Faith's Reckoning, page 25
Sylvia and Gracie,
Sorry I am not here to greet you. I started running a bit of a fever. I feel fine but out of an abundance of caution instilled in me by Dr. Prentice, I have taken myself to St. Catherine’s. Take your time to unpack. There is some supper on the counter. I will call when I know what Dr. Prentice intends for me.
Love you both, Faith
Faith sat on a stretcher in the emergency room at St. Catherine’s, waiting for the results of her blood tests. The place was quiet in the late afternoon, so she had the luxury of being in a private room. Her mind retraced the events of the day. After the phone call with Sylvia that morning, Faith was covered in a fine sweat. Walking to the bathroom, she hoped it was just a hot flash. But when she unsheathed the thermometer, shaking the mercury down into the bulb and placing it under her tongue, she had felt a shiver. Three minutes later, she rolled the thermometer between her thumb and forefinger until she could read its silver strip. One hundred and one degrees. She did not want to interrupt the trip that Sylvia and Grace were on. It had been too long in coming. She left a note on the door, deciding not to call and drove herself to the hospital, hoping the note conveyed a sense of calm; a calm that, frankly, she was having trouble maintaining at the moment. Faith had felt blessed by a feeling of peace over the past year, being able to rest in the knowledge that she was not alone in her illness. She had felt accompanied by something benevolent as she began to face her death, reveling in those moments when time vanished, and the eternity of the present moment opened up. Even as she had sorted and discarded the accumulations of a lifetime, she had felt more ease than grief. But now, suddenly, she was not ready.
Sitting on the side of the bed, the dam of denial broke, flooding her with grief. She wanted to taste the ripe red juice of another tomato plucked fresh from the vine this summer, from the vine she had planted only yesterday. She wanted to watch the oaks turn from green to gold next fall, to see the red camellia bloom at Thanksgiving and the crocuses laugh at winter with their blue and yellow faces. She wanted to hear the summer swell with the song of cicadas and smell the fragrance of magnolias floating through the kitchen window. She was not ready to let go of this body that allowed her to see and hear and smell this most remarkable and singular earth.
There was a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” she said.
“Good afternoon, Faith,” said a familiar voice. She looked up to see Dr. Prentice, his gentle brown eyes ever so slightly downcast, pausing a second before meeting hers.
“Hello, Dr. Prentice,” she said, waiting.
He paused a moment longer.
“I’m afraid I have some…,”
“Bad news,” Faith said, finishing his sentence.
He nodded silently as tears spilled onto her cheeks. Faith fought to keep them back, but it was useless. She reached for the box of tissues beside the bed.
“There are a few blasts on your smear which, as you know, means you’ve gone into an accelerated phase of the disease. But Faith, you are in no immediate danger. I want you to hear that.” He moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Faith looked down at the sheets and took a deep breath, folded the tissue in half and gently blew her nose.
“In fact, your other counts are in good shape. You don’t need a transfusion, but I do want to keep you in the hospital for intravenous antibiotics until your cultures come back. If they are negative, you can go home in a couple of days on oral antibiotics, OK?” Dr. Prentice knew how to walk the delicate tightrope of treating a colleague.
“I’ve got family visiting,” Faith implored. But the truth was she needed a couple of days to adjust to this news and it would be easier in the hospital.
“Well, good. They will be there to take care of you when you go home. And Faith, I also want you to think about a central line. There’s a chemotherapy regimen that is well tolerated and I think it can buy you some good time.”
Faith knew all about the permanent intravenous lines that could be implanted under the skin. The procedure was a minor one, but the idea of more aggressive chemotherapy was daunting.
“Let me think about it, Dr. Prentice,” she said with the same calm mask she had worn for years as a nurse.
“OK, Faith, I’ll see you upstairs in a few minutes. I’ll get your admission orders in, and we can talk a little more after you get settled.” He squeezed her shoulder gently before leaving.
