Under the Cypress Moon (22 page)

"Ok, Daddy.  Whatever you want.  I'll make a call and get somebody."  No sooner than Mark said this, Thomas' doctor entered.

The doctor was a small, wormy-looking man with a faint, thin moustache covering his dark skin.  "Hi.  I'm Dr. Alsedaa.  I'm Mr. Crady's oncologist.  Might I discuss his condition with you in private?  You are his son, correct?"

"Yes.  I'm his son."

"If you would follow me, please, Sir, we can discuss your father's condition."

Mark feared the worst.  The deep dread within him was overwhelming, stagnant, and creating a pit in his stomach that he was sure would not disappear any time soon.

"What's the deal, Doctor," Mark asked, hoping to get it all over as soon as possible.

"Your father," began the doctor, a bit reluctant to share bad news but knowing that it was part of the job and hoping just as much as Mark to get it all finished, continued, "Your father is in a very advanced stage of cancer."

"Yeah.  He told me."

"Well, you see," the doctor now fighting to find the right words replied, feeling it almost in vain, "His condition is not only advanced but quite complicated.  Not only does he have the cancer that likely began in his stomach but has now spread throughout his organs and has even moved to his lungs, which is all inoperable, but he also has a brain tumor that is rather large.  The tumor is operable, though the surgery would be risky, and I'm afraid that removing it would do nothing really.  The other cancer has spread too far.  The tumor could begin to affect many of his functions, including his memory.  The most that can be done for him is to make his remaining days as comfortable as possible and to make sure that he has plenty of pain medicines to counter the crippling effects of the cancer.  If you notice that he has difficulty remembering things or even trouble with his vision or other functions, you must keep in mind that it is all a part of his state.  He could go at any moment.  I
would give him no more than two months, but I think that that is probably far too optimistic.  He could have hardly any time left at all.  Some patients shock their doctors by surviving longer than their estimated time, yet many others go well before that.  All that you can do is be there for him and assist him in whatever he required.  I... I am sorry. I apologize that I have to be the bearer of such news, but I'm sure you understand that it must be done.  I wish that I could do more for your father.  There really is nothing more that can be done, however."

"No, Doc. I get it.  I understand.  I'm glad he has a doctor that cares this much and is lookin' out for him.  So, does that mean that he's goin' home or what?"

"Well," the doctor said, musing over the situation, "Ideally, he should be here where he can be well taken care of by hospital staff, yet, as there is so little that can be done, he could go home whenever he wishes, so long as he will have proper home care."

"He said he wants me to hire him a nurse.  I planned on callin' for one right away."

"That is a good idea, Sir.  I would do that immediately.  I would suggest calling Hospice.  They are very good at providing home care for terminally ill patients.  You would be responsible for some of your father's care, but as there is so little that would be needed to do, it should be easily manageable by you and the nurse.  I will send in a nurse with your father's discharge instructions, as well as the phone number for Hospice.  We can arrange a bed for your father, if you like."

"I think he'd be happy in his own bed, to tell you the truth, Doc.  But whatever needs to be done, I'll do it.  I'll call Hospice as soon as I get the number.  What do we do as far as arranging supplies and things?"

"I will write prescriptions for all of the equipment needed and other things.  Your father's insurance should pick up the bill for most of it, I would say, including the nurse.  There will likely be very little of any out-of-pocket expense.  I am sorry, Sir.  I wish you and your father all of the best.  This is really the part of my job that I hate.  If I had seen your father long before all of this, I believe that I could easily have treated him, and he would recover well and not be where he is today.  That is what I hope for every day, finding the cases that are still in early enough stages."  The doctor's face looked truly worried and saddened.  Mark had no idea what to say to comfort the man but wasn't sure that he needed to try.  The doctor had obviously dealt with similar cases.

"Thank you, Doc.  I appreciate it.  I'll take good care of him and do all I can to keep him comfortable and happy.  It means a lot you takin' this time like this."

