Dana's Valley (27 page)

I was not a compatible donor. I couldn't help feeling a great relief when the results of the testing were phoned to our home. As Dad continued listening to the report, my next thought was for Corey. Surely he wouldn't be the one. But we soon could tell the tests had shown he also was not a good match for Dana.

My eyes turned to Brett, whose face had taken on an ashen color. Without Dad even saying it, I knew Brett was the only one of the three of us who was acceptably compatible. I held my breath and watched him rise from his chair in our living room. He moved to the window, his fists clenched tightly. I could tell that he was laboring over this news. How would he respond? For one moment I was sure he would refuse. It seemed like forever before he turned to face us.

“When do we start?”

Mom had begun to cry. Dad moved toward Brett, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder. I watched to see how my brother would react. Brett turned toward Dad, his face contorting as he fought for control of his emotions. Then Dad drew him close, holding him tightly, and they both began to weep.

I didn't see anything else that happened. I just sat and cried.

The following morning Brett visited Dana in her room before she left for another trip to the center. She had requested that he come to her before they left. Brett had squared his shoulders before he went in. I could imagine what a difficult thing it was for him to face her. It had been quite some time since he'd seen Dana.

When he came back out, his head hung low and his eyes were red. I tried to guess what she had said to him. I was certain that a great deal of it must have been her attempts to thank him, but he had been with her for some time. She must have said a number of other things as well. But whatever it was, it seemed to have had an overwhelming effect on Brett.

Corey and I stood with Max at the window and watched them all leave. Then they disappeared down the driveway, and I was left alone. It was some time before I could rouse myself. I felt listless and ashamed. I had hoped that it wouldn't be me, and I had gotten my wish. It was an empty feeling to know I had not even wanted to help my sister in the only way that any of us could.

More than ever it seemed that all the conversations in our house were concerning Dana's illness, the treatments she'd had or was due to have, and plans for her upcoming marrow transplant. Mom was in Dana's room constantly, checking her temp, giving her medicine, making sure she was drinking enough, and on and on.

There wasn't such a thing as family mealtime anymore. We heated soup, popped something in the microwave, or Dad picked up something at a fast-food place on his way home from work. Then we ate whenever we could fit it in, often one at a time. We didn't even bother to set the table anymore.

Corey didn't seem to be suffering as far as growth was concerned. Every now and then, I looked at him and realized with a bit of sadness that he was no longer my baby brother. It almost seemed that I was losing him too. I never had time to really enjoy him anymore, mostly just making sure he was dressed properly and fed and fairly clean.

There was constant contact with the center. Either Dad was on the phone with some doctor or Mom was receiving new instructions from a nurse. I hardly ever had a chance to even call Marcy. But then, I had rather grown away from Marcy anyway. She didn't play basketball, and I no longer went to the youth group regularly. I still saw Graham quite often, but I tried to avoid all discussion of Dana's illness with him. It was easier than trying to carefully say things so I wasn't expressing something I didn't really feel or believe. Still, my conscience suffered sometimes at the deceitful impression that was left by what I
didn't
say.

Dana was taken in for some more tests and analysis. Mom looked a little brighter when they returned home. The report was that unless something happened to set her back, they could go ahead with the transplant. We were all anxious for this procedure to actually take place—all, maybe, except Brett. I wondered if he was dreading it as much as I would be. It was scary to think of doctors invading your body, removing something vital for life and health.

The date was set, and Grandma promised that she'd come to be with us. And then, as usual it seemed, Dana messed it up again.

I guess it wasn't Dana's fault. She didn't get sick on purpose or anything, but all of a sudden her temperature shot way up and she began to shake and cough and nearly choked. When she started to turn blue, Mom screamed for Dad. It was utter chaos. The ambulance was called again. They took her to the city hospital after they attached her to tubes and oxygen and all that. I didn't hang around to watch. It was too dreadful and frightening. I was sure she was going to die before they even got her to the hospital. I think Mom thought so too. Even with all Dana had already been through, I had never seen her so frantic.

This time Dana spent almost two weeks in the hospital, too sick for them to even dare try to transport her to the cancer treatment center. Every time the phone rang, we expected it to be bad news. Mom stayed right at the hospital, and Dad might as well have. He was scarcely ever at home. So Corey and I were pretty much on our own. I had to miss a few school activities. Corey needed someone to be there for him. It was okay when we were both at school. But he couldn't be alone once the school day was finished—he wasn't even nine yet.

Brett was dropping in fairly often. He didn't really say so, but I think he was a bit worried about us. Just brought things to eat and checked out things like Corey's Cub Scout schedule and the like.

Finally Mom came home, more to make sure we were okay and to catch her breath than anything. She looked hollow eyed and bone weary. I had never seen her look so tired.

“I think she's going to make it,” she informed us quietly, sitting at the kitchen table resting her head against her hand. “She is gradually getting back some strength again.”

And Dana did. But it was a long, difficult haul. And then the doctors had to increase or change her medication or something in order to try to build her up again for the transplant procedure. She was back and forth to the treatment center, and I wondered if Brett appreciated the delay. I guessed he was rather anxious to get it over with so he could stop dreading the unknowns of the whole thing.

