Reclaiming Lily (33 page)

At the second-floor landing, she commanded her training to stem a rising tide of hysteria. She tried to recall an old Dr. Ward-ism. Instead she whispered, “Please. No.” But whom did she address? It took every bit of strength to open the stairwell door.

Meal carts clattered across industrial tile. She pasted on a smile for familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. Lights brightened, dimmed; call bells buzzed, stopped. Kai drifted toward the glass-windowed lab and opened the door.

The technician who had performed her work-up stared past her. Not a good sign. The hand that held one sheet—her future—shook as if he had seen a spirit. Or a death sentence. The room whirled like the videotaped TV footage of that Texas twister. Though the poor man stood silently quaking, he spoke loud and clear:
You have PKD.

Without seeing the figures, Kai knew. The disease that had granted Joy reprieve had invaded her system. Kai took the paper from the technician. A glance at the sheet confirmed everything. She whirled about, unable to breathe in a room where blood was collected, reports were written, where—

“Doctor—um, Doctor?”

“You are first a physician, then a human being
.” It was Dr. Ward, calling to her from that stuffy lecture hall. Just in time.

She straightened her arms, adjusted the mask on her face, raised her chin, turned slowly so as not to stagger—for the room still whirled, though more slowly. “Yes.” Her voice sounded like a mere echo, as it had in that stairwell, where she had nearly melted.

“I . . . I called Dr. Duncan, as per instructions.” The technician moistened his lips in a way that made Kai want to console him. How awkward to give one further up on the hospital hierarchy bad news.

“Yes,” Kai intoned. “Thank you.”

“They’re waiting for you in radiology.” Perhaps emboldened by her courtesy, the hesitant speech disappeared.

Radiology. Poking and prodding, as those soldiers had once done. Proof that insanity had engulfed their village. Kai blinked. Proof that disease ate her kidneys.

Tremors returned with a vengeance. Kai smoothed her lab coat, focused on the young man’s name plate, and looked past his clean-shaven face for his eyes, which brimmed with pity and unease. “Luke, thank you for disrupting your routine.”

The man shook his head. “Oh, ma’am—I mean Doctor—it wasn’t anything.”

“Could you do me one more favor?”

The man nodded with such vigor, Kai wanted to shake his hand and thank him for his compassion. A trait she had long admired.

“Let Radiology know that I will be delayed.”

Eyebrows rose in alarm.

“Just momentarily, Luke. I must first complete my rounds.”

The man exhaled. “You’re talking, what? Thirty minutes? An hour?”

“No more than that.” Kai wobbled to the door. “If there is a longer delay, I will have a nurse let them know.”

“Since it’s early, we’re probably okay.” Luke shuffled files on his desk, surely eager to resume work, more eager for her to leave. She couldn’t blame him. With a good-bye, she and her ominous report left the room, hurried into the doctors’ lounge, leaned against the wall, and heaved a sigh. She could study her fate in private.

She stared at the clock on the wall, stalling. Then she thought of her patients, her promise to the technician, and let her eyes fall on the sheet.

Creatinine? Off the chart, as were the others that mattered. PKD.

She crumpled the sheet into a ball, hurried into the restroom stall, knelt, and emptied the contents of her stomach. “Help me.” Her voice thinned into nothingness as she cried to . . . the Christian God? She knew of no one else on whom to call.

She gripped the toilet with such fervor, her knuckles ached. There was no guarantee that PKD would spare dear Joy, First Daughter, and Third Daughter. If such a tragedy occurred—and she of all persons knew the odds were heightened now—she could never be their donor. Perhaps not their
doctor
. As she leaned against the bathroom stall, her right hand throbbed as never before. Kai raked it through her hair. A lifetime had been spent in relentless pursuit of disease. Nabbing enemies one by one.

First it had been poor Father. Though he still walked with a limp, his mind had been restored after his stroke. Kai’s quest shifted to public schooling, Yantai University, the gates of Harvard Medical School. She had marveled when assigned her cadaver, though she had concealed such macabre thoughts from classmates, who groaned as if they did not see that a dead body could be explored with dignity and used as a weapon in the war.

Kai wiped her eyes with a tissue.

Her life had changed when she was handed her first chart. Dorothy Jo Spears. A real patient, to soothe, to diagnose, to heal.

