Reclaiming Lily (31 page)

Blinking, Deanne nodded as she adjusted the pressure cuff, took a reading, snorted, readjusted the cuff, and took another reading.

“Have you decided about his schooling?” The pressure-building silence caused Kai to talk, just to talk.
Day by day I become more American
.

For an answer, Deanne ripped the Velcro cuff from Kai’s arm and tossed it on a counter. “What’s normal for you?”

Kai gripped her knees. “I haven’t checked in years.”

“Physician, heal thyself.” Absent was Deanne’s usual humorous tone.

“110 over 78.” Kai donned the mask of flippancy. “Something like that.”

“Something like that, huh?” Deanne clucked her tongue. “I just took it twice. Both times it was 140 over 110.”

Kai’s arm ached, as if she still wore the cuff. Her pressure could be indicative of a problem. Essential hypertension, renal artery stenosis . . .

Deanne ran her hand through her curls. “You’d better see that heart doctor.”

Kai winced as if she had been slapped. Of course they knew about David. Some had joked. Fished for nibbles. She had never bitten, had just given what David called her Cheshire cat smile. If any queried her now, she would continue to evade the question, unwilling to discuss the truth: There was no heart doctor now.

“Let’s check that pulse.” Deanne rested one hand on the back of Kai’s chair, the other on Kai’s wrist. She cast her eyes on a wall clock. “Hmm,” she finally said. “Low, but I guess that’s good.” Deanne looked her in the eye. “I don’t need to tell you . . . or maybe I do. Get this checked out.”

“I am fine,” Kai lied. “It is just the stress from traveling, of making arrangements for my sister. I have never done well with travel,” she again lied. David hated her save-face lies. But David wasn’t here. . . .

Deanne brushed her hands together, as if ridding herself of this matter. For now. “Fine or not, check this out. Hear me?”

Kai forced a smile so this competent nurse would leave her with her sorrow. “I hear you loud and clear.”

Deanne left the room. Kai remained sitting in the cold, hard chair, her third lie cozied up next to her.

She had not heard Deanne loud and clear, for those numbers had nearly drowned out the nurse’s voice. 140 over 110.

High blood pressure. Father’s genetics. Kai rubbed the arm that had been cuffed. It made sense that she might inherit such a problem, but that did not assuage the blow.

She buried her face in her hands. High blood pressure blacklisted her as a donor. She knew the words, had
written
the words, had chosen the neat, scientific font for the transplant procedures manual. Unless Deanne, one of their practice’s most competent nurses, had botched her job, she would never qualify as a donor for Lily. Never.

As she rose, a wildfire swept through her and crackled rage. She had so carefully planned for every contingency, so sure that she, with the resources of MRA, could transcend obstacles erected by—whom? If not fate, whom could she blame? Her foot flexed with an urge to vent her fury on the indifferent blood pressure stand.

“Dr. Kai, you have a call on line two,” intoned Betsy over the intercom in an irritatingly efficient manner.

You are a doctor,
she told herself as she returned to her office and sat at her desk.
Perhaps you will learn today that Joy will not need your help
.

She stared past the blinking phone button to her wall of certificates and diplomas, whose golden seals and loopy calligraphy now mocked her. They were all meaningless. For the first time since she had discovered the Healing Right Hand, Kai doubted she could heal anyone. Not the five patients scheduled to see her today. Not her sister Joy, who would come in for her consult and test results. Not herself. Especially not herself.

She’s clinging to her daddy in her old happy-go-lucky way.
Gloria trotted to catch up with Andrew and Joy, who were following Kai down a hall lined with examining rooms.
And I’m about to bite off my nails.

A sharp right took them into a conference area dominated by a gleaming oval table. A serene seascape hung next to botanical prints. Tasteful. Soothing. Moneyed. Except for the presence of two doctors, it could’ve been a boardroom in any successful corporation—not the MRA office where they would learn if their Joy had PKD.

Kai rose, her mouth tight. Dark strands escaped her bun, usually so sleek and styled. Tension increased. Had Joy’s diagnosis swept Kai into a tempest?

“Sit down, please. Make yourself comfortable.”

