Saving Jessica (4 page)

“According to her latest blood work, her blood urea nitrogen, or BUN, level is still too high, and when dialysis brings it down, she gets nauseous and throws up. Even though I make sure she eats right, her BUN won’t cooperate.”

His mind worked rapidly, sorting through what Ruth was telling him. BUN tests measured the level of waste products in Jessica’s bloodstream. “Are you saying that dialysis isn’t helping her?”

“Oh, it’s helping. It’s just not helping
enough.” She looked into Jeremy’s eyes again. “She is sticking to her diet, isn’t she? I mean, at school and all. Have you seen her cheat by eating something she shouldn’t?”

Even if he had, he wouldn’t have told on Jessica, but he could honestly say, “I’ve never seen her cheat.”

“Dr. Witherspoon’s concerned. He wants us to think seriously about a transplant.”

Jeremy froze. “That’s heavy.”

Ruth shook her head. “Her father and I are scared about it, but I think Jessica wants one.”

Jessica hadn’t spoken to him about it, and that hurt his feelings. He’d thought they talked about everything. “Wouldn’t a transplant make her well?” He longed for her to be free of the dialysis machine.

“If a new kidney takes, she’ll be much better off. No more dialysis. But a lifetime of antirejection drugs. Still, the trade-off seems to be worth it.”

Jeremy thought so too. He knew how much Jessica hated the machine and the way it limited and controlled her life. “There are other kinds of dialysis,” he said. “I’ve read about the kind they do through a tube in the abdomen.”
The idea made him shudder, but he didn’t let on to Jessica’s mother. “And it can be done at home.”

“Yes, peritoneal dialysis. But she’d have to wear a bag under her clothes filled with the dialysis fluid.”

“That sounds grim.”

“It would be. But her doctor doesn’t feel she’s a candidate for that kind of dialysis. Of course, we can try it and get her a home dialysis unit so she can dialyze during the night. But that doesn’t seem like much of a solution to me either.”

“Which brings us back to a transplant.”

“Yes. Aside from it being major surgery, there are thousands of people waiting for kidney transplants. There just aren’t enough donor organs to go around.”

His hopes for Jessica plummeted. “Then why would he bring it up?”

“Because he thinks it’s her best hope. She’s a young girl with her whole life ahead of her. She wants to go to college and have a career. A transplant now would give her a chance at a more normal life.”

He weighed the information, seeing it as a
complicated problem worthy of his most dedicated study. “Where can she get a kidney?”

“Of course there are cadaver kidneys—donated from dead people—but Dr. Witherspoon says she’s not a candidate for one of those. Something to do with antibodies already built up in her system.” She waved her hand. “I don’t pretend to understand it all. Anyway, he told us that the best transplant donors are live related ones. Like members of a person’s own family. Her father and I would gladly give her one of our kidneys.” She glanced around the kitchen as if someone might be listening in. “We don’t want Jessica to know it yet, but the doctor is running an antigen match on us.”

“What’s an antigen match?”

“The closer the tissues match, the better the chance that the organ won’t be rejected. If an identical twin gives a kidney to his or her sibling, the match is ideal.”

“But Jessica’s not a twin. And she hasn’t got any brothers or sisters.”

“True. Her closest blood relative is a cousin, my sister’s son, but he’s grown and married with a family of his own to take care of. We can’t ask him to volunteer.” She shook her
head. “I just hope one of us is a good match for her.”

Jeremy considered what she’d told him as she hurried to turn off the oven timer, which had begun to buzz loudly. He imagined Jessica back to a regular life with a transplanted kidney. If it happened soon enough, she might be able to start college in the fall as she’d originally planned. A transplant would put this nightmare behind all of them. Jessie would have her life back, and he would have his Jessie back. It made sense to him that a transplant was the way to go.

He glanced up at the kitchen clock. “It’s been about an hour since Jessie lay down.”

“Maybe I should let her sleep.”

“She wouldn’t like it. You know how she hates to feel babied.”

Ruth sighed. “Oh, all right.”

“Can I go up and wake her?”