She waited for him to close the door before she gave in to the silent sobs. She pulled the thin blanket around her shoulders and embraced herself, trembling in her own sturdy arms. She let the compassion showered on a lifetime of patients come to rest on her own broken heart, crying freely and shamelessly for several minutes, her eyes closed. She fell into a darkness until a Presence lifted her. She caught her breath and opened her eyes. She was not alone, even if she would not be spared. The words of Aeschylus came to her.
“He who learns must suffer, and, even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”
Her equanimity of the past year slowly returned, even in her sadness. ‘The awful grace of God?’ she thought. ‘That we might know the abundance of incarnation and have to let it go.’
“Thank you,” she whispered to the ceiling, “Thank you for my one true life,” then grinned and added, “And I’ll take a little more if you please.”
She blotted her eyes with the tissue and pushed the button on the bed, summoning the nurse. The staff was changing shifts so she expected it would take a while for someone to answer. She wanted to go outside to call Sylvia and Grace, to speak to them while soaking in the last of the day’s sunshine. Vivien, the ER nurse who had tended Faith the previous summer when she came to the hospital for transfusions, popped her head in the door.
“You need anything before I go?” she said.
“No, I’m fine Viv,” Faith said, “but I’m going to sneak outside to make a call. My sister and niece just drove up from New Orleans.”
“OK, Faith, I don’t know a thing about your whereabouts if anyone asks. Just be back here in fifteen minutes,” she smiled. “Promise me?”
“Promise,” replied Faith. “And I don’t need a wheelchair.”
“Got it,” Vivien said and closed the door.
Faith went outside in time to catch the peach-infused sunset painting the underbellies of a few flat clouds. She wheeled her IV pole over to the edge of the parking lot where the smell of honeysuckle rose from the vine-draped fence. Faith tapped Sylvia’s number on the keys of her cell phone and waited through several rings.
“Sylvia?” she said when a voice answered.
“No, it’s Grace. Is that you, Faith?”
“Yes, it’s me. It’s so good to hear your voice Gracie! How was your trip?” It had been a while since Faith had heard her sister’s voice and it rekindled an ancient joy.
“Great. The trip has been great, but where are you? Are you OK?”
“I’ve got a little fever and need to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, that’s all. I feel fine. I’m at St. Catherine’s. Sylvia knows where it is.”
“We’ll be right there.”
“But wait...” For a second Faith thought Grace had already hung up. “Visiting hours are almost over. You can wait until morning. I’ll...”
“Oh, Faith, I want to see you tonight. I promise we won’t stay long, just a minute to see your sweet face and grab a hug. Please?”
“OK, Grace, I’d love to see you too. Then we can have a longer visit tomorrow and I’ll be home the day after that.”
“See you in a little bit.”
“Alright. Hug Sylvia for me.”
“I will.”
“I mean really, Grace. Give Sylvia a real hug.”
“I will, Faith, really.”
Faith took a few moments to enjoy the sunset before returning to the ER.
It took Sylvia fifteen minutes to drive as many miles from Florence to Jackson. She had squirmed out of her mother’s embrace when she heard that Faith was staying at the hospital. Sylvia hustled them both into the Miata, flustering Grace, who tended to move with glacial speed in even the most urgent situations. As Grace began digging through her purse for her lipstick, Sylvia whipped the car into reverse. It did not matter that Faith said she was fine. Sylvia shifted into her lawyerly crisis mode. Once on the highway the Miata burst forward in full throttle. Sylvia ignored her mother’s plea to stop and put up the top on the convertible, which she had lowered when she unpacked the car. The feel of a seventy-mile an hour wind in her hair matched Sylvia’s adrenaline-charged mood, but for Grace it proved an irreparable catastrophe to the coiffure she had received in New Orleans the day before. They arrived at the hospital in drastically different moods.
“I don’t see how it would have hurt to take five minutes and raise the top on this sports car!” Grace said as she patted down the flailed ends of her fine silver hair, a slight palsy in her hands, the exasperation draining from her voice. She pulled a tissue from her purse, wiping her eyes.