"That is what I do, Sir.  I save lives when I can, and when I can't, it pains me."  The doctor, not knowing of anything to add, walked away, his head hanging low, muttering to himself about the shortness of life and the terrible ordeals of so many innocent people.

Mark re-entered the room to find Shylah holding Thomas' hand and singing to him in her angelic voice.  Thomas was smiling intently, staring at Shylah's beautiful face.  Mark marveled at how truly amazing Shylah was, how giving of her time and energy she was, and how she could bring such joy to so many, but not wanting to interrupt, Mark only stood in the doorway, watching and listening.

When Shylah finished her song, Thomas leaned forward the best that he could, and whispering so low that Mark could not hear him, told Shylah, "You... have... my... bless... blessing.  Mar... Marry... my... son."

"One day, Sir," Shylah happily informed the old man.  "One day, I think I might just have to."  Shylah's smile at the thought of that happy occasion and the thought of the uplifting she had brought to Thomas in his final days filled the woman with immense and immeasurable contentment.  She felt at peace and very glad that she had been welcomed into the Crady family.  It was not a family that would have been easy to be a part of had Thomas not found himself nearly to slip from this world, and Shylah greatly regretted that it had to be so, but nonetheless, Thomas had accepted Shylah, and Mark loved them both.  Shylah thought to herself how wonderful it would be if a miracle could be worked, allowing Thomas to survive and maintain his change of heart.  Mark would be happy, not to mention that he and Shylah could continue their relationship with a blessing, and she would have a new friend.

Mark stepped forward, taking his place beside Shylah next to Thomas' bed. "Dad, they're gonna let you go home today.  We have to wait for a nurse.  She's gonna bring us your papers and the number for Hospice.  I'm gonna call them and get you a nurse for the house.  The doctor is gonna prescribe all the stuff we'll need, and I'll have to go by the medical supply store to get it all.  We'll get you home as soon as we can and get you all set up."

"Good," Thomas rasped back.
  "Son?"

"Yeah, Pop?"

"When.. I'm..  gone..."

"Dad, just rest."

"No.  When... I'm... gone...  go... see... St...Stan... Stan Walker."

"Your lawyer?"

"Yes."

"Ok, Dad.  Just let's not talk about that.  You got a while.  I don't wanna think about that right now."

"You... need... to... know.  You... get... ev... every... everything."

"I know, Dad.  You told me.  I get everything.  That doesn't even matter right now.  You're what's important."

Minutes passed in silence, Mark and Shylah occasionally glancing at one another but with nothing said.  Mark, though wanting to be there for his father at every possible moment, felt a bit ill at ease over the whole situation and could not wait for the nurse to finally bring all of the necessary items for the process of getting Thomas home to begin.

The nurse, a rater stocky, curly-haired woman quickly dispatched the paperwork to Mark and informed him that Dr. Alsedaa had taken a particular interest in Thomas' case and had requested that he be allowed to come by the house to make sure that Thomas was well established for his home care and that everything had been set up properly.

Mark and Shylah happily left to arrange the matters, leaving Thomas to rest on his own.  No sooner than he was in the car, Mark made the call to Hospice and made arrangements for the nurse to add Thomas to her schedule.  She would be at the house late that afternoon to become acquainted with everything, which meant that everything else must be done in great haste. 

As the couple sped toward the medical supply store, Shylah felt a need to broach the subject now weighing upon her mind.  "Honey, you really get everything?"

"Yeah.  Why does that matter?"

"Just wondering.  You're gonna leave the plant open, right?  My dad and my brother and my uncle depend on it."

"Babe, you know me.  You know I'd never do such a thing.  I couldn't live with myself if I caused so many people to lose their jobs.  I'd kill myself before I let anything happen to the plant."

"Well," Shylah worriedly continued, "What about now?  You're not there much anymore.  Is it all runnin' ok without you?"

