Dana's Valley (26 page)

We were also told that we were to get extra sleep during the week before the tournament. I tried, but between my studies and my jobs, I found myself coming up short. On Thursday night, the last night before we were to leave, I had finally been able to get to bed early. I was hoping to make up for the time I'd lost during the week. Dana had been doing better. Mom was even back in her own bed, attempting to get some much needed rest.

In the middle of the night, I was startled awake. There had been a noise. A sound that had registered to my unconscious mind as being wrong—
terribly wrong.
I rushed to the door and pulled it open, searching the hallway in one direction and then another. But there was no one there. By now my adrenaline was pumping. I was certain I'd heard a sound. I moved softly toward the stairs.

Then I heard the sound again. It had come from below—from Dana's rooms. Without pausing to wonder further, I called out to Dad and Mom and raced down the carpeted steps. For some reason, I knew without a doubt there was a problem. And I was afraid.

She was there, seated on the bathroom floor of the little suite, her arm bent at an odd angle and tucked against her. Her face was contorted in pain. I dropped down beside her and called to Dad again. He appeared in the doorway.

“What happened? Erin, what's wrong?”

“It's Dana's arm. It's bent wrong. I think it's broken. She must have fallen—but she won't talk to me.”

Dad squeezed past me and bent down where he could see for himself. Dana still couldn't answer us. Her pain was too great. But we could both see clearly that her arm had been badly injured.

Mom arrived and then Corey. I stepped out of their way and back into the bedroom, trying to draw Corey away from the scene. Then Dad shouted out to me that I should call the ambulance, so I grabbed Corey's hand and dragged him along.

“My name is Erin Walsh. I live at 1441 Walnut Lane. My sister fell in the bathroom and broke her arm. Please hurry.”

The emergency operator did not understand. “Are your parents home with you?”

“Yes, they're with Dana, but they need help.”

“Are they able to drive her to a medical clinic?”

“No. Please! You've got to send an ambulance. My sister has cancer—leukemia. She's very sick. You need to send someone right away. She doesn't even breathe well—and now with her arm, I'm not sure—”

The woman on the phone cut me off. “We'll send someone right away. I'm already sending the call through our system. Try to calm down so you can talk to me. Can you repeat your address please?”

I was grateful to hear that they'd come. “1441 Walnut Lane.” I said it as slowly and clearly as my labored breathing would allow. “It's the house right at the end. You can't see it through the trees. Just follow the paved driveway. I can even stand on the road if you think it would help.”

“No. No, wait in the house with your parents. What was your name again?”

“My name is Erin.”

“Erin, how old are you, dear?”

“I'm fourteen.”

“Listen carefully. Don't hang up the phone, but go to your parents and ask them if your sister is breathing okay. If she is, then have them check the skin around the break to see if the bone came through, and make sure they cover her so that she doesn't get chilled. Can you do all that?”

“Yes.” I dropped the phone on the counter and charged back into Dana's rooms.

After repeating the instructions to Mom and Dad, I ran back and picked up the receiver. “She's breathing okay. She's been having trouble with a lung infection, but she's breathing pretty good right now. The skin isn't broken. But the arm … her arm is bent in the middle of the bone, and it's just hanging there.”

“How is she handling the pain? Is she calm?” The voice remained so controlled it was eerie.

I struggled to speak without gasping. “I think so. But they can't get her to say anything. She's just staring now.”

“Okay, Erin. She might be going into shock. Is she sitting down?”

“Yes. She's on the bathroom floor. Oh, please hurry.”

“They're on the way. They've already left for your house. Listen. Make sure she's covered well. And if they can lay her down without moving the arm much, tell them to do it now.”

I ran back and delivered the additional instructions. Daddy had already laid Dana back, and Mom ran to grab the comforter off Dana's bed. Dana's face was deathly white. I scurried back to the phone.

“She's lying down. But her face is white, and Daddy says her hands are cold.” My throat was tightening, and I could feel sobs shaking my voice.

“Okay, you covered her well?”

“Yes. Yes!”

“Erin, dear. Listen. I need to ask you some more questions. Listen to me. Can you listen?”

“Yes.” I looked toward Corey. He was crouched on the kitchen floor clutching Max.

“How old is your sister?”

I couldn't see why she needed to know that. Or the numerous other questions that followed, but I answered each as best I could. Then, at last, I heard the sound of a siren approaching.

“They're here!”

“Okay, honey. You hear them coming?”

“Yes! Yes. They're pulling into the driveway. I've got to go let them in.” I didn't even stop to hear her answer. I dropped the phone and rushed to open the front door. “Through the kitchen—to the right—in the bathroom.”

Max began barking. A fearsome, growling bark. I grabbed for her collar as three men hurried past us and into Dana's suite. The lights on the ambulance were still flashing. It made the living room pulse with a reddish glow. We could hear them questioning Dad; then two of them came back and headed out to their vehicle.

“Max! Hush.”

Corey was crying, and the dog was still barking. I moved them both to the sofa and pulled them up beside me. “Hush!”

The two men came back, carrying a stretcher between them. In no time they had Dana strapped in and were speeding away from the house. Dad and Mom had gone upstairs to their room and were scrambling around. I could hear their footsteps and the sound of drawers opening and closing. They were dressing. They would be following Dana.

