Season of Blessing (29 page)
Cathy hadn't seen
Sylvia since her treatment just after Christmas, but one day in early January she spotted her sitting out on her horse, staring out at the hills behind her property. Something was wrong. Sylvia didn't move, and the horse beneath her stood motionless. Cathy hurried across the yard to see if she needed help.
As she grew closer, she saw that the color of Sylvia's skin was a grayish-yellow. She looked sick now, not just weak or frail. The systemic effects of the chemo were taking a terrible toll on her.
Sylvia didn't seem to hear as she approached. “Sylvia, are you feeling all right?”
Sylvia turned slowly and looked down at her. “Hey, Cathy. I was just going to ride, but I think my legs are too weak. Can you help me off?”
Cathy gave her a hand, and felt Sylvia's body trembling as she stepped to the ground. “How did you saddle the horse?”
“Joseph did it, then I sent him back home to study. I didn't realize I was still so weak.”
Cathy let her lean on her and led the horse back to the stall. “This last treatment must be hanging on, huh?”
“Yes, but there are only two more.”
Cathy wondered if those last two would completely do Sylvia in. It seemed cruel, injecting such a harsh drug into a cancer patient's veins, when there were no guarantees that it would even work.
But she supposed the alternative was even more deadly.
Sylvia took measured steps. The horse walked slowly beside them as if it understood that she was ill and could not hurry. Cathy took the horse into the stall and pulled the saddle off.
“Poor Midnight,” Sylvia said. “She was all dressed up and ready to go.”
“Well, you'll have plenty of time to ride when you're stronger. Won't you be glad to get these treatments behind you?”
“I guess.”
Cathy set the saddle down and gaped at her. “You guess? What does that mean?”
Sylvia leaned her face against the horse's neck. “It's hard to explain, but I kind of feel like I'm doing something as long as I'm taking the chemo. When it's over, I won't be doing anything. What if the cancer's not gone?”
“It will be,” Cathy said. “You know it will be. I mean, they probably got it all in the mastectomy. The chemo was just because of the lymph nodes, right? It hadn't metastasized anywhere.”
“No.”
Cathy took off Midnight's blanket and hung it over a rail. “Sylvia, I just know you're never going to have to deal with this again. When you finish, you'll be home free.”
Sylvia sat down on a tack box and watched as Cathy started to brush the horse.
“Oh, I've got some good news for you,” Cathy said. “Josh called Annie, and they went out on a date. They really seemed to hit it off.”
Sylvia's countenance lifted. “We've got to help it along. Maybe I could have another dinner party, invite them both over.”
“Sylvia, I don't think you can get away with that. Come on. It was weird enough for you to invite them both the first time. I think we should just let God do the rest. I'm not so sure I want Annie in a relationship right now, anyway.”
“Well, I can understand that,” Sylvia said, “but you know Annie. She's going to wind up in one before long. I just want to make sure it's with the right person.”
“No arguments from me,” Cathy said.
January went by
in a blur as Sylvia struggled through her seventh chemo treatment. Sarah came with Breanna to visit, and Jeff was able to come for a long weekend. Though she still had a few good days the week before her treatment, she was too exhausted to ride. Most days, Joseph rode Midnight for her as she sat out on her porch and watched. She carefully taught him how to groom and care for the horse and hired him to clean the stables.
The child gave her comfort when he was around, and since Brenda was spending so much time in a hunt for a job, she didn't feel she was taking him away from his schoolwork.
On the days after her treatment, when she could hardly crawl out of bed, Joseph cared for Midnight without her help. They'd given him permission to ride anytime he wanted without asking, and he kept the horse in shape.
At last in early February the day of her final treatment arrived. Sylvia was quiet as Harry drove her to the Cancer Center.
“Eight times,” she whispered. “I can't believe I did this eight times.”
“Six months,” he said.
“I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I just hope it helped.”
“It did,” Harry said. “It had to.” He took her hand, squeezed it as he drove. “Are you excited?”
She hesitated and looked out the window. “I'm a little scared.”
“Scared? Why?”
“Because after this treatment, I go for all the scans. That's when we'll know for sure if it worked. And they said there was a fifty percent recurrence rate. I hate the chemo, but I hate the cancer worse. And without the chemo, the cancer could take a foothold.”
“It won't though. You're going to be fine. After this treatment, you'll feel bad for a couple of weeks, but then you'll start feeling better, your strength will come back, your hair will grow back, the color will return to your face⦔ He pulled into the parking lot of the Cancer Center. “And the radiation and hormone therapy will still be battling the cancer.”
Harry walked her in, and she took her place and waited as they put the needle into her vein.
An hour into her treatment, her head began to ache, and she dipped some ice chips out of the bowl on her lap and put them in her mouth to keep the sores from forming. Vertigo taunted her, and she felt slightly nauseous.
She closed her eyes and, quietly, started to sing. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound⦔
A woman's voice beside her joined in, and she opened her eyes and saw Priscilla, the woman she'd sung with during her first couple of treatments. Priscilla had been finished with her chemo for some time now, and her hair had begun to grow back in. She stood over Sylvia with a smile on her face and a vase of roses. “Hi there,” she said softly.
Sylvia smiled, though dizziness wobbled over her again. “Priscilla.”
“I knew this was your last treatment day,” she said. “I wanted to bring you flowers to celebrate.” She put the vase on a tray.
Sylvia touched her hand. “You're so sweet. How are you?”
Priscilla pulled up the rolling stool that the nurses used, and sat down facing Sylvia.
“I'm great. I seem to be in remission. We're very optimistic.”
“You look great. Your hair is wonderful. You should keep it that short.”