Joy hurried to the chair by Kai. They exchanged secret smiles. Sister smiles. A perfect antidote for worry. Gloria sat next to Andrew, leaned close, and inhaled his comforting fresh scent.
Oh, God, get us through this. Whichever way it goes.

Dr. Duncan nodded at Kai, who rose, closed the door, and returned to her seat. Though an Oriental rug muted the sound, every footfall thudded worry. At times like this, God seemed capricious, as if He relished holding lives by a thread. Death. Life. Sickness. Health. Gloria bit her lip. She sounded like a heathen.

“Here you go.” Dr. Duncan passed out stapled copies of a report.
The
report.

Gloria recalled the station adjustment. Joy’s life, again reduced to papers.

“Thank you for the privilege of examining Joy,” said Dr. Duncan.

“Oh, we thank you.”

Chattering teeth kept Gloria from voicing thanks, as Andrew had. She appreciated the VIP treatment, but enough was enough. PKD or not? She picked up the paper, studied rows of numbers, and set down the medical mumbo jumbo.
Tell me, before I scream!

In her uncanny way of sensing emotions, Kai darted an encouraging smile. “We have good news, though there is one more avenue to be explored.”

“But it’s good news.” Dr. Duncan rubbed his palms together. “Good news.”

Recessed lighting seemed to brighten and halo the paintings. A soothing breeze swept through Gloria. For the first time in weeks, she breathed, really breathed.
No PKD? Say it, then! Scream it!
The retorts sizzled on the tip of her tongue.

Joy leaned against Kai, a childlike smile on her face. Tears misted Kai’s eyes and made her look fragile, older, despite her classic Asian beauty.
Though she does it silently, she has been worried sick about Joy . . . just like me.

“Well, that’s . . . great!” Andrew’s voice swelled. The papers in his hand rattled. “But . . . what exactly does it mean?”

Gloria longed to high-five him.
Exactly!

“We did an exhaustive battery of tests.” Dr. Duncan pulled glasses from his scrubs pocket and put them on. “First the basics. WBC, CBC. BP, 110 over 85.”

Gloria ran her finger along the columns of data.

“BP—toward the middle of the first page—sends up a flare.” Deep-set eyes peered over half-rims.

A flare
. Gloria poked the nasty number with her fingernail.
Doesn’t sound like good news to me.

“Something we’ll check out.” With a wave from Dr. Duncan, the flare was extinguished. Air whooshed from Gloria.

“What’s encouraging is the RFP.”

Kai leaned past Andrew to nab Gloria’s attention. “Kidney function.”

Dr. Duncan nodded. “Glucose, BUN, creatinine . . .”

Gloria found the numbers on her page, followed along.

“. . . GFR, potassium, at excellent levels.”

Tears blurred. An internal hallelujah drowned out doc-speak. Gloria wiped her eyes, took in the list of elements and substances that God had used to form her Joy.
Before you were in your mother’s womb, I knew you,
her soul sang.

“Normal, all of it,” continued Dr. Duncan. “Absolutely normal. As to Joy’s occasional upset and digestive disturbances, I would suggest that they are tied to stress. We’ll order a colonoscopy if symptoms persist. Other tests.”

A colonoscopy? At Joy’s age? Gloria gripped the table edge. Surely they wouldn’t be stalked by another disease. “Like . . . what? What would we be looking for?”

Joy tapped the table. Shorthand for “
Moth
-er!”

In her intuitive way, Kai again caught Gloria’s eye. “Let us not put the truck before the pony.”

A grin creased Dr. Duncan’s tanned face. Joy’s hand flew to her mouth, as if to squelch a giggle. Gloria let out a sigh and smiled. Kai and her colloquialisms! She wouldn’t joke if the tests showed problems. Her Joy was going to be okay.

“To finish our pony ride—” Dr. Duncan chuckled, as did Andrew and Joy—“the ultrasound nailed it. On page three. . .”

