Only Vincent encountered resistance to his request to leave immediately for home. In the face of his insistence, however, the rector had to admit that Delvecchio had already proven his “manhood” sufficiently. And if any student could afford to miss classes, it surely was Vincent Delvecchio.
And so, at ten the next morning, all assembled in the Delvecchio living room: Louise, Dr. Schmidt, Vincent, Anthony, and Lucy, as well as Father Koesler, whom Louise had contacted.
To the hushed and increasingly dismayed group, the doctor explained how difficult it was to diagnose cancer of the pancreas. He was not exculpating himself, but merely spoke the truth: As advanced as the diagnostic tools were, as brilliant and capable as the specialist was, the condition was very good at hiding itself.
The diagnosis was bad news, the prognosis even worse: Two to five months. It could be longer … but yes, in all frankness, it could be sooner.
Dr. Schmidt explained the only option that current medical science had to offer: radiation therapy. He explained further that it was not much of an option: It would intensify debilitation, while offering practically no possibility of even minimal effectiveness.
Louise, brow furrowed, was thoroughly confused. The decision clearly was hers. But there was no marked path in this maze.
Bewildered, in distress, she looked slowly around the intent circle. “What …? What …?”
Finally, in the absence of any other response, Koesler spoke. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “if you shouldn’t consider radiation. It seems the only choice to me,” he added after a moment. “If we do nothing … inevitably it’s the end.” For the first time in his life he shied from the word “death.”
Tony broke the brief silence. “I’m with Father. It’s the only shot we’ve got. I say we take it.” Ever the athlete, Tony could not imagine his body betraying him. It didn’t matter what injury had been sustained. An hour or more in the whirlpool bath could do wonders. Or a temporary brace. Or a massage. Or something. Sports medicine was forever coming up with novel splints, supports, methods of taping. In the brief experience of this resilient, powerful, young-and emphasize the young-man, the body could come back from anything. The body would never fail if you gave it a modicum of care. Tony never thought of death. It was there, of course, but he didn’t consider it.
Two votes were in: Koesler and Tony both favored the therapy.
Vince looked as if he were in a decisionary limbo. The news of his mother’s seemingly fatal illness had rocked Vinnie to his core. He couldn’t think beyond this moment, let alone recommend a course to take.
One voice, though small, sounded loudly. “No!” Lucy insisted. “I’ve read about radiation therapy. It’s worse than the sickness-well, maybe not worse: It doesn’t kill you; it just makes you wish you were dead. If you want, I’ll tell you what the side effects of this treatment are. Then let’s see how you vote!”
Everyone looked at this young woman still in high school. No doubt about it, she would become a force to be reckoned with.
“Doctor”-she turned to Schmidt-“you said it was possible-possible-that radiation might help contain or even put a cancer in remission. Does that include pancreatic cancer?”
The doctor slowly shook his head.
Lucy turned to face the others. “Tony … Father …” Her tone turned apologetic as if she should not dare correct a priest. “Think of what you’re recommending. This has hit us like a ton of lead. We can’t just pop off. We’re grasping at a straw that’s not attached to anything. With this therapy we’re condemning Mama to months of added sickness and pain while the statistics tell us it’s all for nothing.”
“I know,” Koesler said, “that I’m not a member of this family-”
“You might just as well be,” Lucy interjected.
“Thanks.” Koesler nodded. “I don’t really feel I’m entitled to a vote. But … on thinking it over, I have to agree with Lucy. She’s focusing on quality of life …” He hesitated, then said firmly, “Louise, depending on how important it is to you, this radiation doesn’t promise you much of any quality of life.”
“Wait a minute!” Tony’s tone was challenging. “We can’t give up! If Ma doesn’t get this treatment, it’s … curtains. She’ll be dead! That’s for sure, isn’t it, Doc?”
“I’m afraid so,” Schmidt said.
“Well, maybe I haven’t been around as long as some of you people,” Tony said, “but I’ve learned one thing: If you don’t compete you can’t win. If Ma doesn’t take the treatment, she isn’t competing … she hasn’t got a chance!”
Lucy looked at the doctor. “Please … be very realistic. We aren’t asking you to play God. But you know more about this than we do. You’ve had experience with pancreatic cancer when the patient chose radiation. What’s it like?”
“Pretty much as you’ve already said. Especially with cancer of the pancreas, which is inoperable-which is what your mother has. Radiation may retard the disease somewhat. But in the end …
“What you and the good father have said is the situation as I have observed it. The effects of the radiation add to the discomfort and pain-so much so that there is not much of any quality of life.”
“So where does that leave us?” Tony did not attempt to hide his bitterness. “We’re going to give up? Give up without a fight?”
“Tony,” the doctor said in as conciliatory a tone as possible, “this may be difficult for you to understand, with your youth and your strong, athletic body. But,” he said very deliberately, “there are worse things in life than death.”
Tony snorted.
“Unless …” Vincent had been silent so long the others had virtually forgotten his presence. “Unless there is a miracle.”
Silence.
“I know you’re going to get ordained soon,” Tony said after a moment, “but that’s crazy.”
“Miracles don’t happen to ordinary people like us,” Lucy said, as she looked from face to face. “Do they?”
Dr. Schmidt, now clearly out of his league, become a spectator at an event he had heretofore been directing.
“Vinnie,” Koesler said, “isn’t what you’re proposing a deus ex machina?”
“A what?” Lucy asked.
“We can’t find a rational acceptable solution to this problem of illness,” Koesler explained, “so we drag God in from left field to solve the situation for us.”
Vincent bristled. “I’m not suggesting that we pull God out of a hat. I’m suggesting that we dedicate ourselves to prayer for a cure for our mother. And I’m hoping that we’ll enlist the prayers of everyone we know. Prayer, Father Koesler, is not a deus ex machina!”
For the second time during this meeting, Koesler felt as if he had spoken too hastily. “Of course. It goes without saying that we’ll pray. Each of us.” Even as he said it, he wondered: What about Tony? Would Tony-who could not envision a body that would not fight for health … for life-participate in this group prayer?
“But,” Koesler added, “prayer is one thing. A miracle is something else again.”
“How can you say that, Bob?” Vincent seemed bewildered that he needed to explain this to a priest-a priest in whom Vinnie had confidence. “The Gospels are packed with the marvels possible through prayer. The mustard seed, teaching the disciples to pray-the examples go on forever. The one necessary ingredient is faith. Faith won cures. Faith won even a return from death to life. Faith won miracles. That’s what I’m proposing: prayer backed by faith in a miracle.
“I’m pleading with all of you to pray for a miracle because … because it’s our only hope.” Vincent seemed closed to tears.
“I’m with you, Vinnie,” Lucy said. “I’m going to start today, and by tomorrow everybody in St. William’s will be praying for our miracle.”
“And”-Koesler volunteered his parish-”at St. Norbert’s.”
Actually, Lucy found the notion well beyond her capacity of faith. But at least outwardly she joined forces with Vincent and the priest because it offered an alternative to radiation or death, which, until the potential miracle, had been the only choice on the table.