There it was again, that evil phrase. Pass away. What was this man, a priest or something? Why didn’t he just say what he meant? Why didn’t he just tell her that the boy she had carried in her womb and nurtured for twelve years might die?
“I know there must be a thousand thoughts running through your mind at this time,” Dr. Freidrich continued. “Let me put some of them to rest. This is not your fault. No one knows what causes leukemia. There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent this.” He placed his hand on the edge of her chair. “I want you to know we’re going to do everything we can to help your Billy.”
Damn right, she thought silently. Damn straight you’ll do everything you can. And more important, so will I. I will not let my baby boy die. I will not allow it.
The initial treatment of chemo and radiation took about a month. Billy received several blood transfusions, as the doctors worked to increase his platelet count. Cecily spent every night with Billy throughout his hospital stay. Every night. Billy’s hair began to fall out and he was constantly nauseated. His platelet count remained low, but it did not drop further, and no new bruises appeared on his skin. At the end of the month, the doctors could find no traces of leukemic cells in his blood or bone marrow. They declared him to be officially in remission. The treatment had been a success.
After he was discharged, Billy had to visit the hospital twice a week on an outpatient basis to complete an extended maintenance program, which included more chemo. He obviously didn’t enjoy it. He was tired of throwing up all the time and he wanted his hair to grow back. But for a twelve-year-old who had been through what he had, he remained remarkably chipper.
“Mom, I think next summer I’m gonna want to play baseball,” Billy announced one evening during dinner.
Cecily raised an eyebrow. This was an interesting development. She’d been trying to get him to go out for baseball for three years, but he’d never shown any interest. He preferred soccer. Baseball was a sissy game. Or used to be, anyway.
“What brought on this about-face?”
“Well … I think the kids at school are startin" to get suspicious.”
“Suspicious? Of what?”
“Of me. Wearin" this baseball cap every day.” Billy wore a baseball cap at school to hide the fact that most of his hair had fallen out. Everyone knew this, but Billy preferred to imagine everyone thought it was just a fashion statement. “I was thinkin" maybe if I was actually playing baseball, it might seem more natural.”
Cecily couldn’t resist a smile. She was so proud of her son. He had been through so much, but still had not lost his spirit. “Tomorrow we’ll go to Wal-Mart and buy you a baseball mitt. What d’ya say?”
“All right!”
Billy did not play baseball the following summer. Five months later, during a routine visit, Dr. Freidrich noticed that Billy’s blood platelet count had decreased. He immediately ordered a bone marrow aspiration, and when that proved inconclusive, he ordered a second and a third. By this time Billy was experiencing constant nosebleeds, and the bruising had returned with a vengeance. The fourth aspiration revealed 46 percent blasts.
Dr. Freidrich met Cecily in the hospital corridor outside Billy’s room. He instinctively clasped her hand, something he had never done before with a patient or their relatives.
“Tell me,” she said, her lips pressed together to prevent them from quivering. “Just tell me.”
“He’s relapsed,” the doctor said quietly. “The leukemia is back.”
“Can we restart the full-time treatment? Induce another remission?”
“Probably.” The doctor drew in his breath slowly. “But even if we do, it will only be temporary. We have to look at this realistically. The chances of an absolute cure in this case are … remote.”
“This isn’t a case,” Cecily said, struggling to maintain control. “This is my son.”
“I know that, but—”
“I want him to start back with the radiation. And the chemo. Immediately.”
The doctor nodded, holding his private thoughts in reserve. “As you wish.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Cecily, I’d like to give you some names.” He pulled a scrap of paper out of his white lab coat. “These are parents of some of my other patients.”
“I’m not going to some soapy support group,” Cecily said firmly. “I’m too busy to spend my time sitting in a circle whining.”
“Cecily … these parents also have sons. And their boys also have leukemia. Some of them … even more advanced than Billy’s.”
Wordlessly, Cecily took the list he proffered. Her eyes scanned the names. “Colin Stewart? He lives on the same block we do.”
The doctor nodded.
“Ed Conrad. Jim Foley. These boys go to the same school as Billy. How can this be?”
“There’s no explaining cancer, Cecily.”
“But didn’t you tell me leukemia was very rare?”
“Yes. Fewer than four children out of one hundred thousand each year.”
“But—these are four children who live within a mile of one another!”
“And there are others besides. I’m not the only pediatrician in Blackwood. Do yourself a favor, Cecily. Talk to some of the other mothers.”
She shook her head, then crumpled the paper in her hand. “I’ve got a boy to take care of.”
Dr. Freidrich reinstituted a program of full-time radiation and chemotherapy, and by the end of the month, the disease was once again in remission. But by April Billy’s platelet and white-blood cell counts were falling again. Dr. Freidrich performed several bone marrow biopsies. It seemed the number of cells in Billy’s blood marrow was now decreasing altogether. He recognized this as a condition called aplastic anemia. It was not leukemia, but it could be just as deadly. And there was no reliable treatment for it. After considerable thought, he decided to send Billy home. He feared the worst, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Three weeks later, on Mother’s Day, Billy did not wake up in the morning at his usual time. When Cecily went in to check on him, his breathing was shallow and raspy. Hard as she tried, she could not wake him.
My God, she thought silently. This is it. It’s happening.
Straining with all her might, she lifted him out of bed. He roused slightly, but was still too weak to walk.
“Mommy,” he said quietly.
She clenched her teeth, fighting back her emotions. He hadn’t called her Mommy for years.
“Mommy, I don’t feel so good.”
“It’s all right, baby,” she said, running toward the car as fast as she could. “I’m going to take you to the doctor.”
The prospect made him wince. “Mommy.” His voice was so soft she had to bend her ear toward his mouth to hear. “I think I’m going to go now.”
“You are not going anywhere,” Cecily said firmly. “I will not allow it.”
She tossed him into the front seat and started the car. She hadn’t dressed yet, but that wasn’t important. She only stopped long enough to snatch her purse, because she knew if she didn’t bring her health insurance card the hospital probably wouldn’t even let her through the door. She started the car and blazed down Park toward the hospital.
As she approached Maple, she noticed that Billy’s eyes were closed and his chest wasn’t moving. Breathe, she thought, as she pulled the car over and climbed across the seat. Breathe, she commanded, as she pounded on his fragile chest. Breathe, she pleaded, as she pressed her lips against his. Please, God. Just let him breathe!
A roving police officer spotted Cecily’s car on the side of the road, saw what was happening, and called for an ambulance. But by the time it arrived, Billy was long gone.
Cecily forced herself to retain her fixed, impassive expression. She would not break down, she told herself. She would not be typical. She would not give them what they wanted.