Ruth smiled. “She’d appreciate seeing your face more than mine, I guess.”

He grinned, then left the kitchen, bounded up the staircase and down the hall to Jessica’s room. He knocked lightly, then eased open the door. The shades over the windows were
pulled, darkening the room. Gauzy, flowing curtains pooled on the carpeted floor.

He thought Jessica’s bedroom reflected her perfectly. It was feminine and pretty, scented like summer flowers and fresh spring rain, softened with colors of May—lavender and white peppered with daffodil yellow. There were bookcases, a table with two white wicker chairs and a Queen Anne—style desk that held a computer. The incongruity of technology and romanticism sitting side by side made him smile. He couldn’t imagine this room filled with a dialysis machine and bags of fluid, and smelling of medicine.

Jessica lay on her bed, her hair spilling across her pillow. He stared down at her, caressing her with his gaze. She looked pale, yet beautiful. Her thick, dark lashes almost brushed her cheeks. He wanted to kiss her rose-bud-shaped mouth.

Jeremy dropped to his knees beside her bed and tenderly stroked her forehead. She made a sound, but didn’t wake. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and ever so softly pressed his lips to hers. Then he laid his cheek on the pillow,
close to her face, until their noses were almost touching.

Her eyes opened slowly, focusing on his face. She smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi, princess.”

“Are you my Prince Charming waking me from the spell of some wicked witch?”

“Fooled you. I’m really a frog in disguise.”

She touched his cheek. “Some frog.”

He wanted to crawl beneath the covers with her, hold her body against his and never let her go. “Have I told you today that I love you?”

“I can’t remember. Better tell me again.”

“I love you.”

Her eyes, large and the color of blue sky, studied him seriously. “Even though I’m broken?”

He reared back. “You’re not broken. You’ve got a health problem. But it doesn’t change who you are. And it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

She propped her back against the headboard. Her hair was disheveled, and she still wore the pale pink sweater from that afternoon. He thought she looked delectable. Like cotton
candy. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. “I’ve been talking to your mother. She says you’ve been thinking about a kidney transplant. Why didn’t you say something to me about it?”

“I was going to. I’ve been reading up on it.” She turned toward the window. In spite of the shade’s being drawn, she gave the impression that she was looking at the tree outside her window. “Kidneys are living things. If I ever get one, I’ll take very good care of it.”

“You should get one. You deserve one.”

She cupped the side of his face in her hand. “I’m one of thousands needing a kidney. I have type O blood—the most common kind. That puts me even farther down on the transplant list because there are so many people with O blood type—rarer blood types often get higher priority than us garden-variety types.”

“You’re not garden-variety.”

She shushed him with a glance. “And I haven’t been on dialysis very long either, which is another disadvantage. Those who’ve been on the longest and who have the greatest need get first consideration.”

He saw the complexity of the issue. “But your mother said that if you have a live related donor, you wouldn’t have to go on the donor waiting list.”

Jessica shook her head. “I don’t have many relatives. I know that my parents want to be considered as potential donors because I saw them look at each other when Dr. Witherspoon was discussing it, but even if they’re a match, they’ve both had serious health problems.”

“So?”

“So, they’re ineligible.”

Her statement caught him up short. “Your mother doesn’t think so.”

“She doesn’t know yet.” Jessica gestured toward her desk, where pamphlets and books lay open. “Did you know that a kidney from a sixty-year-old transplanted into a twenty-year-old ceases to age? It’s true. Why, it can function for years and years.” Her expression clouded. “Provided it doesn’t reject, that is.”

“Are you afraid if you got one it would reject?”

She nodded. “I’ve had bad dreams about it. I see myself running in a field and just when I
think I’m free, I notice this long plastic tube attached to my side. I wake up in a cold sweat, terrified I’ll never be rid of the machine.”

He took her in his arms, wishing he could chase away her demon fears. “If you reject, you reject. They’ll find you another kidney.”

“That’s what Pat at the dialysis unit said.” Jessica laughed without humor. “As if they grow on trees and you can run right out and pick one.”

“You’re not giving up on getting a transplant already, are you?”