At last, Max fell silent.

Mom flew past. “Erin, can you watch Corey? We'll call as soon as we know anything.”

“Okay.”

Dad stopped to hug me—hard—and then hurried to follow Mom to the car. Corey and I were left alone, and neither of us wanted to go back upstairs. Not alone. Not after what had just happened. The house had a sinister silence.

Instead, we curled up on the couch together and turned on the television. Corey fell asleep quickly. I threw the afghan over him, then stared at the screen in silence.

At three o'clock in the morning we finally received a call from Mom and Dad. Dana had been going into shock, but the ambulance drivers had managed to get her through it. Mom and Dad were waiting for the doctor to arrive for further word. They would call again later.

I didn't wait for any more news. I dialed the number for my school and then my coach's extension number. I left a message on his answering machine. I wouldn't be on the bus that was to leave at 6:30 sharp. I wouldn't be able to make it to the tournament. Then I hung up the phone and cried until I fell asleep, lying on the floor beside Corey. The television was still droning on in the corner when I woke in the morning.

A while later Dad came home to gather a few clothes and to shower. I hadn't bothered to get Corey and myself dressed and off to school, but he didn't scold me for it. He just answered our questions and then headed back out, taking a change of clothes for Mom too. He had said that with the injury, Dana probably would be in the hospital for a lengthy stay.

I wondered, as the door closed behind him, if he would ever remember what the night's events had cost me. My team would play without me, and all the special memories that could have been mine were forever lost. The endless hours of babysitting and the late nights studying no longer mattered.

Corey was occupied with a video, so I knew he wouldn't notice me leaving the room. I went upstairs and dumped the contents of my purse on the dresser. The ten-dollar bill from Dad I had folded alone and placed at the bottom. It seemed to mock me as it lay on the top of the little stash. I grabbed it up and headed for Dad's office. I would return it. It was of no use to me now.

But as I drew near to his desk with tears of anger and disappointment spilling down my cheeks, my eyes fell on a framed picture placed beside his pencil holder. It showed me bundled in the warmth of a fur-trimmed parka, and my Daddy was holding me tightly in his arms as he prepared to give me a ride down the hillside on a sled.

Such love welled up within me, I couldn't hurt him. I just couldn't.

I wiped at my cheeks. My anger now turned into genuine sorrow. Not for me but for him. In my heart I hoped he'd never ever remember that this was to have been my tournament weekend.

It was several weeks until Dana had begun to heal, and so she'd been transported to the cancer treatment center. Her progress reports had begun to sound very good, and Corey and I spoke often about what we'd do when Dana came home. We were surprised when Mom and Dad called us together again to explain Dana's prognosis. Even Brett was in on it. We learned that it was time for a bone-marrow transplant. Dana was showing signs of responding to the most recent treatments, and her body might be able to stand the stresses of the procedure. I cringed at the grizzly picture it brought to my mind.

I wondered if a bone-marrow transplant was similar to a heart transplant. But how could it be the same? Bone marrow, according to my biology classes, was in the center of a body's bones. I tried to imagine how it could be cut out and replaced, but I couldn't bear to think it through. I could imagine no reasonable way of doing such a thing.

The next information in this discussion was that Dana would need a donor. This came as an even greater shock. Were the rest of us to be subjected to some type of surgery? And how could this donor afford to part with his bone marrow? Wasn't it fairly necessary for health?

Dad tried to explain, but his words were halting, and he failed to express himself in his usual clear, forthright manner. It must have been very difficult for him to tell three of his children that they might have to sacrifice from their own healthy bodies in order to save the life of a sibling. We each agreed to be tested to see if we could donate the marrow, but it was a very frightening commitment to make.

The medical tests we faced brought firsthand knowledge of Dana's world. It was scary to be the one to sit in a small waiting room and wonder what might happen once I was asked to step into the next room. I could see my hands trembling. I wondered if I might faint. Corey didn't look much better. I had rarely seen him sit so still.

Brett was called first. He rose stiffly and followed the nurse away. It seemed to be forever before they came back and asked for me. Brett hadn't returned. I guessed he had needed some time to recover. And I thought about Corey. How could anyone put him through all this? He was so very young.

When it was my turn, I cast a glance back at Mom and Dad and followed the white-clad attendant into an examination room. The room was bright with steel and white. I dutifully took a seat on the chair I'd been instructed to use. Soon there came a rap on the door and a nurse entered.

“I'm Carol,” she said, smiling.

I tried to respond with a casual “hello,” but the words caught in my throat. I wished I could have a drink.

“So you're Erin. It's nice to meet you. I just met your brother, and I understand there's one more to come.”

I swallowed hard and hoped she didn't expect me to pick up my end of this conversation. I could see she was reaching toward a tray of shiny implements and sterile packages that sat on the counter beside her. I forced myself to look down at the floor.

“Okay, Erin. We're ready to start. If you can just relax. All we're going to do today is take a little blood. Do you want me to explain anything—answer any of your questions?”

I shook my head vigorously that I did not.

“Well, okay. Try to relax. This won't take long.” I could see the nurse was preparing the needle. I felt queasy as she pushed it into my arm and drew it back so that my blood filled the little container she had attached. I thought of Corey going through the same thing, and I felt even sicker as the nurse reached for another cylinder to fill.