Saving Meghan(33)

She had yet to make an appointment for the endoscopy because the mere thought of the procedure forced her to think about Nash. As for Meghan, she was back to her same old self; no better, no worse. She was still home from school, too tired to attend. The nausea and blurred vision were gone and had not come back, but then again, Becky’s research had told her that mito was unpredictable in that regard. There was still no word on the Elamvia clinical trial, but she held out hope for good news.

She also waited for news of her mother’s passing that did not come. There was no way she could travel now, even for the funeral.

In fact, when her phone rang, she thought it was Sabrina calling. But no, it was Dr. Amanda Nash. She wanted to see Meghan again, urgently, for a second opinion and asked if Becky could bring Meghan to the hospital ASAP.

“What’s the emergency exactly?” Becky asked, hearing the worry worm into her voice.

“We want to run more tests,” Dr. Nash said. “I reviewed my findings with a colleague, Dr. Peter Levine, who is also a specialist in pediatrics, and he had some very specific concerns, ones we need to rule out with another exam.”

“What kind of concerns?” Becky asked, feeling that familiar tightness returning.

“There could be the possibility of another disease, one we hadn’t considered.”

Worse than mito, Becky thought.

“Is it cancer?” Becky asked, her voice cracking slightly.

It’s cancer … it’s going to be cancer. Like Cora, it’s in our family. It’s our curse … we fake sickness and get a real disease as punishment.

“We won’t know until we examine her,” Nash said. “We can do this initial exam without any needles, but if it’s necessary, we may have to draw blood. Of course, we’ll need your help to get Meghan’s cooperation.”

“What kind of cancer?” Becky asked.

“Let’s take it one step at a time, can we?” Nash asked. “Bring her in now, if you can, and we’ll take it from there.”

“What about Dr. Fisher? I should call him?”

She didn’t say it wasn’t cancer, thought Becky, now gripped in a full-blown panic.

“Of course,” Dr. Nash said. “But he’s away at a conference; you can try his office, maybe his receptionist can get a message to him. But just so you know, he and I have discussed Meghan’s case.”

Becky did not need a receptionist when she had the doctor’s cell phone number. Zach did not answer when she called, so Becky left him a message to call her when he could. She was not going to wait for his okay, not if there was a real concern to address.

Then she called Carl at work, expecting he’d hem and haw, or complain again that they were on the never-ending medical crisis treadmill. Still, she wanted him to go with her to the hospital for obvious reasons. If Meghan had some rare type of cancer, as she believed would be the case, she needed her husband, her rock (or former rock, as she sometimes thought of him) at her side.

“It’s Meghan,” Becky said when Carl answered her call. “Dr. Nash spoke with another doctor at White about Meghan’s case, and she’s concerned. Carl, I think it might be cancer.”

Tears sprang to Becky’s eyes. She clutched the kitchen counter, bracing herself against waves of painful emotions.

“Did she say cancer?” Carl asked. “Did she say that specific word?”

“No, no,” Becky said. “It was obvious she didn’t want to alarm me over the phone. But I know … I just know.”

“Try to relax,” Carl said, his voice bringing her a measure of calm. “I’ll be home shortly, and we’ll go to the hospital together.”

All her upset and anger at Carl for not fully supporting her fell away. She would need to lean on him harder than ever in the coming days. Twenty minutes later, Carl honked the horn to signal his arrival home. He left the car idling in the driveway while he entered through the front door. He went upstairs and got Meghan, who had been resting in her room. She was ready to go. Becky had already told her they were headed back to White for another exam. Meghan protested until Becky assured her there’d be no needles involved.

“What’s it all about?” Meghan had asked.

“The doctors are a little concerned about something, and Dr. Nash would like you to see another specialist.”

Meghan showed no emotion, which was not entirely a surprise: she’d acclimated to medical uncertainty. As they made their way down the walkway, Meghan pulled away when Carl reached for her arm. Becky noticed the odd exchange but was quick to brush it off. It was tough enough to connect with a typical fifteen-year-old girl, at least according to Becky’s friends who had healthy daughters that age. But when you combine teenage hormones with a spirit-crushing disease, you get a profoundly different sort of isolation of parent from child.

For Becky, Meghan’s illness had come between mother and daughter like a controlling boyfriend. It tainted everything they did together and it lurked everywhere they went. Fatigue invariably cut short shopping trips to the mall. Tickets for shows were bought and then sold when Meghan could not muster the strength to attend.

Three years ago, Becky had gotten Meghan into scrapbooking. The hobby was far craftier than their skills and imagination warranted, but it was a great way to spend quality time together. They had made collages of vacation photos complete with felt palm trees that had aqua-colored leaves and polka dot–covered bark. There was a page devoted to sports, decorated with an oversize soccer ball and the words STAR PLAYER IN THE MAKING displayed in fanciful letters. The last time Becky had looked at that book, she’d had to brush away the dust.