“Of course not. But I have to be realistic, Jeremy. People don’t always get what they want.” She leaned forward and kissed him deeply. “Not even princesses,” she added softly.

W
hen Jeremy arrived home that night, his father was in his study poring over law books.

“Big case?” Jeremy asked, standing in the doorway.

His father sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Yes. I have to go before a federal judge next month.”

Jeremy knew enough about his father’s profession to understand that federal cases were often more complicated than state cases because they sometimes set legal precedents. “Good luck.”

The house seemed too quiet, especially after the sociability of the dinner table at Jessica’s,
where everybody talked with one another. He and Jessica had decided against the movie, so he’d driven around aimlessly for a while before coming home. Now, seeing his father hunched over his work and realizing his mother wouldn’t be home until later tomorrow, Jeremy felt at loose ends. Purposeless. Although he and his father often grated on each other’s nerves, he felt pangs of nostalgia, remembering better days when he and Tom and his dad did fun things together and never fought.

His father must have sensed Jeremy’s hesitation to leave because he pushed back from his desk and gestured toward the couch. “Sit down and visit.”

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re my son. It’s not an interruption.”

Jeremy settled on the leather couch, stretching out his long legs and clasping his hands behind his head.

“How’s Jessica?”

Briefly Jeremy discussed her problems and her hope of a transplant and finished by saying, “I’m sure she’d have a transplant if there were a donor available.”

“Makes sense to me. She’s so young; it seems
a shame to commit her to a lifetime of dialysis when a transplant could set her free.”

Jeremy appreciated his father’s sympathetic tone, for although he didn’t hassle him, Jeremy knew his father wasn’t thrilled about the amount of time he spent with Jessica. “I’d sure like to see her get one hundred percent again,” said Jeremy. “I miss doing things with her. I don’t like that her kidney disease takes up so much of our time together. That sounds selfish, doesn’t it?”

“No. When you care about somebody, you want the best for them.”

“I really like her, you know.” Jeremy wanted to say he loved her, but felt the word might be too strong and put his father off.

“I know. She’s a lovely girl.”

“You and Mom approve of her?”

His father looked puzzled. “Sure. When I look around and see what some kids bring home—friends with blue hair, earrings in their noses, studded leather clothes—yes, I think Jessica is a fine choice.”

Jeremy grinned, warming to his father’s affable mood. “Then I guess I shouldn’t ask to get my belly button pierced.”

His father grimaced. “Just thinking about it makes me cringe.”

“Didn’t you ever do something that went against the mainstream when you were growing up?”

“Are you kidding? In law school I had hair down to my shoulders.”

“No lie?” Jeremy couldn’t imagine his father’s close-cropped brown hair so long.

“And I once organized a revolt against the curfew in the dorms. A group of us camped out in front of the dean’s office door for a week. We were loud, smelly and obnoxious. We really disrupted his life—all campus life, in fact. The campus newspaper and local TV station covered our cause and turned us into minicelebrities.”

“Did you win?”

“ ‘Course not. My father called and told me if I didn’t straighten out, he’d cut off my funds and I’d have to drop out of law school.”

“And you gave in?” Jeremy felt a twinge of disappointment.

“I had always believed that the ends justified the means, but a person has to know when to
cut his losses and bow out gracefully. Besides, I wanted that law degree.”

“Does Mom know you had this wild side?”

“Who do you think brought us our meals during our sit-in?”

Jeremy laughed aloud over the image of his very proper parents acting totally antisocial. “Did it blow over?”

“Actually, the university pressed charges and I had to be my own defense attorney.”

“You could do that before you became a lawyer?”

“Sure. The courts allow senior law students to take on cases if the student practices under the supervision of a law professor.”

Jeremy leaned forward, eager to hear the outcome of his father’s story. “So what happened when you went to court?”

“I did a good enough job to get us all off with a fine and community service. We could have been expelled.”

“And you like practicing law, don’t you?”

“I always have. Discovering the weakness in my opponent’s case, outsmarting my opponent, winning—it still gives me a rush.” His father
leaned back in his swivel chair. “You think you might be interested in law?”