A Rose for Melinda (7 page)

Hi.… I'm writing this from a hospital computer. My fingers are shaking and I'm crying. Dr. Powell gave us the results of my tests today. She told us what's wrong with me. I have leukemia, Jesse. I have cancer.

Melinda

To:
My Ballerina Girl, Melinda
Subject:
Sad

Ever since Bailey sent me the e-mail telling me you were in the hospital, my worried imagination has been going crazy. I thought about all the things that could have made you sick—really bad flu, or some weird disease. I never thought it could be cancer. You're too young to get cancer! I know cancer isn't contagious: it can't be “caught” like a cold. But why you, Melinda? It shouldn't happen to someone as wonderful as you!

Mom says you have a good doctor and that you'll get the best care in the world. PLEASE write me often—every day if you feel like it—and let me know how you're doing. I think of you every minute of every day.

Jesse

P.S. I'm sending you something to cheer you upas soon as I get the money together!

TO:
Jesse
Subject:
Just to Talk

I don't know why I got cancer, and don't think I haven't asked! The doctors don't know, Mom and Dad don't know. Maybe it's just bad luck. But whatever it is, I sure do hate it. This doesn't seem real. I keep thinking this is a bad dream and I'll wake up any minute. But I don't wake up. And I have to take chemo treatments, which scare me to death. Gee, did I really mean to write “death”? Oh, Jesse, I wish I could see you. …I wish this wasn't happening to me. …I just want to go home and have everything the way it used to be.

Melinda

TO:
All Concerned
Subject:
Doctor's Report

Now that we know the worst, we're hoping for the best.

First of all, thank you for all the cards, notes and gifts you've sent Melinda since we learned the
news. Her hospital room looks like an annex for a boutique! Really, your generosity is much appreciated and has cheered Melinda greatly.

Melinda has been transferred to All-Children's Hospital, where she'll be supervised by a team of physicians in a state-of-the-art complex associated with St. Jude, the famous children's cancer research hospital in Memphis. She has a hematologist, an oncologist, a psychiatrist (for adjustment to the diagnosis), a nutritionist, a social worker—in short, a whole team of people to help her cope with her cancer (the latest concept in treating the patient as a whole, not piecemeal). A good idea, I guess, but there are a lot of new people in our lives, the kind that parents hope they never have to meet under circumstances we never think we'll face.

Melinda had a blood transfusion to elevate her red cell count and she looks and feels much better. She's also on antibiotics to deal with the bone marrow infection and is fever-free for the first time in days. Tomorrow she'll begin her first round of chemo, which her oncologist, Dr. Neely, hopes will put her into remission. Once they adjust her levels of chemo, which is pretty potent stuff,
she'll get to return home. Then she'll go onto outpatient status. She'll have to come in for more treatments (the doctors call them protocols), be hooked up to an infusion pump for a few hours at a time and have more chemo dumped into her via IV, but at least we'll be able to take her home after each treatment.

The goal is to get her into remission and keep her there. Some patients never have a relapse. Others can have one after being cancer-free for a few years. A patient is considered “cured” if there are no relapses after five years. Frankly, there's so much to learn and adjust to that we're all overwhelmed. I asked Dr. Neely how we'll get through this and he said, “The same way everyone else gets through it—one day at a time.”

More later,
Lenny