Chapter 53
Chapter 51: Waiting For The News
Cameron’s POV
My parents arrived while I was standing in the ER waiting room, waiting for something to
happen, unable to sit, unable to do anything productive.
Claim
Jennifer looked smaller somehow, like the fear had physically compressed her into a press
ball that looked like it was about to tear.
Parker had his arm around her shoulders, his face a mask of controlled terror that I
recognized because I was wearing the same expression on my own face but he was trying to
keep it contained, so he could be the support his wife desperately needed.
“What’s happening?” Jennifer asked. “What did they tell you p>
“Nothing yet. They’re working on her. Frank said he’d update us when he could p>
“She was doing so well,” Jennifer said, and her voice broke on the last word. “She was
laughing this morning. She ate breakfast. She seemed stronger than she’s been in weeks.
How did this happen so fast p>
I had no answer for her.
We waited. Time did the thing it does in hospitals, where minutes stretch into eternities and
hours kept going on, taking eternity and you lose all sense of normal time.
Enzo brought coffee that nobody drank. Rachel sat holding Molly, who’d finally cried herself
to sleep against her mother’s chest. My father paced, then sat, then paced again, unable to
settle.
And I stood by the window looking out at the parking lot and thought about how I’d promised
Sedona this morning that she was going to be fine, that the treatment was working, that she
just needed to stay strong a little longer and all this would be a thing of the past and she has
agreed with me and told me she had a list of thubgs she wanted to do once she was out.
I’d lied to her. Or rather, I’d told her what I needed to be true without knowing whether it
actually was.
1/3
Claim When Frank finally emerged from behind the operating rooms his surgical cap was still on and there were shadows under his eyes that suggested the past hour had aged him. He looked at our assembled family group and his expression was the one doctors practice in medical school for moments like this-professionally neutral, carefully compassionate, preparing you for news you don’t want to hear. “She’s stable,” he said first, and I watched my mother sag with relief. “We’ve stopped the bleeding and she’s receiving transfusions. She’s in recovery now, sedated but her vitals are improving p> “What happened?” Parker asked. Frank gestured for us to follow him to a more private consultation room. Once we were inside with the door closed, he pulled up images on the computer-scans that meant nothing to me but clearly meant something to him. “The collapse was caused by a hemorrhage from tumor erosion in her stomach lining. We’ve been monitoring the tumor’s response to treatment, and while we’d seen some positive indicators, there’s also been concerning progression in certain areas.” He pointed to regions on the scan that looked darker than others. “The cancer has spread more aggressively than we’d anticipated even two weeks ago. The experimental treatment is working in some respects-we’re seeing tumor reduction in her lymph nodes and some of the original sites. But it’s not working fast enough p> “What does that mean?” Jennifer’s voice was barely audible as she gripped on tight to her husband’s hands anticipating the bad news that was surely dropping. Frank took a breath, and I knew before he spoke that we’d arrived at the moment I’d been dreading since Sedona’s phone call from that Chicago hotel room. “Even with the current treatment regimen, and accounting for the positive responses we have seen, I estimate Sedona has weeks left. Possibly less. The cancer is too aggressive and it has spread far much further than what the current treatment can heal p> The room was absolutely silent. Weeks. Not months. Not the cautious year-maybe-more he’d originally estimated with treatment. Weeks. 2/3 “There has to be something else,” I said, hearing my own voice from a distance. “Another protocol, another trial, something p> Claim “There is one option,” Frank said slowly. “I’ve been consulting with colleagues at the National Cancer Institute about an experimental targeted drug therapy. It’s still in Phase II trials, highly unstable, and carries significant risks p> “What kind of risks p> “Organ failure. Cardiac arrest. Severe hemorrhaging beyond what we saw today. The drug works by essentially overwhelming the cancer cells’ defense mechanisms, but it can also overwhelm normal cells in the process and kill off all the cells making the body shut down on its own” He paused. “In the trial population so far, roughly twenty percent of patients have achieved complete or near-complete remission. But forty percent experienced adverse reactions severe enough to require termination of treatment, and fifteen percent died from complications of the treatment itself rather than the cancer p> The numbers settled into the room like physical weights. “So it could save her,” I said. “Or it could kill her faster than the cancer would p> “Yes p> “What happens if we don’t try it p> Frank’s expression softened with something that looked like sympathy. “Then we manage her pain, keep her comfortable, and focus on giving her the best quality of life for whatever time remains. Weeks, possibly days if another hemorrhage occurs. She wouldn’t suffer unnecessarily, but she also wouldn’t survive p> My father’s voice, rough with emotion: “And with this treatment? What are her actual chances p> 1 Comments LUCK DRAW > Vote 122 3/3 Admins2