Stunned, Dawn blurted, “Won’t I ever get well?”
“If you remain in remission for five years, we consider you cured,” the doctor said, smiling.
“Dr. Sinclair,” Dawn’s mom asked quietly. “What if we decide to skip all this therapy and just take Dawn home?”
The blue-eyed doctor surveyed her and said, “That would be very unwise, Mrs. Rochelle. Untreated, ninety percent of all leukemia victims die within a year.”
Dead! A kind of relief flooded through Dawn at the sound of the word. At last, someone had finally said it . . . Dead. All day everyone had avoided the word. Leukemia kills, Dawn realized. “I-I don’t want to die,” she mumbled softly.
“That’s why you’re here,” Dr. Sinclair said, “so that you can live. The next several weeks will be tough. The drugs will make you very sick. You may lose your hair. You’ll definitely lose your appetite. You’ll be poked and stuck and you’ll feel sad and angry at all of us. But in the end, you’ll go into remission and your chances are really good that you will survive.” His eyes looked determined and Dawn realized something as she looked into them.
Dr. Sinclair hated leukemia. Like a person hates evil, he hated the disease. It comforted her to know that he was on her side. He was going to help her fight this terrible war that was going on within her body.
After Dr. Sinclair and his assistants left, Dawn changed into a hospital gown. She unpacked the small collection of items she’d brought from home. She filled the bedside table with perfumed soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant and some makeup supplies. She went into the adjoining bathroom and surveyed her face in the mirror.
It was a pleasant face, not beautiful, but cute with the Rochelle family nose and her mother’s clear green eyes. She brushed her long, auburn hair and tied it up in a pony tail. “So,” she told her reflection, “in a few weeks I may be bald.” It bothered her a lot. It had taken her years to grow her hair past her shoulders. “I’ll get it cut tomorrow!” she said firmly. If she was going to be bald, then she’d get used to short hair right now!
Her dinner tray arrived and her parents went down to the hospital cafeteria for their dinner. The food was tasty, but Dawn didn’t have much of an appetite. Absently, she wondered when her fabled roommate was going to appear. But Dawn ate all her dinner alone with no trace of Sandy Chandler.
A lab technician entered rattling a tray of bottles, tubes and syringes. Dawn felt her heart skip. She was going to be stuck with needles. Dawn’s suspicions were confirmed. The technician rolled up Dawn’s sleeve and encircled her arm with a thick rubber band.
The woman talked cheerfully as she poked around for Dawn’s vein. When she found the vein, she slid the long syringe into it. Fascinated, Dawn watched the attached tube fill with her blood. Next, the lab technician stuck another needle into a vein on Dawn’s forearm. Then she slipped a thin, clear tube into the vein, attached a permanent vial, clamped it off and taped the entire contraption down. Oddly, it didn’t hurt.
“I’m doing this so we don’t have to stick you every time we need a blood sample,” the technician explained, sensing Dawn’s questions. “Now, I’ll be able to undo the clamp, drain out the blood sample and close it up again without sticking you. The clamp acts like a floodgate.”
Once she’d left, Dawn stared at the attached tube. Vampires! she thought. The place seemed full of vampires.
Her parents returned from supper and stood awkwardly in the room. “You can go home,” Dawn told them. “I-I’ll just watch some T.V.”
They both looked tired and strained. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” her mom said.
“I’ll stop off on my way to the office,” her father added.
“Do you want me to call some of your friends?” her mother asked. “Or do you want to?” She eyed the telephone next to Dawn’s bed.
“You can,” Dawn said. They’d find out sooner or later. But she wasn’t up to telling anybody just yet.
Her parents kissed her good night and left. Dawn lay in the unfamiliar bed blinking back a sudden rush of helpless tears. “Stop it!” she commanded herself. “Crying won’t help!”
Nurse Fredia entered the room. “Here it is,” she announced, setting down a small silver tray full of paper cups. Each cup was filled with some kind of medication. She handed Dawn three of them. “This is your first round of chemotherapy,” she explained. “Here are two capsules, a clear liquid and a red liquid.”
Hesitantly, Dawn swallowed the offered contents. She wrinkled her nose and said, “Ugh! That one tastes awful.”
