A Time to Die...To Every Thing a Season chpt. 8

The next morning, Kevin and I were up early. It was November 2, 2005. The anticipation was more than we could stand. The appointment was scheduled for noon, so I had to get my children over to my sister's house before we had to leave at 10:30.

That morning, Kevin had come to the strong realization that things were much worse than what Sandra and Jackie had been telling us. He was crushed inside, but just as he cautioned me, he didn't want to borrow trouble that wasn't ours...yet.

Watching Jackie get Sandra ready for her visit in Columbia was particularly difficult. Here was a man that needed two new lungs dragging a wheelchair around with an oxygen tank slung over his arm. She had a "sliding" board that helped her get from the hospital bed to the wheelchair, from the wheelchair to the car, etc. She couldn't place weight on her legs for more than a few seconds, so her board was essential.

About a year prior to all of this, Sandra and Jackie had their swimming pool filled in. Jackie had so much trouble keeping it up because of his health. It wasn't worth the trouble anymore. Since Sandra had been sick, Jackie was parking his Buick on the spot the swimming pool was at. It ended up being a much needed help and blessing because their yard was sloped. There was about 20 stairs from the parking area to the back door, so the pool being gone was a good thing!

Jackie and Sandra had about 4 vehicles. Jackie loved old Cadillacs, and had two of them, but his Buick Regal was the easiest thing to get Sandra in and out of. Just about 2 weeks before Sandra started having the severe back pain, Jackie had bought her a new 2005 Toyota Forerunner. He paid cold hard cash, but she only got to drive it once. The vehicle was almost useless, except for the fact that Sandra planned on driving it again.

While we were on our way to The South Carolina Oncology Center of Columbia, Sandra was unusually quiet. Kevin drove for Jackie, and Sandra and I sat in the back seat. She tried to make conversation about the kids, but fear was etched in her face. When we finally arrived, she was very tense. Actually, all of us were very tense.

The Oncology Center was a huge outfit, a massive building. As we made our way to the entrance, I immediately noticed the bald women who proudly went without scarves on their heads. I suppose it was a hallmark sign that they were fighting this disease that was desperately trying to kill them. There were just as many women walking around with scarves on their heads. To my amazement, all of them looked strong, like they were capable of the fight in which they were engaged. But Sandra, she looked so feeble.

One of the most striking things about the appearance of the Oncology Center was the wall of windows that lined the waiting area. Had it not been such a cloudy day, the waiting room would have been flooded with sunlight. It was a nice touch for a place that often delivered such devastating news. As we anxiously sat in the waiting area, I longed to feel the comfort of what that wall of windows was capable of delivering; the feeling of life, the comfort of sunshine, the promise of a blue sky, the hope of a tomorrow. But just like the darkness I had felt the night before, all the windows could offer was the ugly reality of ominous clouds.

The four of us tried to read magazines to occupy our time. Finally, a nurse called Sandra's name. We all scrambled toward the nurse as she led us to a lab area. She drew some blood from Sandra. While she was doing that, I expressed my anxiety to Kevin. He looked pale. Fearing that Sandra would see the concern on our faces, I said no more.

We were escorted back out to the waiting area and told that she would be called back to a room shortly. We settled back in our seats. Sandra sighed and rested her chin on her fist, looking as if she was ready to get the whole thing over with.

I sat there, wondering how we would take "the news." I looked over to my right and saw an enormous fish tank. In fact, there were several just like it throughout the waiting area. The sound of the tank was so relaxing, giving the room an ambient atmosphere. I stared at the fish, admiring their beautiful colors.

It all seemed like the ultimate betrayal. All this "evidence" of life and warmth in a place where death seemed to reign. In my eyes, it was so deceptive, so misleading. It was as if the Center was trying to equate cancer with life, yet no compatibility existed between the two. I wanted to stand up and scream, "I'm not buying it! This is a place of death sentences and heartache! Not a place of life!" Of course, I knew the image of life was conducive to the patients, but I felt like it wouldn't help Sandra. Inside, she was already a dead woman.

"Sandra Davis?" My thoughts were broken. Kevin, Jackie, and I quickly rose to our feet. Jackie wheeled Sandra through the door that led to the examination rooms. We were led to a room by a kind nurse who made sure we all had a place to sit. She assured us that Dr. Mushtaq would be in shortly. In less than 5 minutes, the doctor entered the room.