"As far as I know.  There's somebody there to keep it all going.  I'm sure I'll be headin' back there soon to take everything back over.  No worries, Baby.  I got it."

"Ok," Shylah said in relief.  "Good.  I just wanna make sure, for your sake and everybody else's, that nothin' bad happens."

It was ironic that Shylah brought up the plant, as no sooner than the conversation was finished, Mark's cell phone rang, showing a call from the acting plant manager, Don Birchum.  Mark realized the irony of it all and felt another dread deep in his stomach as he answered the call.

"Mark?"

"Yeah, Don?"

"We got an emergency!  I need you here right away!"

"What's goin' on?"

"Furnace 15 exploded!  I told your daddy to switch to electric furnaces, and he never listened!"

"How bad?"

"The fire is bein' put out as we speak, but it's bad.  Cyrus Donovan is burned bad, real bad, but worse, we lost a man, Tim Bedoe.  There's gonna be an investigation, and I don't know what the hell to do or what to tell our employees!  They're all up in arms, and frankly, so am I!  This is a mess, a big mess!  Can you please get down here?!"

"Don, I got a lot to deal with right now.  I'm on my way to the medical supply store to get everything for my dad to come home."

"Come home?"

"You mean you didn't hear about his cancer?"

"I heard a little."

"He's dyin', Don.  He's got very little time left.  We gotta get him set up at home.  I'll be there as soon as I can, but I'm up to my ears in all this already.  I'll do what I can.  I promise.  Tell the families of the two men that we will do everything we can by them.  They will be taken care of.  They have my word.  We stick by our employees, no matter what.  And all employees will receive full wages while the plant is shut down.  I swear to it."

"Ok, but that's gonna cost us out the ass, Mark."

"Do it.  They have families to feed, and some of 'em are single mothers.  Do whatever has to be done.  if we have to beg and borrow from all the banks in the state, it's gonna get done.  Any and all medical expenses will be covered by us, and full wages plus some extra for everyone."

"Alright.  Gotcha.  I'll let everybody know, but Tanya Donovan and Mary Jane Bedoe are fumin' mad!  Somebody's gotta do damage control with these women or they might burn down the rest of the plant."

"Do what you can, Don.  I'll be there as soon as I can."

As Mark hung up, Shylah immediately turned in his direction and demanded to know what was going on.  "What happened, Babe?"

"Explosion at the plant."

"What?!"

"Yeah.  It's pretty bad."

Shylah was beside herself before even knowing the details, thinking that the men of her family might be harmed.  "Are my dad, my brother, and my uncle ok?"

"Don didn't say anything about them.  He only mentioned two other guys.  One's burned bad, and the other is dead. Their wives are about ready to tear the plant down, they're so mad.  I gotta do some kind of damage control or else, but let's get this stuff done that we're out for."

"But you're gonna stand by everybody, no matter what, right?"

"Of course, Hon.  I never planned otherwise."

"Mark, please.  I'm begging you, please call my brother, and make sure everything is ok!"

"Alright, Babe.  On it."

As Shylah pulled into the parking lot of the medical supply store, Mark was still on the phone with T.L.

"Ok, T., gotta go.  Gotta get the stuff for my old man.  Yeah, if you wanna come over later, come over.  Don't worry.  Just get yourself checked out.  The plant will cover all expenses, no matter how big.  You got my word.  You and your dad are gonna get full paychecks until this thing is taken care of.  No, don't worry.  Just get to the E.R.  Whatever the insurance doesn't cover, we will.  See ya later.  We gotta hurry, but I'll let you know when we're home."

"What'd he say?  What'd he say," Shylah couldn't help but ask over and over. 

"Calm down.  He's ok.  Your dad is ok."

"My uncle?"

"Didn't say."

"What was that about getting checked out, the E.R. and all that?"

"Oh.  Ok, but keep calm.  Your brother got a metal shard in his face."

"Is he ok?  Please tell me he's ok!"