Nurse Fredia smiled and straightened the covers around Dawn’s small form. “Just think about all the good they’ll do for you. Think of them as allies,” she said.
But before Dawn could say anything else, an orderly wheeled a stretcher bed into the room. The pale, still form of a young girl lay on the gurney.
“Hi, Sandy!” Nurse Fredia greeted, ignoring the girl’s inability to react. “This is your roommate, Dawn Rochelle. You two are going to be great friends! I just know it.”
Sandy tried to roll her eyes toward Dawn, but she seemed too weak, too sick to manage a greeting. Dawn’s heart ached for her. She watched as the orderly’s strong arms lifted Sandy from the gurney into her bed. Sandy moaned weakly. Nurse Fredia tucked her in and offered her a sip of water.
For a minute Dawn thought that Sandy might throw up. But she didn’t. “Sandy just took IV chemotherapy,” Fredia explained. “She’ll be all right in a few hours.”
Dawn stared at the frail, ill-looking Sandy. She was a cute girl, very blonde, with a tipped-up nose and a smathering of freckles sprinkled across it. Is this going to happen to me? Dawn thought in a panic.
“I’m going off duty now,” Nurse Fredia told Dawn. “The night nurse is Gail. Please ring for her if either of you want anything.”
Dawn agreed, numbly. Everything was so businesslike! Sandy looked so pale and sick, and yet things went on at the hospital like nothing was different. Again, Dawn felt tears of frustration rise to her eyes. I won’t cry! she reminded herself, fiercely.
That night, Dawn lay alone in the dark, unable to sleep for a long time. When Nurse Gail came in to check her at midnight, Dawn asked, “How’s Sandy?”
“Still awake?” Nurse Gail asked, surprised.
“I-I was just wondering about Sandy,” Dawn said.
“She’s sleeping,” Nurse Gail told Dawn. She bent over to fluff Dawn’s pillow slightly.
“I-I took my medicine tonight,” Dawn said. “And I’m not . . . I don’t feel sick,” she said hopefully.
Gail smiled down at her tenderly. “I’d love to tell you that you won’t be sick,” she said quietly, patting her shoulder. “But almost everyone reacts that way. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”
CHAPTER
3
Waves of nausea washed over Dawn in the bright, warm light of the new morning. She struggled to sit up, unable to think about anything but the queasiness in her stomach. Nurse Gail’s prediction had proven true. The medicine had made Dawn sick. She still had more medication to take this morning!
“Hi!” the voice called from the bed next to her. Dawn momentarily forgot her discomfort. She turned to see the wan, but smiling face of Sandy.
“Hi,” Dawn answered weakly.
“It’ll pass,” the cute blonde-haired girl assured her, understanding Dawn’s feelings. “It did for me.” For the first time, Dawn noticed Sandy’s soft, lilting West Virginian accent. “You’ve just got to think about something pleasant. Besides, they’ll be bringin’ in the breakfast trays soon.”
Dawn moaned as renewed nausea swept over her. “Don’t say ‘food’ to me,” she mumbled.
“Oh, but you’d better eat,” Sandy warned. “If not, they’ll hook you up to IVs. Sit up straight and take some deep breaths,” Sandy urged. “You’ll feel a lot better.”
The thought of more needles dripping stuff into her body helped Dawn swallow the bad taste in her mouth. She sat up straig
hter and followed Sandy’s instruction. It helped.
“Sorry I was such poor company last night,” Sandy drawled. She gave Dawn a sweet smile and Dawn smiled back.
“You didn’t look very well,” Dawn confessed.
“I know. The first time, my daddy got so upset that he almost took me out of the hospital that night!” Sandy said. She gave a smile of remembrance and said, “My daddy’s like that. Can’t stand anythin’ hurtin’ his little girl.”
Dawn giggled. “My father’s like that, too.”
“I’m glad to have a roommate,” Sandy told her. “It gets awfully lonesome around here. My folks had to go back home. They both work and they only come up on weekends.”
Dawn felt ashamed of her previous thoughts about having a roommate and knew that she was going to like Sandy a lot. She seemed so sweet and friendly. And Dawn thought Sandy’s accent was cute.
