BROWNIE: An Angel's Visit

by Linda Stanley Dalton

  Jeb absently sipped lukewarm, stale cafeteria coffee from a Styrofoam cup, ignoring the bitter taste of the strong brew. He didn’t know why Michael’s tumor was suddenly growing like an unwanted weed on steroids, but he feared that unless they operated soon, Michael’s chances for recovery would decline rapidly.

  Overnight, Jeb had conferred via telephone with Doctor Alan Springfield, a friend in Boston. They had roomed together at Ohio State, then Johns Hopkins Medical School where they did their internships and residencies. Alan was a renowned oncologist and surgeon at Massachusetts General Hospital, and ranked among the top ten best specialists in America. After they discussed all the particulars of Michael’s case, Alan agreed that chemotherapy drugs would take too long, and that he felt strongly that surgery was their only option; Alan had even offered to perform it himself pro bono.

  Jeb looked at his watch. It wasn’t quite seven o’clock yet. He knew Lauren had not left the hospital, despite his encouraging her to do so. He sniffed at his scrub top and decided he would grab a much needed shower before going to Michael’s room to discuss options with her, of which there were fewer than he would prefer. His choice to perform the surgery was Alan Springfield, who could be there within a few hours if Lauren agreed. Jeb would assist instead of leading the team because he wanted the best surgical hands he knew of—Alan’s—to be in charge of the delicate procedure awaiting them.

  A knock at the door startled him. He opened it and found Kenni waiting on the other side with a brown paper lunch bag in one hand; in the other hand she carried his large Ohio State Buckeyes sports bag containing a change of clothes.

  “Hello, Beautiful,” he greeted before he kissed her. Just seeing her instantly lifted his spirits. Jeb felt better as he detected the familiar fragrance of her morning-shower body wash—with a hint of magnolia and jasmine—and its matching body spray, a scent that even if detected on other women whispered ‘Kenni’ to his heart.

  “Hello, Sweetheart; I missed you,” she replied.

  “I know what’s in this one.” Jeb took the lunch bag from her hand and opened it like a little kid anxious to devour his favorite treat. “Smells delicious, just what the doctor ordered. Thanks, Kenni.” He pulled an egg salad sandwich from the plastic bag and practically inhaled it while his wife amusedly watched.

  “How’s Michael? I woke up around two and you weren’t home, so I knew something was keeping you here, that most likely it was Michael.” She was no stranger to waking up alone while Jeb dealt with a patient in crisis. “Pastor Henderson encouraged everyone to pray and there have even been people from other churches joining in. Westside has had lots of prayer warriors at the altar.”

  Kenni placed the sporting bag bearing the white Buckeyes ‘O’ logo on his desk. When she looked back at her husband, he was digging into the paper bag for another sandwich. She knew Jeb seldom ate when things were going badly with a patient. Egg salad sandwiches were his favorite, the one thing she knew he loved enough to take the time to stop and eat.

  “I talked with Alan last night—actually this morning.”

  “Springfield? Doctor Ego himself?”

  He nodded, grinning through his bite of sandwich that left remnants of mayonnaise on his lips before he could lick it away.

  “Good heavens, what’s up with Alan? You haven’t seen him in years.”

  “We may be reuniting for Michael’s case. If Lauren agrees to the surgery, I’d like him to operate on him,” Jeb replied, still munching on his sandwich. “He’s one of the best surgeons in the country, and he’s volunteered his services for free. I don’t see a lot of options, and I’m afraid if we don’t operate, Michael will die.”

  “Oh, Jeb,” Kenni whimpered. She unconsciously touched her hands to the promising swell of her belly. She had fallen in love with their baby the instant she knew she was pregnant, had been in love with the very idea of him or her at the first sign of a missed period. “Have you talked to Lauren yet?”

  “Not about this.” Jeb polished off the rest of the coffee. “She finally fell asleep a little while ago. I’ll shower and then talk to her, give her a bit more time to rest.” He frowned. “Kenni, I don’t get it. All of a sudden this tumor is on a rampage. It’s so close to his heart, affecting his lungs, and there just isn’t time for chemo to be effective. We’ll need immediate results. I am not looking forward to the surgery, but if I don’t do anything he’ll die!”

