointment. Instead, she
would have to undergo more chemo. Her heart plummeted from her chest to the pit
of her stomach.
“Does it have to be today?” she asked, trying to hide the
disappointment and twinge of fear in her voice. Sandra had truly thought that
she’d be getting good news from the doctor, and she didn’t quite know how to
react to receiving the opposite.
“Absolutely,” Dr. Haywood responded. “The sooner, the
better.”
She sighed. “I just, I thought I’d be able to watch Mark
play today. It’s game seven.”
The doctor nodded; he understood the significance of the
day’s game and how important it would be to Sandra to watch her son’s hockey
game. He hated giving bad news to any patient, but he knew that giving it on
this particular day to Sandra was even more devastating.
Iris squeezed Sandra’s hand. Iris was there for moral
support, mainly so Sandra wouldn’t be alone. Sandra’s fellow church members and
friends from the community always offered their assistance and whatever help
they could, but Sandra almost always turned them down. She was self-sufficient—she
had to be, as a single mother for most of her son’s life—and didn’t know how to
accept help from anyone.
Sandra’s relationship with Iris, though, was different.
They weren’t related, but Iris was the closest thing to family that Sandra had,
besides her son, Mark. Ever since Iris was a child, she was the daughter that
Sandra had never had. And as Iris had grown into adulthood, her relationship
with Sandra changed. They were friends. Best friends.
Dr. Haywood tried to be as encouraging and supportive as
possible. He had a great bedside manner, but that was lost during such bad
timing. “We’ll make sure we get you a room with a TV.” He reemphasized, “It’s
really very important that we be proactive here and begin this next round right
away, Mrs. Klingensmith. It could make a huge difference in your treatment.”
“Okay,” she sighed, ready to begin the chemotherapy
process again. Sandra was so selfless when it came to her son—stubbornly
so—that it was truly a fault. She pushed herself up from the chair and stood
with her head high. “Well, we might as well get started then.”
Iris sighed in relief and smiled at the doctor. Of course
she was worried about Sandra, especially since they had all hoped that the
first round that the treatment would be sufficient. She hadn’t thought they’d
be getting this kind of news: it wasn’t a step back, but it wasn’t exactly a
step forward either. But Iris had to keep up the brave front, for Sandra’s
sake. Iris would never let Sandra see her worry over her, because Sandra had forbidden
it.
But Iris was
worried. Hell, she was terrified.
The doctor called in a nurse to escort Sandra to her
infusion room—one with a television, as the doctor had prescribed. Since
Sandra’s son, Mark Klingensmith, was a hometown celebrity, they wanted to
accommodate his mother and make sure she was happy with her care. Everyone in
Grand Rapids, Minnesota, was a Dallas Comets fan, especially during the
playoffs.
As the nurse listened to Sandra talk about Mark, Iris hung
back so she could talk to the doctor alone. Sandra wasn’t big into details, but
Iris was. She was standing in the hallway, just outside his door, when she
quietly asked him, “So, Dr. Haywood, what’s the prognosis now, like, exactly?”
“I’m afraid her prognosis hasn’t changed at all. As I said,
the chemo has stopped the tumor from growing but it hasn’t shrunk, so it’s
still Stage III adenocarcinoma. It hasn’t spread, which is good.”
“Okay, so we’re just gonna try stronger chemo? More chemo?
Or maybe radiation?” Iris hadn’t known a lot about lung cancer before Sandra’s
diagnosis, but she had quickly learned more than she had ever wanted to know.
“Stronger and
more chemo. I’m going to see how she reacts to this first infusion and plan her
course of chemo on that. If she can handle this, then we’ll keep pushing.
Radiation isn’t really an option for non-small cell lung cancer,
unfortunately.”
Dr. Haywood paused, mulling over his next thought before
he spoke. “I know that your mother—” he corrected himself “—I’m sorry, I keep
saying that.”
“It’s okay,” Iris dismissed, waving her hand in the air.
Anyone who didn’t know better made the same mistake and assumed they were
mother and daughter. They even looked alike, with their shared Scandinavian
ancestry: tall in stature with round faces and high cheekbones, striking
crystal blue eyes, and straw-blonde hair.
The doctor shook his head; he wasn’t used to dealing with anyone
other than a patient or a patient’s immediate family. And while everyone else
in town knew the whole story behind Sandra and Iris’s relationship, Dr. Haywood
had been away in med school in Minneapolis. He hadn’t had much time for
hometown gossip while studying anatomy and physiology.