Sandy chattered over breakfast telling Dawn about her hometown in West Virginia. She told about her two brothers and younger sister, and about her school and assorted friends. “At first when they told me I had cancer, I just didn’t believe them!” Sandy said.
“And my Pa . . . well, he about hit the roof. Then he got all involved and decided I’d have the ‘best treatment available’,” Sandy mimicked her father’s gruff, booming voice.
Dawn laughed. “So . . . here I am,” Sandy finished brightly. “I’ve just been here two weeks, but they tell me I’m doin’ real well.”
Another round of medication followed Dawn’s morning meal and then both girls took turns bathing and putting on their makeup. Dawn discovered that Sandy was Barbie-doll cute. Her cheeks glowed with pale pink blusher. Her straight white-blonde hair was pulled back with brightly colored combs and hung down her back. Dawn had second thoughts about getting her own long red-brown hair cut.
Dawn introduced Sandy to her dad when he stopped by and again to her mom when she arrived. “Your father and I talked to Rob last night,” Dawn’s mother said. “He was pretty upset. He says he’ll be home this weekend.”
“Gosh, Mom, he doesn’t have to . . .” Dawn started.
“He wants to see you, Dawn.” Her mom paused. “I also talked to our minister. The whole congregation will start praying for you,” she said, her eyes shining. “People have been so kind, Dawn. They’re all rooting for you. Oh, I called Kim and Rhonda. Both of them started crying and said they’ll come see you tonight during visiting hours. I’m going to visit your school principal this afternoon. You’ll have to finish your school work in the hospital so you can at least stay up with your class.”
Dawn nodded, half dreading the visit from her friends. What would she say to them? How would they treat her? What would they think? She didn’t want to answer a bunch of dumb questions!
Dawn, her mom and Sandy played a few hands of cards. Shortly after her mom left, Dawn started feeling sick to her stomach and had to return to her bed. After lunch, another white-coated doctor arrived.
“Hello, Dawn . . . Sandy.” The slim woman with brown hair and brown eyes greeted them as she breezed into their room. “I’m Bonnie Kneeland. I’m a doctor, a psychotherapist,” she said.
A shrink! Dawn thought. I’m not crazy. I don’t need a head doctor!
“My specialty is helping kids with cancer help in their own healing process,” Dr. Kneeland told them. She pulled up a chair and settled between the two beds, smoothing the front of her red linen skirt with her hands. She continued confidently, “It’s my job to help you fight back. Sometimes, the hardest part of treating cancer is getting the patient involved with her own treatment.”
“We know how helpless you patients feel,” Dr. Kneeland said. “All we doctors do is poke you, examine you and test you.” Dawn nodded. She already felt that way, and she hadn’t even been there 24 hours!
“Well, I want to help you help yourselves. Tell me, Dawn, when you think of the cancer in your body, what do you imagine?” the doctor asked.
Dawn tipped her head and thought for a minute. “I see some strong, powerful force eating up my good blood,” she confessed.
“Me, too!” Sandy chimed.
Dr. Kneeland smiled. “I thought so. But that’s a wrong image, girls, a very wrong image. You see, the cancer is actually very weak and confused. It wanders and travels without unity and discipline. Now’s the time for you to gather the forces of your own mind and start fighting it!” she stressed.
Both girls surveyed Dr. Kneeland skeptically. “Neither of you is a hopeless victim. Both of you can fight back,” she said with enthusiasm.
“How?” they asked in unison.
“We call the technique ‘Imaging,’” Dr. Kneeland explained. “Here’s how it works. First, stop thinking about the negative. Concentrate on the positive. Gather your body’s inner resources and picture them – literally – attacking the cancer cells and beating them up. Stomp on them! Punch them! Fight them! Picture the chemotherapy treatments helping you to do this.
“Sometimes, it helps to draw a picture of your personal image fighting the cancer cells. Hang that picture on the wall, concentrate on it every day, and believe that’s what’s happening inside you! A strong, positive attitude can help as much as all the medicines the doctors are giving you. I’ve done lots of research on this. It works and I can prove it.”
“You mean, I’ll get well if I want to badly enough?” Sandy asked.
“We believe that the ‘will to live’ has a scientific basis. You can fight your own disease and improve your life’s quality during the course of the disease. And that enhances your chance of recovery,” Dr. Kneeland told her.