  “Honey, maybe it’s not the right option,” Kenni suggested, “getting Alan involved, I mean. What does the still soft voice inside tell you?”

  “I’ve been so busy trying to come up with a plan that I haven’t exactly been listening,” he admitted with a frown. “Oh, Kenni, I don’t know if I have peace about any of this and I’m not sure why. For the first time as a physician—and a surgeon—I feel constrained by human ability.” He shook his head and sighed. “Maybe I feel more constrained by my inability.”

  Kenni moved closer, taking his hand in hers. She planted a warm, soft kiss on the back of it and looked up at him. Her eyes searched his. “I’ve never seen you express feelings like this before a proposed course of treatment.”

  “How come I didn’t see this coming? Suddenly this tumor went into overdrive and it’s filling his chest cavity.” Jeb exhaled, blowing air out through his lips like a horse. “I don’t believe we have a lot of time to do nothing, to wait until I come up with an alternative plan! Lauren’s going to want to hear some options. I think having Alan remove the tumor is the most promising option I see; he’s got the hands for it.”

  “And you don’t?” Kenni raised an eyebrow. “You are as fine a surgeon as anyone else, Sweetheart; you and I both know that. You could just as easily have had the career and acclaim Alan has, but you chose, instead, to practice here in the Miami Valley. Don’t doubt your abilities, Jeb.”

  “Thank you for your vote of confidence; it means more to me than you may think. Michael’s case just has me puzzled and I don’t have a clue about why this has happened so fast. It’s like the tumor has taken on a life of its own with the way it’s behaving. I’ve never seen this, Sweetheart. It’s very strange to say the least, and more than a little frightening.”

  “It’s your decision, even though I’m sure of your competence, but I’ve learned not to second-guess you. What are the chances that Alan can successfully remove the tumor and get all of it?” Kenni asked. “Michael will still have to go through other adjuvant therapy, won’t he? Will he be strong enough to handle chemo and radiation after the surgery?”

  “Good points, Love; excellent in fact. Unfortunately, your brilliant husband doesn’t have all the answers, at least not today.”

  Kenni’s hand touched his face with a tender caress. She didn’t feel the prickly stubble of his whiskers beneath her fingers, only the beloved face of the person closest to her heart. “Maybe a shower will clear your head. Not all feelings lead to answers; I learned that a long time ago. I’ll pray for God to give you more insight. Once you figure out what it is He’s trying to tell you, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. I have complete trust in you; please don’t lose confidence in yourself. You are a wonderful and gifted surgeon.”

  Jeb gathered her into his arms. “How did you get so smart?” He held her close, savoring the sweet smell of her.

  “I don’t feel smart all the time,” she admitted, laughing as she looked up at him, into the softness of his warm, hazel eyes. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back. I’ll call Liza and let her know what’s going on in case they need me downstairs.”

  “Thanks. You’re the best—beautiful, and smart, too!” He grinned. “And you’re all mine!”

  “That I am.” Kenni smiled, happily caressing her tummy. “Remember that when my belly gets so big that my feet disappear and you can’t get your arms around me anymore.”

  ***

  The sound of Michael’s voice startled Lauren awake. She’d had the strangest dream about her son; it was so lifelike and real that she
wondered if, somehow, it had actually happened. Lauren forced her eyes open and sitting up, slid aside the thermal blanket someone had covered her with. She was stiff from spending so much time in the chair; her muscles ached from fatigue and stress. “What is it, Darling?” she asked as she looked at Michael. To her surprise he was sleeping. She gazed into space and pondered what did I hear if not Michael’s voice?

  Lauren ran a hand through her dark, disheveled hair and tried her best to smooth it with her fingers. She wanted to sit quietly and try to recall every detail of her dream as they were already beginning to fade.

  Before she could think any more about it, one of the women from Westside entered the room carrying a cup of coffee and a small bag of muffins. The sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon wafted from the bag, reminding Lauren that she could stand to eat something. While she appreciated all the support she had been shown by her church family, she began feeling guilty for longing for a few more minutes alone to recapture her dream.

