self-control back into place. She straightened her spine. “No, Dr. Richards, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. I know that you’re doing everything that you can and that you’ve brought in other specialists for consultation. I’m just–just tired.”
“You still aren’t sleeping, are you?” When she started to speak, he threw up his hand. “I’m not going to ask you again to get that prescription filled. I know you won’t do it. But what I will urge you to do is to get someone to come stay with you awhile. You need rest, and you need emotional support. You can’t expect to keep going it alone like this, Cathy.”
Cathy shook her head. Despite her stiff face, she managed a flickering smile. “I’m fine.”
Dr. Richards blew out his cheeks, his frustration obvious. He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “I wish you wouldn’t be so stubborn, Cathy.”
“This isn’t about me. It can’t be about me. Ever. This is about Chloe,” Cathy said fiercely. “I want to do the transplantation as soon as possible, Dr. Richards. I can take off work tomorrow and…”
Dr. Richards eased away from her. There was infinite pity in his expression. “I’m sorry, Cathy. You’re not a good candidate for Chloe. The donor must have a tissue type that matches the recipient. The leukocyte antigens, or HLS, in your blood type aren’t compatible.”
Cathy swallowed. She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. An anvil was crushing her ribs, putting unbearable pressure on her fluttering heart.
Dr. Richards went on to explain the situation in technical detail. She didn’t understand everything that he said, but she understood enough. The oncologist’s voice droned on, just a buzz in her ears, drowned out by her inner anguish.
There was a gathering roar in her ears. Her vision darkened. I will not faint! I will not! Cathy blinked furiously. She deliberately dug her nails into her palms. With the bite of pain, her vision cleared, and she could hear again. She still couldn’t draw a decent breath, but the awful pressure had eased.
“We’re looking at our database now for an appropriate candidate. I will let you know when we find one. In the meantime, you might want to ask family members, especially siblings, if they would be willing to be tested as suitable donors.” Dr. Richards paused to consider her for a long moment, before he proceeded reluctantly. “You’ve told me about Chloe’s father. However, in a situation such as this, you might think seriously about getting in touch him.”
Cathy gave a single abbreviated nod. Her nostrils flared as she tried to suck in more air. All that she could think, all that she could feel, was the searing pain of her failure. When it mattered the most, she had failed her daughter.
The oncologist waited for a long moment for her to respond to what he had told her. When she remained mute, he sighed. “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once. I will let you think about everything now. You will probably have questions later, after you’ve had an opportunity to adjust to what I’ve told you. Please don’t hesitate to call me at any time, Cathy.”
Cathy jerked another nod. She sat as though turned to stone. She was barely aware when the oncologist got to his feet or even that he briefly pressed his hand against her tense shoulder before he walked swiftly out of the waiting room.
A fresh tsunami of despair and terror crashed down over her. She started to hyperventilate again. This time she couldn’t catch her breath. Panic battered her. She was drowning, being sucked down into swirling black depths.
Winter’s phone rang.
Chapter Nine
The metallic tones cut through the whirlpool threatening to drown her. Her mind clutched hold of the spar of sound, pulling her free of the maelstrom.
Cathy gasped, sucking in a shuddering lungful of air. Her heart hammered in her ears, her skin was clammy, and she felt nauseous. But she was breathing.
Her hands shaking,
“You still aren’t sleeping, are you?” When she started to speak, he threw up his hand. “I’m not going to ask you again to get that prescription filled. I know you won’t do it. But what I will urge you to do is to get someone to come stay with you awhile. You need rest, and you need emotional support. You can’t expect to keep going it alone like this, Cathy.”
Cathy shook her head. Despite her stiff face, she managed a flickering smile. “I’m fine.”
Dr. Richards blew out his cheeks, his frustration obvious. He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “I wish you wouldn’t be so stubborn, Cathy.”
“This isn’t about me. It can’t be about me. Ever. This is about Chloe,” Cathy said fiercely. “I want to do the transplantation as soon as possible, Dr. Richards. I can take off work tomorrow and…”
Dr. Richards eased away from her. There was infinite pity in his expression. “I’m sorry, Cathy. You’re not a good candidate for Chloe. The donor must have a tissue type that matches the recipient. The leukocyte antigens, or HLS, in your blood type aren’t compatible.”
Cathy swallowed. She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. An anvil was crushing her ribs, putting unbearable pressure on her fluttering heart.
Dr. Richards went on to explain the situation in technical detail. She didn’t understand everything that he said, but she understood enough. The oncologist’s voice droned on, just a buzz in her ears, drowned out by her inner anguish.
There was a gathering roar in her ears. Her vision darkened. I will not faint! I will not! Cathy blinked furiously. She deliberately dug her nails into her palms. With the bite of pain, her vision cleared, and she could hear again. She still couldn’t draw a decent breath, but the awful pressure had eased.
“We’re looking at our database now for an appropriate candidate. I will let you know when we find one. In the meantime, you might want to ask family members, especially siblings, if they would be willing to be tested as suitable donors.” Dr. Richards paused to consider her for a long moment, before he proceeded reluctantly. “You’ve told me about Chloe’s father. However, in a situation such as this, you might think seriously about getting in touch him.”
Cathy gave a single abbreviated nod. Her nostrils flared as she tried to suck in more air. All that she could think, all that she could feel, was the searing pain of her failure. When it mattered the most, she had failed her daughter.
The oncologist waited for a long moment for her to respond to what he had told her. When she remained mute, he sighed. “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once. I will let you think about everything now. You will probably have questions later, after you’ve had an opportunity to adjust to what I’ve told you. Please don’t hesitate to call me at any time, Cathy.”
Cathy jerked another nod. She sat as though turned to stone. She was barely aware when the oncologist got to his feet or even that he briefly pressed his hand against her tense shoulder before he walked swiftly out of the waiting room.
A fresh tsunami of despair and terror crashed down over her. She started to hyperventilate again. This time she couldn’t catch her breath. Panic battered her. She was drowning, being sucked down into swirling black depths.
Winter’s phone rang.
Chapter Nine
The metallic tones cut through the whirlpool threatening to drown her. Her mind clutched hold of the spar of sound, pulling her free of the maelstrom.
Cathy gasped, sucking in a shuddering lungful of air. Her heart hammered in her ears, her skin was clammy, and she felt nauseous. But she was breathing.
Her hands shaking,
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