Finally a new date was set. I knew that Mom and Dad were praying fervently that nothing would happen to postpone the operation again. I would have been too, had I still been praying. And I guess I would have been praying—if I had really believed that prayer did any good.

Corey made up for it. It was really strange, but I was glad. I guess, way down deep inside, I still had the impression that prayer
did
make a difference, because even in my cynicism I made sure Corey said his prayers each night. And I listened carefully to make sure he covered everything concerning Dana. I thought
if
God could hear and
if
He cared to answer, it just might be that He would listen to Corey.

I suppose I was sort of waiting to see what disaster would strike to prevent the treatment. But none did. Dana was not at all well, but she was no worse than she had been for weeks. The doctors said to bring her in. So Mom and Dad phoned Brett to be at the house by ten the next morning and packed up the car.

Grandma was away on a cruise with Mr. Paulsen when the date for Dana's treatment was finalized. So Dad had to quickly arrange for someone else to stay with us. The woman who was coming was from some home-care facility. I was really nervous about it. We didn't even know her.

I had looked in on Dana that morning before leaving for school. She was pale and still struggling to breathe properly, but she looked as if she was sleeping. Knowing how little sleep she actually got, I didn't waken her. I felt a knot in my stomach as I turned to go. I wasn't sure I'd ever see Dana again. She was so desperately sick. If only she could get the treatment she needed—then she'd have a chance to get well again.

I was awfully tempted to pray. I needed something. Someone. I felt so all alone and helpless. But I swallowed the lump in my throat and went down to see if Corey was ready for the school bus.

We had to leave for school before the new “sitter” arrived, and I knew Mom wouldn't have much time to acquaint her with the house and fill her in on what was expected. I supposed there'd be much I would need to explain later.

I hated coming home that night. I think if Brett had still been in his little apartment, I would have taken Corey by the hand and gone there. But Brett wasn't there. He was at the cancer center too. Fleetingly I wondered if people who were giving their bone marrow ever died doing it. Then I pushed the thought aside. I wouldn't even let myself think about that.

When the bus brought us home at the end of the school day, I grabbed my own backpack of books with one hand and Corey's with the other and headed for the exit. Corey was still trying to finish a story he'd been telling his friend Blake. I guess it was about Max. He tried to hang back even as I pushed him forward. “And she did,” he called back. “She dug a hole and put it right down in it.”

I knew the bus driver didn't like dawdlers, so I tried to hurry Corey along. He was still walking backward, yelling back to Blake. “Next time I'm gonna give her my old fuzzy slippers to bury. I want new ones. Leather. Like Brett's.”

I wasn't looking forward to arriving home. I had no idea who it would be who'd welcome us. Was she strict or lenient? Sweet or sour? She could be anything.

“Erin,” asked Corey, “who's the lady who'll take care of us? Is she nice?”

“She'll be nice,” I muttered to try to ease Corey's mind. I figured she wouldn't be able to keep the kind of job she had if she wasn't at least decent.

“Why didn't Grandma come?”

“She's on a trip.”

“With Grandpa?”

Corey was the only one who could manage calling Grandma's second husband “Grandpa.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because they needed a little vacation.”

“Why didn't they go on vacation after Dana got better?”

“Corey, I've already explained. This is the third time they've scheduled this vacation. Dana's treatment dates keep being changed.”

“Will they change them again?”

“No … I don't think so. They're at the center now. This time it should work out okay.”

“Good,” said Corey, “'cause I asked God to make her better—really fast. I don't like it when she's so sick.”

I didn't like it either … but I didn't say so.

Corey changed the subject. “What's her name again?”

“Whose name?”

“The lady who's taking care of us.” Corey sounded rather impatient that I wasn't following his train of thought.

“I don't know. Mrs. Lewis or Leon—or something.”

“Leo—that's it. Leo.” Corey was pleased to have the name in place. I had no idea if he was right, but I really didn't care.

It was very unnerving to open our door and feel like an intruder. This strange woman was already there in our kitchen. She looked like a pleasant-enough sort, nothing unusual. She was working on a casserole or something. Ingredients were scattered about on the counter. She turned and smiled. “Hi,” she greeted us.

I guess we answered. But Corey turned suddenly shy. I felt him push back against me.

“Would you like some cookies and milk? I baked chocolate chip. I hope that's your favorite.”

That caught Corey's attention. He loved chocolate chip cookies.

“Just toss your jacket and pull up,” she continued. “My name's Meg.”

Meg? Mom and Dad never allowed us to address grown-ups by their first name. But Corey, who suddenly seemed perfectly at ease, threw his backpack and his jacket on the bench just like he had been invited to do and moved toward a chair at the table.

“Can I have three, Meg? I'm really hungry.”

She added another cookie to the two that had been placed beside Corey's milk glass.

“I don't think I'll have any,” I said hesitantly. “I have lots of homework.”

It just didn't seem right to be having cookies and milk with some stranger named Meg in Mom's kitchen. She just nodded and let me go.