She still had a letter that the dear woman had sent after her hospital release. Before Kai had spotted her obituary in the
Herald
.

Dozens of faces marched though her memory; yet always at the forefront was the sister they had given away, the sister she had found, the sister who was safe. Kai doubled over from a spasm of grief.
If Joy is free from PKD, why am I behaving like this?
Had she all along pursued disease in an egoistic way, thinking she could change destiny she had once relegated to fate?

If fate did not control destiny, who did? That was the question. She must find an answer, even if it meant walking the path that led to the Christian God.

She staggered from the stall, washed her hands, and splashed water across her face, not caring that her eyes had sunk deep and were rimmed with red. As she dried her hands, she stared at each finger, especially those of the healing hand. Was it the Christian God who had spoken power into each sinew, each tendon? Did power miraculously—that word again—pipeline from the Christian God into the body of one born in a poor village?

The paper towel became a wad in her hand . . .
the
hand. She would ask Gloria about the Christian God. Until then, she would lavish her patients with the mercy bestowed by the Healing Right Hand, even—especially—if it were a gift of the Christian God. A new mercy washed her heart, her mind, her soul; something undefined other than the certainty that it somehow mixed sickness and health, miracle and mundane. She would use this new mercy. Somehow. Some way.

Johnny would be first.

Kai left the lounge. Walked up the hall. Found his chart at the nurses’ station. Entered his room. “How is Mr. Johnny?” She filled her voice with the hope, the dreams that a normal teenaged boy might have, though the chart she had just studied testified otherwise.

“Not . . . so good, Dr. Kay.” With a muffled voice, the boy mispronounced her name. Of course Kai paid it no mind. Jaundice had soured his skin. His puffy face was mismatched with twiglike arms and a body swallowed by a hospital gown.

Sorrow welled. She shoved aside sheets, found the boy’s hand, careful to avoid his IV line, and sat on the edge of his bed. As if she were cradling life itself, she cupped her hands about skin scarred by insult after insult.

“May you be healed” poured from her heart. She spoke with such clarity, with such a melodious, strange tone, her eyes widened.

Words streamed on, as if from a port inserted into her chest.

Kai bent her head, but not before her tears fell onto the boy’s thin arm. “May a miracle occur, right in this hospital.” Huskiness made the strange voice—her voice?—sound even more mysterious. Yet the words flowed. Faster. Faster.

The boy’s eyes fluttered. His breathing slowed.

The strange voice took on a rhythmic quality, reminiscent of Mother’s lullabies.

When Johnny’s mouth went slack and he breathed in the way of a deep sleeper, Kai gently arranged his hands on his abdomen and rose from the bed.

“Dr. Kay?” The gentle-breeze whisper sent a chill down her back.

She whirled. “Yes, dear Johnny.”

He fixed her with the dreamy gaze of the babies Kai thrilled over at the hospital nursery viewing window. Babies she would likely never call her own.

“I’ve never had a doctor pray for me.” When he smiled, a gap showed between his front teeth. “I like that. Thank you.” Heavy eyelids ceded to tiredness.

A strange yet wondrous peace swirled about the bed though the face was still swollen, the skin was still jaundiced, the boy was still dying.

Kai carried the strange voice to the room of Mrs. Ortega, the room of Mr. Daniel, the room of a critical, just called in.

Every patient thanked her. Every patient settled in, as though the strange voice had soul-healed in a way she had never read about in journals.

With surer steps, Kai went to Radiology. As she changed into a dressing gown, one thought teased her mind:
Will the strange voice soothe me during my procedure?

23

Lord, help me find the right words. If it’s your will, open a door
. For privacy’s sake, Gloria claimed a tiled table away from noisy lunch-bunchers and sat there, fidgeting with the bag holding Kai’s sub. “Veggie, cut the cheese, add tofu,” Joy had insisted. “Vinegar and oil.” Her Joy, suddenly attentive to others’ needs. Gloria could only shake her head and thank God for Joy’s transformation, which was surely tied to Kai’s appearance.
Perhaps I can reciprocate by introducing Kai to the One whose love never fails.

“Hello, Gloria.” Kai had approached unobserved. She gave her usual bow, wore her usual scrubs. Yet her skin had lost its usual glow. Her shoulders drooped. Joy’s sister looked exhausted.