Dr. Mushtaq introduced himself and talked directly to Sandra.

"And can you please introduce me to your family?" he said.

After the introductions, he asked Sandra if he was free to speak of her condition with us present in the room. She nodded yes. He took a seat right beside me.

He slowly opened her chart and began reading out loud her previous surgeries. He was fairly young, and I couldn't help but wonder how many times he had delivered bad news to families just like ours. His voice was slow and deliberate. It was maddening how slow he spoke; it was as if his hesitation signaled his dread.

"Mrs. Davis, you had surgery 2 weeks ago on your C5 vertebrae. We biopsied the vertebrae...and..." He literally stopped.

Sandra was wringing her hands while Jackie was looking expectantly at the doctor. Kevin's foot was nervously twitching. My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard, fighting the tears that were sure to come.

"And...the biopsy... is... showing... cancer in your spine." For such a short sentence, it seemed to take an eternity to get out of his mouth. All of us were hanging onto every single syllable.

Sandra calmly replied with, "Okay, " but the inflection on the end indicated that she expected more news.

He continued. "We also found a tumor in your right breast that we believe may be the source of your cancer. However, the abdominal CT scan showed a mass on your gallbladder and on your stomach. Cancer in any of those regions could have spread to your spine, but we think it may be breast cancer that has metastasized to your spine."

Sandra began to cry, and with that, we were all crying. Dr. Mushtaq reached over to Sandra and gently patted her arm. He told her that he didn't know all the answers but that God did. He gave all of us Kleenex and continued to talk.

He told Sandra that she would need to have a breast biopsy first. Since the team of doctors at the South Carolina Oncology Center felt that it was the primary source, they would focus on that first. They said that she would have to have radiation for the cancer in her spine, which is always indicative of metastatic cancer.

When the time came for questions, we were all speechless. We were still crying and reeling from the news. I finally asked, "If the cancer is in the gallbladder, can't you just remove the gallbladder?"

Dr. Mushtaq explained that if the cancer in her spine had metastasized from her gallbladder, it would have spread to the surrounding organs. It would be a much worse prognosis. He basically explained that breast cancer would be the best case scenario and that the mass in her stomach and gallbladder may very well be benign. The worse case scenario was that it was breast cancer that had metastasized to the spine and to the gallbladder and stomach. Even worse, there was a possibility that it was three separate cases of cancer. Further tests would tell the tale.

One thing was certain; the cancer she had was very aggressive. The doctor avoided telling us how long she had or what her chances of survival were, but he repeatedly told us that the cancer was "very aggressive." And from all we had learned, we knew that the prognosis was dim.

After scheduling her radiation treatments and upcoming tests and biopsies, we headed home. We all loaded up in the car and tried to get back to I-20. As we worked our way through the maze like parking lot, I looked over at Sandra. She looked at me as if to say, "It figures...." I grabbed her hand and told her that it would be alright. She shrugged her shoulders like I child with a "whatever" attitude. It broke my heart.

On the way home, she quietly said, "I don't know how I'm going to tell Stephanie. She calls me everyday on her way home from work, and she knows I had this appointment today. She is going to take this really bad." No one said a word. We all knew how difficult it would be.

Amazingly enough, Sandra asked us if we would mind stopping at a restaurant to have lunch. We were happy to oblige her. I thought to myself, "Is this a good sign? A good appetite might mean that the masses in her stomach and gallbladder weren't anything to worry about."

We ended up at a buffet style restaurant in Camden. Sandra ate very well, which made the rest of us happy. Once we were home, Sandra got in her hospital bed and stayed there the rest of the day.

At about 5:10 p.m. Sandra's phone rang. Kevin and I knew who it was-Stephanie. She was obviously asking about Sandra's appointment. Sandra pretended to have trouble hearing Stephanie.

"Steph, I can't here you, baby. You must be in a bad spot. Hang up and call me back when you get home." Sandra bought herself a few more minutes to get her nerve up to tell Stephanie the news. Within 15 minutes, Kevin's sister had called back, eager to hear all the details.

Sandra told her as gently as she could. It was a good thing we couldn't hear both sides of the conversation because it would have torn our hearts to pieces. Stephanie and Sandra were very close, and this was the most devastating thing imaginable. The only thing we could hear was Sandra bravely trying to tell her daughter the same thing the foreign doctor had told her. "We don't know why, Stephanie, but God does..."