Gloria obediently turned the page, though she longed to shred the report into confetti and toss it into the air. Nailed it: definitely good news! Nailed it! Then she remembered
her
ultrasound. Again the figures blurred. Indignant swipes got rid of tears. She was the epitome of selfishness, thinking about her loss when Joy—
the child that’s alive
—had been freed from a pernicious disease.
Focus, you ninny. Focus!

“. . . no evidence of cysts. Normal-sized kidney for a young woman of Joy’s age. No evidence of compressed or distorted nephrons. No sign of build-up or edema.” Dr. Duncan took off his glasses and laid them on the table, next to the file. “Nothing thrills me more—” he glanced sideways at Kai—“than to issue Joy a clean bill of health.” Dr. Duncan shifted in the chair. “I would suggest a work-up on that blood pressure. It warrants a look-see.”

“Definitely,” murmured Andrew. Gloria nodded.

“We’ve told you the good news.” Dr. Duncan leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure Kai’s shared the nature of PKD. It can pop up out of nowhere.” Blond eyebrows pressed together. “On the flip side, we’re not a hundred percent sure that Kai’s mother presented with PKD, though from Kai’s research, I’d say we’re at 99.9.”

Andrew grabbed Gloria’s hand. Sweat squared. “What can we do to prevent Joy from having to deal with this later?”

Andrew, again taking the words from my mouth.

Dr. Duncan rubbed his chin. “At present, treatment for PKD in advanced stages is dialysis and transplant. A low-protein diet may slow progression. We’ll recheck that pressure, follow up with a specialist, get it under control. Other than that, bolster Joy’s immune system with a good multi-vitamin, fruits and vegetables. Common-sense stuff.”

They all nodded, except Joy, who had harrumphed after the mention of fruits and vegetables. Besides that, Joy, the one most affected by PKD seemed . . . the least affected.

“Do you guys have any questions?”

Andrew shook his head. “Dr. Duncan, we can’t thank you enough.”

The doctor rose, patted Kai on the back. “Though I probably shouldn’t swell her head by saying this, I’d do anything for Kai. She’s a healer.”

A healer. Gloria glanced at Kai, whose drawn face seemed incongruous with her relieved smile. If only Kai knew the Healer, who eased life’s pains. If only Kai could meet the Love who righted all wrongs, even those like Kai’s family had suffered. Gloria must tell her. Even as Gloria stood and thanked the doctor, along with Andrew, a plan percolated. If God allowed, she would witness to Kai . . . before they left Boston.

22

No-Name Restaurant
. Kai bowed her head, following the lead of the Powells, but peeked at faded life preservers and splintered oars. Seafarer décor, a bay view, and Boston’s freshest lobster highlighted the impromptu celebration dinner Deanne had helped her arrange.
A joint crowded with my sister, her family, scores of raucous locals and tourists.
The perfect place to hide my floundering mind
.

“Dear Lord, we praise you for your mercy, your goodness, your glorious presence, in sickness and in health. Thank you for Kai’s hand in all this. Bless her career here in Boston. We thank you . . .”

Kai kept fluttering her eyes. Once she spied Joy, peeking at her, as if wondering what she thought of the prayer. Despite her elation over Joy’s escape from PKD, a troubled spirit dimmed Kai’s joy. Since the first healing hand incident, she had never doubted that her hand was gifted by the fates as a weapon against suffering.

I no longer believe in the fates. Do I now believe my yearning to heal comes from the Christian God?
If that is true, He lords over cancer, PKD—the hateful things I battle each and every day!
Despite His power, the Christian God allowed such horrors; Andrew acknowledged it in the “sickness and health” prayer. Kai battled an urge to shake her head—and she might have, if Joy weren’t watching. She who loved order, statistics, and logic saw no logic to the “sickness and health” philosophy. No logic at all.

“Amen.”

I can breathe again
. Kai smoothed her napkin into her lap.
Amen means the end. Not a moment too soon.
She spooned into Boston’s best chowder, savored tender chunks of lobster, inhaled the grassy aroma of fresh chives, and pushed away thoughts of God. Dear Fourth Sister had bested PKD. Worry about cardio issues . . . and God . . . would be stowed away.

Andrew dipped a meaty nugget of lobster into melted butter. “We can’t thank you enough, Kai.”