Plus, on those rare occasions when he dealt with
nonfamily, they were usually lawyers or representatives, who were not nearly as
obviously sincere and caring as Iris. And on top of how nice she was, Dr.
Haywood thought she was so pretty, too. Not that that had anything to do with
anything—it was just something that he had noticed.
He cleared his throat and continued with his thoughts. “I
know that Sandra doesn’t want surgery. That’s why we went this route. But it is
still the best treatment for her cancer. If this round doesn’t work, well, I
don’t see how we can avoid it.”
She nodded in agreement with the doctor. “If it comes to
that, then she’s just going to have to accept it. If she needs surgery, then
she’s going to get it.”
Dr. Haywood smiled down at Iris. “It’s nice that Sandra
has someone like you in her corner.”
Iris blushed a bit. She never expected praise for helping
out, but it was nice that someone recognized all she did. “Thanks. I’m just
doing what anyone else would do.”
He knew that wasn’t true; lots of people failed to step up
to the plate when their loved ones needed them most. That was why he thought
Iris was so special, and he truly admired her spirit throughout this whole
ordeal. She was a rare gem, but he had to be the professional he was and treat
the patient—and not let any feelings get in the way.
“Well, I’d better go catch up with her. Make sure we can
get the game in her room. Thanks, Dr. Haywood.”
“No problem, Iris. Take care.” He gave her a little wave
as she started down the hallway in the direction of the infusion rooms.
Sandra quickly settled into the chair to watch the game,
and the nurse prepped the IV. Usually Sandra loved afternoon games, but more
chemo was going to throw a wrench into her schedule.
Iris sat next to Sandra in a less comfortable chair and
pulled out her iPad from her purse.
“Aren’t you going to watch the game with me, sweetie?”
“Oh, of course. But I have some e-mails to catch up on,”
Iris told her. They were lucky enough to get a Saturday appointment this time,
but Iris had to take a lot of time off during the week to take Sandra wherever
she needed to be. She’d never tell Sandra that because that would make her feel
bad, and Iris didn’t mind—as long as she could keep up with the paperwork.
“I know they’re mad they lost game six, but Mark always
rises to the challenge. This is the game he ends his scoring drought.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Look at him. He always looked happiest when he was out on
the ice. Doesn’t he look happy?”
Iris glanced up at the screen. The camera was following
Mark as he warmed up. His jaw was tense, and his face was focused. He looked
hard and intense—but Iris could see the happiness in his eyes. It was true that
nothing made him happier than hockey. “Yeah, he does.”
Of course, the helmet hid his unruly, brownish-blondish hair,
and the visor masked his hazel eyes; he got his rugged good looks and square
jaw from his father’s side of the family. His handsomeness was disguised a bit
because he was in rough shape and beat up from the physicality and intensity of
playoff hockey. There was a cut under his left eye from a high stick to the
face in game five, and he had a busted lip and bruised cheek from getting
elbowed in a scrum around the opponent’s net. His equipment made him appear
broader and taller than he was—which was already pretty big: Mark was over six
feet and well over 200 pounds of mostly muscle.
Iris opened a new e-mail and wondered out loud, “When are
you going to tell him you’re undergoing a second round of chemo?”
“I’m not.”
“Sandra....” Iris didn’t know what to say. “You can’t not
tell him.”
“Yes, I can. And you’re not going to tell him either. Not
while he’s in the playoffs.”
“But—”
“Mark needs to concentrate right now, and I don’t want to
worry him.”
“He’d want to know.”
“And I’ll tell him. Later. When he doesn’t need to worry
about winning.” She scratched around her IV port on the back of her hand.
“Promise me, Iris, that you won’t tell him until the playoffs are over.”
“I don’t know, Sandra. I don’t like this. You can’t hide
this from him.” The idea of keeping her continuing treatment a secret did not
sit well with Iris. Just the idea of not telling him made her stomach clench.
Iris knew Sandra wanted to protect Mark, but Sandra was sick; it wasn’t her job
to protect him because she had her health to worry about, and that should have
been her main concern.
“Please, promise me. For
me. It’s all I ask.”
Iris turned back to her e-mail. Sandra gave so much and
asked for so little. It was impossible to refuse. “Okay. I promise.”
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