by Robert Elmer
“Holy cow!” Michael yelled as it jerked out of the place he had wedged it. He reached for it and missed, and they watched helplessly as it went over the side of the boat and—plunk—into the lake.
Before anyone else could react, Michael tossed his wallet into the bottom of the boat and launched himself over the side in a perfect dive.
“You’re kidding me!” Pastor Bud shouted.
Stephanie couldn’t believe it, either. But if Michael didn’t know anything about hshing, he knew how to move through water on his own power. With a couple powerful strokes, he overtook the pole just below the surface. Stephanie wondered if the net would be big enough to land both her dad’s fish and the crazy Californian.
What do I do now? she wondered.
Michael tread water, holding his pole. Pastor Bud started laughing as he pulled in his fish, and Michael whooped and pulled on his lines, as well as he could from that angle.
“Here, here.” The pastor gestured to his catch. He brought it close to the side, and Stephanie scooped it up, as they’d done so many times before. They tossed their gear aside—along with the smallish rainbow trout Pastor Bud had caught—and turned their attention to landing Michael. The trick would be getting him back in the boat without swamping everyone in the process. He’d been in the frigid water for several minutes and had to be tiring. The waterlogged fisherman came in fairly well, though—Michael tossed his pole into the boat and then flopped over the gunwale with a grunt and a heave.
“The fish!” he gasped, out of breath and teeth chattering from the cold. But his line had gone slack, and from his knees, he reeled in the last of it.
“Oh, man! “ Michael dangled the lure, sans fish. Old Joe had slipped out of his grasp.
“Yup, that’s what he does,” Pastor Bud reassured him. “Old Joe just grabs the lure and spits it out. What he’s been doing for years. He’s a crafty one.”
Stephanie wasn’t worried about Old Joe. She grabbed a towel from the front of the boat and tossed it to Michael. “You better dry off before you freeze to death.”
“Thanks.” He took the towel with a smile, then looked at the pastor. “So how’s that for technique? Does that give you another sermon illustration?”
Pastor Bud shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it when you went over the side like that.”
“Well, I didn’t want to get in trouble for losing your pole. Especially not on my first fishing trip.”
Stephanie started giggling, then chuckling. It spread to the others, and soon they were all laughing. Her dad held up his prize, still wiggling. That set off a new wave of laughter, until they were all helpless and out of breath.
“If I ever lose my pole, Mike,” Pastor Bud finally gasped, “I’ll know who to call.”
“Sure. Anytime.”
Michael dried his hair with the towel, glancing quickly at Stephanie. He looked less like a cocky ex-soldier now and more like a waterlogged little boy, who was only here on vacation.
She looked away, finding lures in the tackle box that needed straightening.
seventeen
I believe in Christianity as I believe in the sun—not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.
C. S. LEWIS
Will leafed through the year-old Field & Stream magazine for the third time, checked the pregnancy growth chart on the wall once more, and paced. Merit smiled at him from her seat on the examination table, looking like a child in the silly green gown they’d made her wear.
“Come on!” He slapped the magazine down. “Is it really supposed to take this long to tell us what we already know? She said they’d be right back with the exam results.”
“Patience.”
Easy for her to say he thought.
He checked his watch again and thought about poking his head out into the hallway and hollering for someone. “I thought this was going to take an hour, tops. You know, ‘Yes, Mrs. Sullivan, you’re pregnant. Have a nice baby, and we’ll see you in eight months.’ “
“We’re not the only ones in the clinic, Will. Don’t be so impatient. I told you I could have come to this first checkup myself.”
“No way. I want to be here for everything, especially if they do one of those ultrasound snapshots.”
“You know they’re not going to do that yet. There’s hardly anything to see.”
“But he’s in there.”
“He?”
“Father’s intuition.” He pushed through a small pile of Sesame Street books, knowing he’d see a lot more of that brand of literature soon. “How long have we been here now? Three hours?”
“Not that long, dear. Just—”
His ears perked up like a dog’s when he heard footsteps.
“Somebody’s coming.” Will stood next to his wife and tried to look casual. This wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal. People had babies all the time. Just because they hadn’t planned it this way…
The door swung open, and their doctor hustled in. Now she was in a hurry?
The pinched look on Dr. Mindy McCauley’s face caught Will off guard. From smiles and congratulations to this? A young nurse’s aide followed the doctor, pushing a wheelchair. Wait a minute—
“I don’t mean to startle you, Mrs. Sullivan,” Dr. McCauley said, her tight expression betraying the nature of her news, “but I’ve looked at your tests, and we need to do some quick follow-up.”
Will took his wife’s hand and asked for both of them. “The baby? Is he all right?”
The doctor regained her composure and stepped aside to let the girl with the wheelchair roll closer.
“The fetus appears to be normal for this stage of it’s development. That’s not my concern at this point.”
“What do you mean?” Will asked again. Merit’s face had turned to ash. “If the baby’s normal, then—”
“Like I said, Mr. Sullivan, we just need to do some follow-up testing. At this point, I can’t really speculate beyond that.”