She ran her hand over the inch-long strands. “I'm tempted.”
A wave of dizziness seemed to turn Sylvia's stomach, so she closed her eyes again.
“Sing with me,” Priscilla whispered. “Come on, honey, sing. Just like you made me do those times. Amazing grace⦔
Sylvia sang along, trying to get her mind focused on the amazing grace of a God who sent a compassionate friend who'd suffered through the same thing, on the day that she needed her the most.
Priscilla stayed through the whole treatment, then helped her back out to Harry, and hugged her good-bye.
“We both made it through,” Priscilla said. “We survived. The worst is behind us now.”
Sylvia started to cry. She hadn't expected it, and didn't really have the energy to do it. Yet the tears cameâdeep, soulful, blubbering tears. “It's over,” she whispered to Harry. “It's over.”
Harry and Priscilla cried with her, as the joy of her release from the bondage of chemotherapy finally began to dawn on her.
Several days
after Sylvia's final chemo treatmentâwhen she was finally able to get out of bedâshe went to the hospital for CT scans of her head, chest, abdomen, and bones.
She prayed while she waited for the scanners to move over her body, searching for any more signs of cancer that had spread to other organs or bones. At the end of the day, she went for her blood test and prayed as they drew the blood that the tumor markers would not be elevated.
The results wouldn't be in until the next day.
Still tired and weak, Sylvia went home and tried to get her mind off of the tests. Cathy, Brenda, and Tory came over that night, and they watched
Harvey
on video and munched on popcorn and jelly beans.
But as Harry slept next to her later that night, Sylvia lay awake, praying for remission. She didn't know what she'd do if the test results showed that cancer had taken up residence somewhere else in her body.
So this is what Gethsemane felt like
, she thought. Stark fear, heartbreaking dread. She'd heard her pastor say that Gethsemane was the word for “olive press,” where they crushed olives to get the oil. In the garden of the olive press, Jesus had been crushed.
Tonight she felt as though she was being crushed, too.
As morning dawned and she gave up trying to sleep, Sylvia came to the place where Jesus had ended up that night.
Not my will, but thine
.
She only wished she had more peace about it.
Harry took her back to the oncologist's office for the results. They waited, jittery, in the waiting room until he could see them in his office.
“Good news,” Dr. Thibodeaux said as he hustled into the room. “Everything looks normal.”
Sylvia gasped so hard it made her choke. “No. You're kidding.”
“Not kidding,” he said. “It looks like the chemo was successful.”
Harry started to laugh, and she saw the tears glistening in his eyes as he hugged her. She threw her head back and laughed like a hysterical woman.
“You're not out of the woods yet, though,” Dr. Thibodeaux said. “You still have to go through radiation and hormone therapy. But the chemo was the worst of it, and for right now the results look as good as they could possibly be.”
Sylvia felt as if the olive press had been lifted off her back. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, Lord!” She almost danced. “Doctor, isn't there some way that I can have the radiation in Nicaragua so we can get back to our work?”
Harry shook his head. “Honey, that's not a good idea.”
The doctor frowned. “Harry, I agree. I don't recommend that at all. I'd prefer she waited here until she was finished. There's a lot of danger of infection in the hospitals there, and the equipment is not up to par. León, Nicaragua, is not an environment that will help this process at all.”
Harry gave her an apologetic look. “Sylvia, we can't go back to the field just yet.”
She wasn't going to let that news get her down. “It's okay. Only a few more months.”
As they walked out of the office with Dr. Thibodeaux, Harry stopped him. “Could I get a copy of her records to take to the plastic surgeon? It's time for her to have her expandable implant replaced with a permanent one, and he'll want to see where we are in the process.”
Dr. Thibodeaux nodded. “Sure. I can give you all the records of the test results, but my dictation won't be back for a month or so, so you won't have my notes. It takes that long to get it transcribed.”
Harry laughed. “The test results will be fine. You should try doing your notes the old-fashioned way like I do. Write them yourself.”
“I see too many patients,” he said. “It slows me down to handwrite them, and I tend to abbreviate my comments. I can be more thorough if I dictate. It just takes so long to get them typed. Our transcription service handles most of the doctors' offices in town, so there's a terrible turnaround time on them.”
The germ of an idea planted itself in Sylvia's mind. “Have you ever thought of hiring your own typist for the office? That way you could have a one-day turnaround.”
The doctor shrugged. “We haven't really given that any thought. We just do it the way we always have.”
“You should think about it,” Sylvia said. “If you made someone a full-time employee with benefits and everything, you could hire someone of quality. They could even work from home. Show up once a day to return the notes they've typed and pick up what you dictated that day⦔
Dr. Thibodeaux gave Sylvia a knowing look. “Sylvia, you're not looking for a job, are you?”
Sylvia laughed. “Me? Heavens, no. I'm no typist. But I have a dear friend who would be perfect for a job like that. All you'd have to do is create it, and I bet I could convince her to take it.”
His smile faded, and he stared at her for a moment as the wheels seemed to turn in his mind. “Tell you what. This might be an excellent idea. Let me talk to my partners, and then I'll give you a call. Maybe we could set up an interview with your friend.”
“You'd better hurry before someone else snaps her up,” Sylvia said.
She laughed as they walked out to the car, and all the way home she chattered and planned the party she was going to have for the neighbors that night to celebrate her good news. As she made her plans she felt as if the worst of her disease was behind her. What lay ahead was going to be easy in comparison. Soon cancer would be a distant memory in her life, and she would be able to get on with her work.
She decided to hit the ground running to prove to everyone that the old Sylvia was back.