“Kai! Good to see you!” Despite her smile, conviction niggled at Gloria.
Kai traveled to Texas, rescued Joy—and me. She’s ushered us about MRA and Boston. We’ve worn her out
. Gloria gestured for Kai to sit down.
She does more in a week than I do in a month. Maybe more.
“How was your morning?”

The almond eyes closed. Was it truly exhaustion . . . or sorrow? Gloria quashed a desire to reach for Kai’s hand. Surely it would be presumptuous.

Kai managed a tight smile. “Some days are easier than others.”

Gloria shook her head. They had simply visited PKD’s neighborhood . . . and then fled. Poor Kai lived in it, day after day. How awful it must be! Gloria ran her finger along the pebbly table surface. “I can’t imagine what you deal with. Death. Sickness . . .”

Such pain contorted Kai’s face that Gloria bit her lip. This was lunchtime, for heaven’s sake! “I’m sorry. Here I am ruining your break by bringing up stuff you probably want to forget.”

Kai rubbed her temples with slender fingers. “One cannot always forget.”

“Joy picked your sub with soy . . . I mean tofu.” Gloria babbled about the food, desperately wanting to cheer the one who’d so cheered them.
God, take over here. I’ve stalled.
She slid the paper bag with the sub, chips, and a carton of soy milk across the table.

Kai raised her head. There was such hollowness in her cheeks, such a heavy-lidded, tearful sorrow in her eyes, Gloria’s appetite waned. Perhaps a favorite patient had . . . passed, or medical politics had worn her down.

“What happened, Kai?” Gloria sidestepped her usual reticence. Joy’s sister needed support. Though she was an unlikely candidate, she was the only one here.

Kai pulled her sub, milk, and chips from the bag and set them on the table. “It is best—” foil crinkling muted her words—“that . . . I not discuss it.”

Of course. Privacy laws
. Gloria followed Kai’s lead and unbagged her salami and provolone sub, cheese fries, and a can of Diet Coke. Fat, preservatives, chemicals—as different as East from West to Kai’s meal. “Forgive me for asking.” Gloria smoothed her napkin on her lap, determined to help Kai. “I’m sorry for your pain.”

Kai seemed to focus on her sub. She clasped her hands and rested them on the table next to her milk carton.

The bent of Kai’s head was so forlorn, Gloria flung off caution. “Would . . . would you mind if I prayed for you?”

Kai did not move. Was she even breathing?

Chatter drifted their way from the atrium’s crowded area. Gloria gripped the table. Had the direct approach offended Joy’s sister? Perhaps they should just eat their sandwiches, chat about weather, tofu, the plants hanging nearby.

The Spirit whispered,
Be still. Wait
. Easy to hear. Hard to do.

After what seemed an eternity, the dark eyes caught her own. “What is this thing called prayer? What are these things called miracles?” Kai’s elbows thudded against the table as she leaned forward. Her nostrils flared to match raspy breathing, as if the questions had exerted pressure on her body and had to be expelled.

Gloria’s heart fluttered. Then peace decreed absolute stillness in her soul. She tilted her head back as sunbeams pierced the atrium skylight and showered their table with white-hot splendor. It was so good, so
God.
And it soothed Gloria’s fears. “Prayer is talking to the One who created heaven and earth. The One who, through mercy and grace, saves those who believe in Him.”

“So when I pray, I am talking to the Christian God?”

“You are talking to the one true God. The only God.”

Kai looked past her, as if seeing . . . China? A terminal patient? A desire seized Gloria to pour out her heart. “Dear Lord, thank you for Kai’s gift of healing. May we see you as Great Physician, Savior, and Prince of Peace.” Her voice rang with a fervor she rarely allowed others to hear. “Thank you for joining us in a most amazing way.”

A warm wind swept over her. “Oh, God.” Gloria’s voice swelled. “You are worthy. Holy.” The Spirit hovered closer, affirming her decision to share with Kai, reaffirming forgiveness for the way she’d earlier snubbed her. The Light of the World filled her with a warm glow. She traveled back in her mind to that pew where she’d sat as a lonely child, invited to church by a schoolmate. God had draped loving arms about her and pulled her into fellowship. The warmth! The joy!

Laughter from a nearby table pierced her communion. She opened her eyes.

Kai was studying her. The lines on her face had relaxed, though she held her motionless posture. “That is prayer, is it not?”