Dana's Valley (17 page)

When Mom finally hung up and turned from the phone, I saw that she was still blinking back tears. The feeling I'd had the night Dana and I talked together in our room had returned. Now Mom's broken conversation gave me the added fear that the treatment might not even work—that it might be necessary to do more than that. How could that be? Medical therapies were supposed to fix things. Mom and Dad had been so anxious to discover what was wrong with Dana so it could be fixed. Well … it had a name now, and there were treatments for it. If the doctors couldn't fix it, then I was dubious that all this medicine and chemotherapy were God's answer after all.

Dad spent a lot of time checking e-mail. He and Grandpa Tyler, who had already left for Bolivia again, seemed to be sending daily messages back and forth. The worry lines on Dad's brow were never completely absent anymore, but they were even more pronounced when he thought no one was looking.

I'd seen it happen. Once I went to his office just after he had an e-mail conversation with Grandpa. He didn't know I was there. He was sitting, his head down, his eyes shut and his hand rubbing back and forth over the nape of his neck. He looked so tired. And so old. I just stood and stared at him, and wondered if this was how Grandpa Walsh looked before his heart quit and he died. The thought sent cold chills through me.

Dad must have sensed there was someone in the room, and he opened his eyes. As soon as he saw me, he straightened in his chair and managed a smile. But the
old
look didn't really leave his eyes, even though he tried to be normal.

“So … how's basketball?” he asked. I knew he was trying to make me forget what I had just seen.

I went along, pretending that I might have just entered the room. “Fine,” I said, attempting to make my voice sound light. But it really didn't work well. I was glad when the pretend conversation didn't last long, so I could leave the room. I had forgotten what had brought me there in the first place.

Corey got the sniffles. It wasn't really surprising, since many of his schoolmates—including Rayna, whom he always sat with on the bus—had been home with colds. The cold symptoms were hardly noticeable at first, but soon he was sneezing and dripping. Normally sniffles didn't throw our household into panic. They came—and eventually went. But that was before Dana's problems. Now we were all concerned. Dr. Rutherford had warned that if Dana picked up any type of sickness before her treatment began, they might be forced to delay the entire procedure. There had been a discussion between Grandma and my parents as to whether or not we kids should be around Dana. Grandma maintained that it was better to keep us apart, but I don't think Mom had the heart to impose quarantine. I'm sure she thought it really wouldn't be good for Dana or the rest of us.

The time leading up to the treatment had been spent focusing on cleanliness and sanitation. Our house took on the strange smell that I associated with a hospital ward from my trip in to see Mom when Corey was born. It was rather a strong medicinal odor that I didn't like. We washed our hands so often that mine began to chap and bleed. Every time I caught the basketball the chapped places on the backs of my hands smarted. I tried not to resent it, but, I had to admit, it was very difficult. Especially since Dana seemed closed off again. She kept herself distant and guarded, even when we were alone. I wondered if it was because she was afraid. But I didn't ask. I just hoped she'd let me know when she was ready to talk.

Instead, I stumbled through halfhearted conversations about unimportant things in an effort to cover up my feelings of discomfort. It seemed to help her relax a little when I talked about homework deadlines and team stats. I knew she couldn't really be interested, but she responded best to those everyday events. It made me feel cold and unsympathetic, though. Here she was, battling serious medical problems, and I could only offer my complaints about a difficult term paper that was coming due.

Now, after all the efforts we'd made to keep her from catching anything, Corey had brought home that cold virus. And of course it wasn't long until Dana picked it up. Dad called Dr. Harrigan at the cancer treatment center to let him know, and he advised that the treatment be postponed. It was a momentous setback. Dr. Harrigan also cautioned that Mom keep a close eye on Dana's temperature. We would know soon enough if the bug had overcome Dana's collapsing immune system.

By Wednesday, her temperature had begun to spike. Mom insisted that Dad take the rest of us to the usual family activity night at the church, but we weren't really interested. We only went because it seemed to ease Mom's mind somehow. Maybe the normalcy of it.

It was a very quiet ride, until Corey broke the silence. The rest of us had been so lost in our own thoughts that we hadn't realized how pensive he'd become in the last few days.

“Daddy, I'm sorry.”

Dad turned to him, puzzled. “What do you mean, son?”

“That I made Dana sick. I'm sorry.” His lip quivered a little.

“Corey, did you think it was your
fault?
” Daddy sounded shocked. “It wasn't anybody's fault. There was nothing you could do.”

“Maybe I shoulda washed my hands again. But, Daddy, I didn't even
see
the bug.” He was crying now, and I think Dad was too, because he coasted to the side of the road and stopped the car. Through my own tears, I could see him pull Corey to him and hold him for the longest time. Even Brett began to sniffle.

It was then that I made my decision. There were so many people watching out for Dana. There were doctors, nurses, parents, and grandparents. But Corey had been overlooked for a long time—though no one had meant to do so. I decided that I would be the one to look after him. Never again would I allow my little brother to be alone and scared and feeling guilty about things he didn't even understand or couldn't help. Dana wasn't talking much anyway, so I'd concentrate my energy on Corey, who had in his own way become a victim of this sickness too.

