His Sugar Baby(25)
“Yes, please.”
The nurse finished with the clipboard and crossed the room, the door closing silently behind her. Shortly after, Cathy heard the page on the PA system. She held Chloe close, as though the contact could rout the cold dread that was already seeping through her.
She did not have long to wait. Dr. Richards pushed open the door. When he saw that Chloe was asleep, he gestured for Cathy to come out of the hospital room. Reluctantly, Cathy slipped her tingling arm free and gently laid her daughter down on the pillow.
Cathy slid off the bed and crossed the room to join the waiting oncologist outside in the hall. She turned toward him with a questioning look. “Chloe is doing better, isn’t she?”
He waited for the door to close completely before he spoke. “I prefer not to talk over Chloe’s head. Let’s go into the waiting room.”
“I understand.” Cathy allowed the oncologist to take her elbow and guide her into an empty visitors’ room. He let go of her arm and gestured politely for her to take a seat. Cathy sat down in one of the blue-upholstered utilitarian chairs, her whole body tensed. He sat down in the chair next to her. She fixed her gaze anxiously on his heavily lined face. “What is it, Dr. Richards? This isn’t about Chloe going home, is it?”
Dr. Richards shook his head. He looked gravely back at her. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Cathy. There is no easy way to tell you this. The chemotherapy regimen hasn’t been as successful as we hoped. Chloe’s condition has started to deteriorate again.”
Cathy felt the bottom fall out of her. The familiar crushing feeling slammed into her chest. She fought to remain upright in the chair. She worked her throat, struggling to force words out. “What—what are you saying?” she whispered hoarsely.
“I’m saying that Chloe is not responding as most children do to the treatment,” said Dr. Richards heavily but with infinite gentleness. “The leukemia has not been arrested. In her case, the chemo has only given her a short reprieve.”
Cathy sucked in a strangled breath. “What do we—what do we do now?”
“We can try a hematopoietic stem-cell transplantation. It’s a medical procedure that collects stem cells from the peripheral blood rather than from the bone marrow of a donor. It provides a bigger graft and doesn’t require the donor to be subjected to general anesthesia like the traditional bone marrow transplant.”
“I–I see.” Cathy tried to strengthen her shaking voice. “And this will help Chloe? Will it cure her?”
“I can’t promise you that. But the possibility is there.” Dr. Richard shook his head. He sighed then said earnestly, “I won’t soft-peddle this for you, Cathy. It’s a risky procedure with many possible complications. It’s reserved only for patients with life-threatening diseases. But for Chloe, it is definitely our last and best recourse.”
“Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do,” Cathy said firmly. She balled her hands in her lap, her nails biting crescents into her palms.
Dr. Richards regarded her for a long moment. His gaze flickered down to her clenched fists then moved back up to fasten on her face. “Cathy. You’re a strong woman. You’ve had to be. So I won’t hide the truth from you. With hematopoietic stem cell transplantation, Chloe may well experience a full remission. However, if the transplanted cells reject her body tissues, she may develop GVHD.”
“GVHD? What is that?”
“Graft-versus-host disease is an inflammatory disease that can occur if the transplanted cells do not accept the body. It typically occurs in the first three months after transplantation and is often fatal. It is treated with high-dose corticosteroids such as prednisone, but this immuno-suppressive treatment often leads to deadly infections.” He paused, and with obvious reluctance, said, “If this happens, Chloe may well die.”
Trapped between a rock and a hard place. Either or. So what else is new?
Cathy gave a short, brittle laugh. “Life or death. Those are the same options that you’ve been giving me for more than two years!” she said bitterly.
Dr. Richards regarded her with sharpening concern. He reached over to place a wide hand gently on her rigid forearm. “Cathy, I’m sorry. More sorry than I can say.”
Cathy abruptly realized that she was breathing harshly through her open mouth. She caught herself up, willing her self-control back into place. She straightened her spine. “No, Dr. Richards, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. I know that you’re doing everything that you can and that you’ve brought in other specialists for consultation. I’m just–just tired.”
“You still aren’t sleeping, are you?” When she started to speak, he threw up his hand. “I’m not going to ask you again to get that prescription filled. I know you won’t do it. But what I will urge you to do is to get someone to come stay with you awhile. You need rest, and you need emotional support. You can’t expect to keep going it alone like this, Cathy.”
Cathy shook her head. Despite her stiff face, she managed a flickering smile. “I’m fine.”
Dr. Richards blew out his cheeks, his frustration obvious. He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “I wish you wouldn’t be so stubborn, Cathy.”
“This isn’t about me. It can’t be about me. Ever. This is about Chloe,” Cathy said fiercely. “I want to do the transplantation as soon as possible, Dr. Richards. I can take off work tomorrow and…”