“Wait a minute,” Will said, digging in his heels. “You’re not speculating, but you’re scaring the snot out of us. Something’s wrong. What are you looking for?”
Dr. McCauley held her clipboard to her chest and pressed her lips together. “All right. We found a few things we didn’t expect. Our initial blood tests indicate leukocytosis, which is—”
“And for those of us who don’t speak Greek?” Will demanded.
“Er…” The doctor hesitated, checking her clipboard. “We’re looking at an extremely high white blood cell count. But I need to take a closer look before we jump to any conclusions.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Will needed more than that. “What conclusions could you be jumping to?”
“Like I said, Mr. Sullivan, I really think it’s best we do further tests without delay, before we speculate. We’ll need to do a bone marrow aspiration and a biopsy for starters.”
Merit squeezed his hand before they trundled her off in the wheelchair. A wheelchair—like she couldn’t walk on her own.
“It’S okay, dear,” she told him. “I’m sure I’ll be right back.”
Will tried to follow them but was stopped at the doorway.
“Please wait here, Mr. Sullivan,” Dr. McCauley said firmly. “We’ll take good care of her. Back before you know it.”
Will didn’t believe a word of it but did as he was told. He paced the tiny exam room for the next hour…and a half…two…
“God, what is going on?” He leaned his forehead against the door and prayed to the God he’d largely avoided—ignored seemed too strong a word— for the past several years. He desperately hoped this wasn’t God’s way of getting his attention. If it was, it was working.
But please, God, no.
He did the only thing he knew a good lapsed Lutheran should do—stare at the wall and recite the creed he’d memorized as a thirteen-year-old.
“I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.
That part he r
emembered well, but the words sounded as hollow as they always had. Especially now, since his whispered words only bounced off the white antiseptic walls right back at him. There was no way God would be excited by this wimpy display of faith.
“…in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord…”
Pastor Dahlberg would have been proud to know his old student still remembered the creed, especially after all the trouble Will had caused during confirmation classes.
“…who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried.”
It occurred to Will that whoever wrote this creed hadn’t wasted…any words. What if they described his own life that way?
Conceived, born, suffered, died, buried.
“He descended into hell. On the third day He rose again, according to the Scriptures. He ascended into heaven, from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.”
He’d always wondered about that “the quick and the dead” line. It rolled off his tongue but held little meaning.
“I believe in the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.”
Nothing in there about Lutherans. He supposed the Catholics were around first, so they could word their creed any way they wanted. Besides, it would have gotten pretty lengthy including every denomination in the phone book. Not that he had anything against Baptists.
Will took a deep breath and wondered why he’d bothered with the creed. On the other hand, something about his prayer attempt didn’t seem all bad. Maybe it hadn’t accomplished much, but—
The door clicked open, and Will jumped. Didn’t anybody knock around here? Another young nurse, unsmiling and silent, motioned for him to follow her down the hall and into a conference room. Will’s sense of foreboding grew.
Merit sat in her wheelchair next to the conference table. She looked pale.
“Mr. Sullivan.” The doctor motioned to a chair. “Your wife wanted you to be here when I explained some of the preliminary results we’re getting from the lab. Please sit down.”
Will nodded and sat, reaching over to hold his wife’s hand. It felt clammy. He couldn’t stop thinking that this was how people were supposed to take bad news—seated.
“First of all, let me tell you both that there’s good news—despite the fact that many of my worst fears appear to have been realized.”
“So enlighten us,” Will replied. Maybe Merit had pried more answers out of her, but Will felt as if they’d been stumbling through a dark tunnel with this lady. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
The doctor sighed and crossed her arms. “All right. Initial tests show highly elevated white blood cell counts, as I mentioned earlier. The bone marrow biopsy, including the core biopsy, leads me to suspect that we could be looking at AML.”
“Which is…” Will curled his lip. Why couldn’t these people ever speak English?
“Acute myeloid leukemia.”
Will’s throat went dry. Leukemia. It all made sense in a twisted, horrible way—the worried looks from Dr. McCauley, the hurried trip to the lab. Will’s head began to spin, and he was glad he was sitting.
“Is that what’s made me feel so weak these last couple months?” Merit’s voice shook, and it surprised Will that she was able to say anything. Despite her wide-eyed expression, she looked a little better than he felt.
Dr. McCauley nodded. “Fatigue, fever, shortness of breath, loss of appetite, weight loss—they could all be symptoms, but.
But the doctor wasn’t sure and still couldn’t tell with absolute certainty. Possibly it was a combination of Merit’s illness and the pregnancy, she told them. And before they jumped to any conclusions, they would need to do more tests.
“You said there was good news.” Will needed some ofthat. Something to shine some light on this nightmare.
“Absolutely.” The doctor put on her game face, leaned in, and gripped both their hands in hers. “Now you both listen to me. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, and I’m not going to mislead you. This could be quite serious. But what I’m saying is that we have a fighting chance. With aggressive, immediate treatment, and with the right support system and attitude, the odds are—well, it wouldn’t be right to guess at the odds just yet, but they’re not insurmountable. “
“That’s the good news?” Will asked, just to be sure.