After that Dad allowed me to take Corey along wherever I went, and he became somewhat of an amusement to my friends. His vivacious personality made everyone fuss over him. He found himself once more in the familiar role as the center of attention.

Brett had picked up on my technique too. He often asked Corey if he'd like to go for a ride, and together they would be gone for long hours at a time. We weren't sure what it was they found to do with themselves, but we were certain that anything was better for Corey than to stay in our house with Dana's illness pressing down on it.

The first week of Dana's bout with the cold virus turned into two. She was now sleeping in the empty guest room, and she hardly left the room. I was able to sleep through most of the nighttime activity, but Mom must have slept very little. Just as it looked as if Dana was recovering from her cold symptoms, Mom made a gruesome discovery. One day, after Dana had complained of pain, Mom found that Dana had developed an infection deep under the skin of her upper right arm. It had set in quickly and was now swollen and painful. Mom tried to treat it and then wrap it protectively so that it would cause as little pain as possible, but it pressed against the bed as Dana lay on her back and throbbed when she tried to raise her arm.

Dana did not describe to me what she was going through. She may have confided in Mom, but she certainly shared her struggle with no one else. I was sure if I were in Dana's place, I would have verbalized more—probably complained more—but then there had always been a marked difference between the two of us.

Sometimes it actually made me angry that she was being a martyr and suffering in silence. Then I was dis~gusted that I'd allowed myself such selfish thoughts when I considered all that she was going through. I felt like an emotional Ping-Pong ball, my feelings shooting off in one direction and then ricocheting to the exact opposite, seeming to become even more chaotic with every turn.

I had almost convinced myself it would be easier to bear if Dana could just seem
real
again—if she could allow herself to cry or scream and fight. At least I'd feel like she was still a person. Then I heard her groan while Mom was redoing the bandages on her arm, and I had to flee from the room, even stepping outdoors to escape the thought of her pain. It was almost too much to bear.

Finally, the cold and the infection seemed to have receded, and Dad called Dr. Harrigan back to set a new date for the treatment. Dana had weakened, but she claimed to be anxious to proceed. Mom, on the other hand, looked haggard and tired as she struggled to keep up with everything.

She seemed only too willing to let Dad make the arrangements with the doctor. She no longer hovered at his elbow, straining to hear every word that was said. Maybe she was just afraid that something would happen to upset the plans again. Every day of delayed treatment made Dana's situation more precarious.

Dad finished his calls and entered the kitchen. He stood stiffly by the door as if he were gathering courage to speak. “She can begin treatments next Tuesday,” he said, looking over at Mom. “We'll need to check her into the cancer treatment center on Monday night—so long as she doesn't have another setback. But it's a long drive, so we'll have to leave pretty early.”

Mom silently dropped into a kitchen chair. To the rest of us, it meant that the treatments would finally proceed. To Mom, it no doubt also meant that she would need to begin again the extensive and tedious process of trying to make sure nothing happened to change the new schedule.

“Angela.” Dad's voice was tight, and he didn't look up as he spoke. The expression on his face was one I hadn't seen before. “I've made arrangements for you to spend some time at a hotel.”

“That's fine. Will it be the same one as last time?” Mom was clearly not comprehending Dad's meaning.

He took another deep breath, then continued, emphasizing each word. “For you. Alone. Now.”

“Mother can't manage—”

“Mrs. Ramsay will be here tomorrow morning. She's a nurse, so there's no reason she isn't qualified to care for Dana while you're gone. And this time I'm insisting that you go. I'm not taking no for an answer.”

Her head came up and her eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”

“I've told you repeatedly that you need to take a few days off and get some rest if you expect to be able to continue to help Dana. She'll need you next week even more than she needs you now. You just can't keep up this pace. You absolutely cannot.”

A flush crept over Mom's countenance that I recognized as anger, and I was suddenly afraid. “You know I don't have a choice.” She said the words one at a time, as if she were trying to strike Dad with them.

“No.
I'm
not giving you a choice. I'm insisting—and I've already called Deb Ward to pick you up at nine-thirty in the morning. Your bag is packed and you're ready to go. If you back out this time, you'll have to explain it to Deb in the morning.”

Dad held his ground, deliberately using Mom's friend as leverage. That was a tactic I had never seen used in my household before. We'd always considered family privacy to be a virtue. Nor had I heard Dad openly confront Mom in such a manner—and seen her flash of anger in return. I'd never witnessed a fight before—not like I was seeing now.

I grabbed Corey's hand and hurried him out. There was anger—cold and hard—in the room. I didn't care how it would end, but I didn't want to be there. In my fear and frustration, I even hoped that she
would
go away. That she'd take the ugly expression she had allowed to mar her face and go far away from me—and Corey. And she could take Dana too, for all I cared. We would be better off without them. Maybe then things could return to normal.

I headed outdoors, pulling Corey along with me. He trembled a little, so I had him climb on my back piggyback style and walked toward the field. There was a ramshackle tree fort that he'd begun to build. I decided it was as good a diversion as any. Thankfully, his mind was easily distracted from the scene he'd just witnessed. If only I could erase it completely for us both.