Sylvia winced as she looked at her mother who was clearly shaken from the drive. The meanness in her own heart chilled her. She wasn’t this way with anyone else. Whatever their history, it didn’t warrant this response. Meditation was helping Sylvia see herself more clearly and sometimes it was painful. She realized that it was long past time for her to take responsibility for her own irritation.
“I’m sorry, mother,” she said, “you are right. I should have pulled over and put the top up. Maybe we can find a restroom inside to freshen up.”
They found the ladies room and Sylvia helped Grace locate the brush buried in her purse. She assured her mother that she would only be gone for a few minutes. She went to the emergency room and looked around for someone who might know where Faith was. Vivien was sitting at the nurses’ station.
“Oh, thank goodness it’s you, Viv. Do you know where Faith is?” she asked.
“Oh, hello Hon,” Vivien said, looking up from her charting. “She just went up to the floor. Room 322.”
“She’s OK?”
“Yes, just a little worn out. But her vitals are stable.”
“Worn out?” Sylvia took a deep breath, aware of her clipped tone. “Sorry, Viv, I’m just so worried about her....
“She’s fine, Hon, really.” Vivien stood up and reached over to pat Sylvia’s hand. “I know she’s waiting to see you and your mom. Hurry on up there before visiting hours are over. They’ll give you a few extra minutes, I’m sure.”
Sylvia returned to the restroom and found Grace talking to an elderly man in the foyer nearby. They seemed so at ease with one another that Sylvia wondered if the man was an old family friend. Grace nodded goodbye to him as Sylvia approached. Grace’s face was soft and open as Sylvia told her what room Faith was in and when visiting hours were over. Grace took her daughter’s elbow and tried to match her brisk steps as they headed to the elevator. Sylvia noticed that she was walking too fast for her mother and slowed down.
Once behind the shiny steel doors, Sylvia asked, “Who was that man you were talking to?”
“Let’s see, he said his name was… Charles Purdue.”
“Do you know him?”
“Oh, no Honey. He just looked like he needed a friendly face. Turns out his wife is in the intensive care unit. Heart attack. But the doctors think she’s gonna make it.”
Sylvia did not know what to say. She had always marveled at her mother’s capacity to comfort complete strangers. People seemed to instantly relax in her presence. The elevator finally started with a jerk. Sylvia tapped her foot as it inched upward.
“It’s OK, Sylvia. Nobody likes hospitals. Such painful places to visit. Worse for the family than the patient, don’t you think?” Grace said.
Sylvia found herself calmed by her mother’s voice and was reminded of her mother’s loving nature.
“You know, you’re a really kind person, Mom. To everyone. Kinder than me.”
“Oh, not deep down, sweetheart,” Grace replied, “You’ve got to have tough skin to do the work you do.”
It was a moment of recognition that made Sylvia pause. Her mother did understand some things about her.
The doors to the elevator finally opened onto the third floor and a woman and her children stepped in. Sylvia and Grace got out and headed down the hallway to the oncology ward.
“Let’s say a quick goodnight to Faith,” Grace said, “then maybe we can go get some dinner. It’s been nice having all this time with you. I’m glad you talked me into this trip.”
Sylvia could tell it was a genuine statement. Maybe there was more to her mother than the story she had told herself all these years. The therapist she had finally seen was helping and had made it clear she was available while Sylvia was in Mississippi. When Grace and Sylvia arrived in Faith’s room, she was reading a book. The picture on the front cover showed smoke billowing from the rose window of a church. She looked up over her reading glasses, laid down her book and reached her arms out to them both. Her face was as radiant as ever.
“I’m so glad you insisted on coming to the hospital tonight,” she said, looking into Grace’s eyes. “I realized how much I have missed you when I heard your voice.” Grace bent over the side of the bed and kissed her sister on the cheek. Faith patted a spot on the bed next to her and motioned for Sylvia to sit down.
“Come over here, Sylvia. You can stop your worrying. I’m still here.”
“What are you reading?” Sylvia asked.
