As they watched Miss Shannon walk briskly down the hall, Dr. Keitzman’s facial muscles jumped. “It goes without saying that the child is desperately ill.”
“I thought as much when I saw her peripheral blood smear,” said Dr. Wiley. “Then when I saw her bone marrow, I was sure.”
“She could be a very rapidly terminating case, I’m afraid,” said Dr. Keitzman. “I think she already has central nervous system involvement. Which means we have to commence treatment today. I want Dr. Nakano and Dr. Sheetman to see her right away. Martel is right about one thing. Her chance of a remission is very slim.”
“But you still have to try,” said Dr. Wiley. “At times like these I don’t envy you your specialty.”
“Of course I’ll try,” said Dr. Keitzman. “Ah, here comes Mrs. Martel.”
Cathryn had followed Miss Shannon out into the hall, half-expecting to see Marge Schonhauser because the nurse had said someone was asking to see her. She hadn’t been able to think of anyone else who knew that she was in the hospital. Once clear of the room, however, Miss Shannon confided that the doctors wanted to speak to her alone. It sounded ominous.
“Thank you for coming out,” said Dr. Wiley.
“It’s all right,” said Cathryn, her eyes darting from one man to the next. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s about your husband,” began Dr. Keitzman cautiously. He paused, trying to choose his words carefully.
“We’re concerned that he may interfere in Michelle’s treatment,” Dr. Wiley finished the thought. “It’s hard for him. First he knows too much about the disease himself. Then he already has watched someone he loved die despite chemotherapy.”
“It’s not that we don’t understand his feelings. We just feel Michelle should have every chance at remission regardless of the side effects.”
Cathryn examined the narrow, hawklike features of Dr. Keitzman and the broad, rounded face of Dr. Wiley. They were outwardly so different yet similar in their intensity. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“We’d just like you to give us some idea of his emotional state,” said Dr. Keitzman. “We’d like to have some idea of what to expect.”
“I think he will be fine,” assured Cathryn. “He had a lot of trouble adjusting when his first wife died, but he never interfered with her treatment.”
“Does he often lose his temper as he did today?” asked Keitzman.
“He’s had an awful shock,” said Cathryn. “I think it’s understandable. Besides, ever since his first wife died, cancer research has been his passion.”
“It’s a terrible irony,” agreed Dr. Wiley.
“But what about the kind of emotional outburst he demonstrated today?” asked Dr. Keitzman.
“He does have a temper,” said Cathryn, “but he usually keeps it under control.”
“Well, that’s encouraging,” said Dr. Keitzman. “Maybe it’s not going to be so difficult after all. Thank you, Mrs. Martel. You’ve been most helpful, especially since I know you, too, have had a terrible shock. I’m sorry if we’ve said anything disturbing but we’ll do our best for Michelle, I can assure you of that.” Turning to Dr. Wiley, he said, “I’ve got to get things rolling. I’ll speak to you later.” He moved quickly, almost at a run, and was out of sight in seconds.
“He has some strange mannerisms,” said Dr. Wiley, “but you couldn’t get a better oncologist. He’s one of the top people in the world in childhood leukemia.”
“I was afraid he was going to abandon us when Charles acted up,” said Cathryn.
“He’s too good of a doctor for that,” said Dr. Wiley. “He’s only concerned about Charles because of your husband’s attitude to chemotherapy, and aggressive treatment has to be started right away to get her into a remission.”
“I’m sure Charles won’t interrupt her treatment,” said Cathryn.
“Let’s hope not,” said Dr. Wiley. “But we’re going to count on your strength, Cathryn.”
“My strength?” questioned Cathryn, aghast. “Hospitals and medical problems aren’t my strong points.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to overcome that,” said Dr. Wiley. “Michelle’s clinical course could be very difficult.”
At that moment she caught sight of Charles emerging from Michelle’s room. He spotted Cathryn and started toward the nurses’ station. Cathryn ran down to meet him. They stood for a moment in a silent embrace, drawing strength from each other. When they started back toward Dr. Wiley, Charles seemed more in control.
“She’s a good kid,” he said. “Christ, all she’s worried about is staying overnight. Said she wanted to be home in the morning to make the orange juice. Can you believe that?”
“She feels responsible,” said Cathryn. “Until I arrived she was the woman of the house. She’s afraid of losing you, Charles.”
“It’s amazing what you don’t know about your own children,” said Charles. “I asked her if she minded if I went back to the lab. She said no, as long as you stayed here, Cathryn.”
Cathryn was touched. “On the way to the hospital we had a little talk, and for the first time I felt she really accepted me.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” said Charles. “And so am I. I hope you don’t mind my leaving you here. I hope you understand. I feel such a terrible powerlessness. I’ve got to do something.”
“I understand,” said Cathryn. “I think you’re right. There isn’t anything you can do right now and it would be better if you can get your mind on something else. I’ll be happy to stay. In fact, I’ll call my mother. She’ll come over and take care of things.”
Dr. Wiley watched the couple come toward him, pleased to see their open affection and mutual support. The fact that they were acknowledging and sharing their grief was healthy; it was a good sign and it encouraged him. He smiled, somewhat at a loss for what to say as they arrived. He had to get back to his office which he knew was in chaos, but he wanted to be there if they still needed him.
“Do you have any extra of Michelle’s blood?” asked Charles. His voice was businesslike, matter-of-fact.
“Probably,” said Dr. Wiley. It wasn’t a question he had expected. Charles had the uncanny ability to unnerve him.
“Where would it be?” asked Charles.
“In the clinical lab,” said Dr. Wiley.
“Fine. Let’s go.” Charles started toward the elevator.
“I’ll stay here with Michelle,” said Cathryn. “I’ll call if there is any news. Otherwise I’ll see you home for dinner.”
“Okay.” He strode off purposefully.
Confused, Dr. Wiley hurried after Charles, nodding a quick good-bye to Cathryn. His encouragement regarding Charles’s behavior was quickly undermined. Charles’s mood had apparently tumbled off on a new and curious tangent. His daughter’s blood? Well, he was a physician.
Six
Clutching the flask of Michelle’s blood, Charles hurried through the foyer of the Weinburger Institute. He ignored greetings by the coy receptionist and the security guard and ran down the corridor to his lab.
“Thanks for coming back,” taunted Ellen. “I could have used some help injecting the mice with the Canceran.”
Charles ignored her, carrying the vial of Michelle’s blood over to the apparatus they used to separate the cellular components of blood. He began the complicated process of priming the unit.
Bending down to peer at Charles beneath the glassware shelving, Ellen watched for a moment. “Hey,” she called. “I said I could have used some help…”
Charles switched on a circulatory pump.
Wiping her hands, Ellen came around the end of the workbench, curious to see the object of Charles’s obvious intense concentration. “I finished injecting the first batch of mice,” she repeated when she was close enough to be absolutely certain Charles could hear her.
“Wonderful,” said Charles without interest. Carefully he introduced an aliquot of Michelle’s blood into the machine. Then he switched on the compressor.