Dawn turned the doctor’s comments over and over in her mind. They made sense to her. Good health was the natural state of her body. Cancer was the unnatural state. The thought actually made her mad. How dare those old cancer cells move into my body! she thought.
“How do we do this ‘Imaging’?” Dawn asked, eager to help in her own treatment.
The slender doctor smiled warmly. “I have a whole program for you. Certain steps toward relaxation are followed. Then you concentrate on turning your own bodily defenses against the invader. I will train you and help you every step of the way,” she said.
Dr. Kneeland gave the girls sheets of papers outlining the Imaging process. Dawn scanned it quickly. It looked simple enough. “Just think positively,” she said.
“Exactly!” Dr. Kneeland said.
“It seems too simple,” Sandy drawled.
“Can I pray to get well, too?” Dawn asked.
“Absolutely! Don’t let the cancer get strong. You get strong. You fight it. You imagine it as ugly and weak and frightened of medical treatment. Can you girls do that?” the doctor asked.
Dawn nodded, feeling renewed vitality and hope about getting well. “I wish I could draw,” she mused. “I’d draw a picture of an army of teddy bears charging out to fight these green, gloppy looking blobs. My teddy bears would be riding white horses and carrying long lances like knights of the Round Table.” She started giggling at the thought of Mr. Ruggers leading a brigade of pandas, potbellies, and fuzzy-wuzzies in her defense.
Dr. Kneeland snapped her fingers and applauded. “That’s right, Dawn. You’ve got the idea. Fight! Don’t let the cancer cells gain an inch. Fight them for every cell of your body!”
After the doctor left, Dawn and Sandy scanned the papers she’d left with them. Dawn was determined to follow the Imaging program faithfully. “At least I’ll be doing something to help!” she told her pert roommate.
But the queasiness returned to her stomach that evening. Dawn crawled meekly into her bed and pulled the covers over her head, longing for the horrible nausea to pass.
Visiting hours brought some of her friends from school. Kim looked on the verge of tears and Rhonda looked scared. The silence between them stretched over several moments before Kim finally managed, “Gee . . . cancer. . . What a rotten deal!”
Don’t feel sorry for me! Dawn thought. She didn’t wa
nt their pity.
“Jake asked about you,” Rhonda said, trying to fill up the awkwardness between them.
Dawn’s heart gave a little flip-flop. “Jake Macka,” Dawn said to herself. She had had a crush on him since the fifth grade. And now that she was sick, he asked about her. Big deal, she thought sourly.
“The . . . uh . . . cheerleaders made you this card,” Rhonda said. She handed Dawn a home-made card filled with signatures of the twelve-member cheerleading squad.
“Thanks,” she said and ran her hands across the surface.
“Mrs. Talbert says she’ll come by to see you, too,” Kim added.
“That’ll be nice,” Dawn said. But she secretly wished her Phys. Ed. teacher and cheerleading coach would not come to see her. She felt strange, lying in a hospital bed and trying to make small talk with friends who didn’t understand her state of mind. She wished everyone would just stay away!
Finally, her friends left and Dawn lay back against the pillow and took deep breaths. Her mood had grown sullen and dark.
“Hard, isn’t it?” asked Sandy from the next bed.
“What’s hard?” Dawn asked.
“Seein’ and bein’ around normal people,” Sandy answered. Dawn nodded, trying to rise above her depression.
“Half of them don’t know what to say, and the other half say the wrong things,” Sandy continued. “Bein’ sick like this . . . nobody really knows what it’s like. They say they understand, but they really don’t.” A small crack in Sandy’s voice caused Dawn to blink hard against the sting in her own eyes.
“We understand,” Dawn told Sandy fiercely.
“That Jake,” Sandy ventured after a minute of silence. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“No,” Dawn confessed. “I-I sort of like him, but he’s not my boyfriend.” Then she asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Sandy’s voice grew soft. “Sort of. A guy back home, Jason Jensen, kind of likes me . . .” Her voice trailed and Dawn noticed Sandy’s cheeks blushing. She blushed slightly, too, remembering her own feelings about Jake.
“He . . . he kissed me once,” Sandy added in a soft whisper. “It was real sweet, like he really meant it.”
Six Months to Live Page 2