  She smiled up at Mary Elizabeth Fisher, who had taken time off from work to pray for Michael and to lend whatever support she could.

  “I thought you could use a little somethin’,” Mary Elizabeth said softly, her charming Kentucky accent coloring her speech. She was a petite woman, maybe all of thirty, with long, reddish-blonde hair that cascaded straight down her back and beyond her buttocks. One never saw Mary Elizabeth wearing anything except a skirt or dress, she never wore pants.

  “Thank you so much,” Lauren said as she accepted the coffee and small, white paper bag. She balanced the bag in her lap, and then removed the plastic lid from the coffee.

  Mary Elizabeth looked over at Michael, pursed her lips then returned her gaze to Lauren. “Any change?”

  Lauren took a sip, burning her tongue on the hot coffee and shook her head. “Doctor Hastings should be down soon. Poor man, he was here all night.”

  Mary Elizabeth laid a delicate, fair skinned hand lightly on Lauren’s shoulder. “Please don’t give up hope, Sister Donahue,” she encouraged. “So many people love Michael and are prayin’ for him. And God loves him even more than you do.”

  “I won’t,” Lauren assured her, “and I’ve accepted that whatever happens, Michael’s life is in God’s hands. All of our lives rest with Him.”

  Neither Lauren nor Mary Elizabeth had noticed Doctor Hastings entering the room until he spoke. “I see you’re awake,” Jeb greeted them as he and Kenni came into Michael’s room together. “I hope you got some sleep, Lauren. Grab whatever rest you can, whenever you can.”

  “I do.” Lauren took another sip of coffee before she placed it on the table beside the chair. She looked up at Doctor Hastings whom she knew was a Godly man, and she believed that Michael was not in his care by accident. “Is there anything new you can tell me about my son?” She watched him expectantly through violet eyes that clearly showed her lack of sleep with the tell-tale red lines and puffiness that made her look older.

  Jeb glanced at Mary Elizabeth, he knew she was in their congregation, but did not know her personally. However, as soon as their eyes met, she perceptively excused herself so that they could speak privately.

  Jeb then sat down beside Lauren. “I’ve been on the phone with a colleague of mine from Massachusetts General Hospital,” he explained, struggling with the words, and still wondering why he felt reluctant to do the surgery himself. “Doctor Springfield is one of the best surgeons in the country, and one of the most skillful oncologists I’ve ever known.”

  Lauren exhaled, and it felt as if all of her breath was leaving her body. “So, we’re looking at surgery?” she asked, trying to remain patient. “Things are worse this morning?”

  Jeb nodded somberly. “I’m afraid so. We spoke at length about everything concerning Michael’s case. I agree with Doctor Springfield that Michael needs intervention quickly, and that equates to surgical removal of the tumor. I wish with all my heart that the prognosis for Michael was better, but quite frankly his condition is deteriorating at an alarming rate. I have no idea why his tumor has suddenly begun to accelerate. I didn’t foresee this; perhaps I should have, but I didn’t. I am offering you the services of the finest surgeon I know. Springfield is also waiving his fee.”

  Kenni had entered the room just as Jeb was explaining to Lauren about Doctor Springfield, she stood silently beside him. Jeb didn’t see the shadow of uneasiness that crept across his wife’s face as she listened to his words, the deepening furrow between her eyes. Kenni found it disturbing that Jeb felt it necessary to have another doctor operate. It didn’t make sense to her, but she knew enough not to drill him; it was his choice and she told herself he had his reasons for his decision. Her moment of apprehension passed quickly and she turned to Lauren and reaffirmed her husband’s words: “Doctor Springfield is a top surgeon, Lauren; he’s one of the best in the country and a personal friend of Jeb’s. They went to both Ohio State and Johns Hopkins together.”

  “But not quite as good as God is,” Lauren said sadly. She pursed her lips, and then shook her head slightly as she looked from Kenni to Jeb and swallowed hard. “What is Michael’s prognosis if you perform surgery? Will he be able to withstand it? What about after? Are we still looking at chemo and radiation?”