The doctor nodded. “Time is not our friend right now, however. We’re making arrangements, as we speak, to admit Mrs. Sullivan directly to the oncology unit. First we’ll do the D and C, and then we’ll go right into some aggressive treatment. With any luck—”
“Wait, wait a minute.” Merit held up her hand, as if asking the teacher a question. “Why would I have a D and C?”
Will tried to remember what that meant. He’d heard the term before but never paid much attention to the female medical abbreviations.
E)r. McCauley’s voice turned deliberate and syrup-sweet, as if she were talking to someone far younger. “Listen to me carefully, dear. This is an accepted medical procedure, and these are the steps we need to take. We don’t have a lot of time, and there really is no other way.”
A. storm broke on Merit’s countenance, one that Will recognized. She set her chin and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “No one is going to take my baby.”
The doctor shook her head in obvious puzzlement for a moment, then tried another tack. “Mrs. Sullivan, no one’s saying you couldn’t get pregnant again. Although frankly, at your age, I wouldn’t advise it. In fact, even without the cancer, we’d be talking about higher risks of fetal abnormalities. You’re forty-four years old.”
“I do remember my age.” Merits eyes narrowed. “Let me ask you this: if I wem: through chemo and radiation without the abortion first, what are my baby’s chances?”
“At this stage of development?” The doctor shook her head. “And with aggressive radiation treatment? Not good. It would not be a responsible move on your part—or mine as your physician.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“So we’ll get you over to—”
“No.” Merit shook her head. “I can’t allow you to kill the child in my womb any more than I could stand by and watch you strangle one of my other children.”
Will shuddered at the comparison.
“Don’t you see, Doctor?” Merit pleaded. “I’m their mother. Do you have children?”
Dr. McCauley gazed down at the table for a moment. Will noticed she’d pulled back her left hand—the one without a ring.
“We’re not talking about me here,” she said. “We’re talking about—”
“You don’t know what it’s like, do you?” Merit asked, hitting hard. “You don’t understand that I can’t risk his life with radiation or chemo. I won’t.”
Will sat stunned as the reality of her words soaked in and chilled him to the bone. He couldn’t speak, but he could hold on to her hand for support, and this he did, as though clinging to life itself.
The doctor changed tactics again.
“Mrs. Sullivan—Merit—please don’t do this. Don’t throw away your life over an embryo. I have nieces; I think I know what you’re going through. You need to remember that you have a responsibility to the children you already have. And if I can say so, a God-given responsibility. Think of them.”
At this, the tears welled up in Merit’s eyes, and for the first time she seemed to soften. She reached across the table to grip Will’s hand in both of hers. She looked at her husband with a pleading in her eyes he’d never seen before.
“I need you to back me up, Will. Say some—”
“Your husband can’t back you up,” the doctor snapped. “You know how he’s going to feel about this. You know what he’s going to say. Merit, you know what’s right in your heart. Now you have to do the right thing. At least begin a modest chemo treatment.”
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Will wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat.
The doctor pushed a clipboard across the table. “This is the consent form I need you to sign, Mrs. Sullivan. And if you can’t sign it, I’ll see that your husband does for you.”
Could she do that? Will wasn’t sure, but by this time, he wasn’t sure of anything. The awful truth was that, despite Merit’s protests, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t sign it.
Dr. McCauley pulled a pen from the front pocket of her lab coat, clicked it, and handed it to Merit.
Will finally found his voice. “Honey…” he said, “we should talk about this.”
Merit’s lip quivered and tears began streaming down her face. She took the pen and looked at the doctor.
“Will’s right,” she croaked. “We need time. We need to talk—”
“I understand,” the doctor broke in, looking at both of them sternly. “Take a few minutes. Talk to your husband. I’ll wait.”
What were these—pressure tactics? Obviously the two women had entirely different ideas of how long it would take to make this decision. They needed days for this, not minutes.
The doctor stood watching as Merit’s hand wavered over the form. Will held his breath when she lowered her hand as if to sign the form.
“No.” Merit dropped the pen on the table, yanked the form out of the clipboard, and deliberately tore it down the middle. “You’re right.”
The doctor’s eyes widened.
“I do know the right thing to do in my heart,” Merit explained. “I’m sure Will does too. God would never ask me to hurt our baby, no matter what. Besides, I could have the abortion today and still die in a few weeks or months, right?”
The overhead fluorescent light hummed the answer.
“I’ll start whatever treatment you want,” Merit finished, “but not until after the baby’s born.”
“I don’t think you understand, Mrs. Sullivan. That’s going to be too late. I’m afraid the leukemia may already have spread to your lymph nodes. We may already be too late.”
“Then it will be. But I won’t do it. I can’t”
Merit dropped the clipboard on the table and headed for the door. “I need to get my clothes and go back home,” she whispered.