“Home Fires by Margaret Maron. Lord, that woman can write a page turner! It’s definitely what I need tonight.”
“How are you?” Grace asked. Her voice was gentle and steady, devoid of strain or worry; the same voice Sylvia had heard in the elevator. It conveyed a quiet strength that she had not appreciated in her mother.
Faith had intended to wait until she returned home to tell them about the results of the blood tests, but the directness of Grace’s question demanded a transparent response.
“The truth is I feel fine and Dr. Prentice doesn’t think the fever is serious.” Faith put her hand on Sylvia’s back. “But the leukemia is advancing. He wants me to consider intravenous chemotherapy.”
They let the silence sit there while the words sunk in.
“I’ve had my cry and my little talk with God. And right now, I’m all right. We’ll see what the next moment brings, but for now, I’m fine.”
“Well, I can see how Ms. Maron is the best medicine for you right now,” Grace said.
“I didn’t know you read mysteries,” Sylvia said.
“There’s a bit you don’t know about me, Honey. But don’t worry, we’ve got more time to talk.” Then Grace turned and looked at Faith. “Don’t even try to argue with me. I’m staying.”
“But…” Sylvia started but stopped herself when she felt the extra pressure of Faith’s hand on her back.
“It won’t be easy, you know,” Faith said, “And I can call Claire and Delta any time I need them. They’re just down the road.”
“I know they are. But you know I went through this with Phil. I’m the best one to take care of you Faith.”
Grace’s posture shifted, a steeliness of spine making her taller. While Sylvia seemed a little bewildered by this side of her mother, Faith had clearly seen it before.
“On one condition,” Faith said, an impish twinkle in her eye.
“What’s that?” Grace asked.
“That we go to New Orleans to buy you some summer outfits.”
“Deal.”
“And to get your hair done, Gracie. That’s a fright of a do you have there.”
“It’s the Sylvia special,” she said, patting the sides of her head with her palms and winking at her daughter. “What, you don’t like it? It’s the latest style.”
Sylvia blushed and raised her hands. “Guilty. Cuff me now. I’m a coiffure killer.”
The overhead speaker announced the end of visiting hours.
“You two better run along before they throw you out,” Faith said, hiding the fatigue she felt. She gave them each a quick hug.
“You sleep well, and we’ll see you in the morning,” Grace said.
Faith lay back and closed her eyes, the book open across her lap.
As they were leaving, Sylvia turned out the overhead light at the door. Then she paused, turning around to look at Faith again. She held up a finger, silently signaling her mother to wait, and tiptoed back to the hospital bed. She reached down and lifted the reading glasses ever so gently from Faith’s nose. She put them with the book on the bedside table and whispered,
“And a hug around the neck.”
She returned to Grace at the door and offered her elbow to her mother.
“Let’s go get something to eat, Mom,” Sylvia said as they made their way down the hall, “And surprise me with something else I don’t know about you.”
MISSISSIPPI 1942
Faith adjusted the starched white cap on the crown of her head and pushed the bobby pins deeper into her hair. She picked up her suitcase, walked across the platform and entered the one room depot. The small station amounted to nothing more than a ticket booth and a couple of straight back chairs. It appeared to be unattended. The train from New Orleans to Hattiesburg had been half-empty and she had dozed for most of the trip only to awaken with her hair askew. She had freshened up in Hattiesburg before changing trains, taking the Bonhomie and Hattiesburg Southern some twenty-five miles to Wingate. Now here she was, in this little spot of nowhere. She wrapped her sweater snuggly around her shoulders and walked out the front door of the depot. She stood there waiting for her father, clad all in white from her nursing shoes and A-line dress up to her hat. She could have worn a more comfortable outfit for the trip home, but Maudie had requested to see Faith in her uniform, newly issued at the start of clinical rotations. Faith didn’t mind. It felt like an anchor in a world now tossed at sea. The first stinging needles of an icy rain hit her cheek just as she saw the red cab of Hardee’s new pickup rounding the bend in the road.