  Jeb had anticipated Lauren would ask all the tough questions. Throughout their physician/parent relationship, she had demonstrated that she was an intelligent woman who would not be appeased by anything less than the truth. He liked and respected her, and none of that made what he was about to say any easier.

  “Michael has a very long haul ahead of him,” he counseled in a soothing voice, doing his best to reassure her and give her as much hope as possible. “The truth is, the surgery isn’t without risk, but I highly doubt that he can recover without it, it’s that grave. The tumor is there and growing at an alarming rate. It’s dangerously close to his heart and pressing on his lungs. And yes, we’re looking at chemo and radiation following surgery. To be most effective, to have the best odds at obliterating any possible remaining cells, I want to start Michael on chemotherapy as soon as he can safely tolerate it. There will be a window of time; I’m not talking about beginning treatment immediately after surgery and I promise we will not rush anything.”

  “When would the surgery take place?” Lauren asked almost mechanically. She needed time alone, needed space, needed to think and pray. She felt that she needed to consider the dream she’d had, that it held something she needed to know.

  “Doctor Springfield can be here in a couple of hours if you want to go ahead with the surgery,” Jeb replied.

  “I would rather that you operate, but I trust your judgment. What can you tell me about Doctor Springfield?” Lauren asked. “I mean, beyond Massachusetts General and all that.” She knew of Mass General only by its stellar reputation.

  Jeb’s eyes met hers. “As a surgeon, they don’t come any better,” he assured her. “Like Kenni said, we were roommates at Ohio State, then John Hopkins for med school. He’s a good and decent man, and an expert surgeon.”

  “What kind of man is he?” Lauren persisted, her eyes searching Jeb’s. “Does he know the Lord?”

  Jeb shook his head. “Talent is God-given, and Alan has that in abundance. As for his relationship with God, I don’t know. However, I can tell you this: I would not hesitate to have him operate on my own child—or myself or my wife—if I were in your position. He isn’t a perfect man—neither am I. When it comes to his surgical skills, though, he’s close to it. Alan will head the team and I will assist him. I’m not bailing out on you, Lauren; I’m simply trying to put together the best plan of intervention to give Michael a fighting chance. I want him to live!”

  Kenni sensed Lauren’s reluctance. “Lauren, you can and should take time to think about this,” she suggested. “Perhaps there is someone else you might wish to talk to. Michael is your child; you have every right to feel as comfortable as you can with your decision.”

  “Absolutely,” Jeb agreed.

/>   “Thank you both,” Lauren answered. She was tired. She felt like there was a traffic jam of information backing up in her mind. She turned her attention to Jeb. “I think I’m going to take a walk, then maybe go home and take a shower. I’d like to take a little time before we go ahead, if that’s okay with you, Doctor Hastings.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Jeb thoroughly understood—not only understood, but insisted that she needed to come to terms as best she could with what he had told her before they went ahead with the surgery. He knew many parents jumped on whatever their physicians said only to wonder later if they had acted in haste, and he did not want that scenario for any patient, or their parents.

  “Whatever you decide, God will be present in Michael’s treatment, no matter who performs the procedure,” Kenni assured her.

  “We have some time, Lauren,” Jeb reiterated as he reached out and took her hand. “You should go home, get out of here for awhile. Process what we’ve discussed. Pray. For now, I don’t anticipate any change. I want you to be sure of what you want to do before we do anything.”

  Lauren nodded. “I will be, I promise.”

  Chapter 14

  Charlie followed the enticing aroma of freshly perked morning coffee into the kitchen where he found Kevin Browne sitting at the table, drinking tea and staring at the TV. It was unusual and somewhat surprising not to find Brownie in his true form. What goes through his mind, he wondered? Does he like looking human? Does he know how good he looks? The coffee maker gurgled, sputtering out the last few drops as it filled the glass carafe with Charlie’s favorite brew.

  “Good morning, Charlie.”

  “Good morning, Brownie.” Charlie grabbed one of his favorite mugs, bright yellow with a grumpy-looking gray cat, and prepared his coffee. He had spent a sleepless night with all sorts of images running through his mind like strangely disconnected videos without a discernable plot. He figured his only hope of shaking off the weariness might be found in a good cup of coffee.