34. Indy
THIRTY-FOUR
INDY
Bone marrow transplant. Three words that are the catalyst of a storm that upends everything.
They’re followed by three more words. Matched sibling donor.
And there’s this moment when those words are out that my shoulders slump, and relief washes over me.
Sibling donors are prioritized. They offer the best chance of long-term survival.
Great.
I’m a sibling.
Hopefully a match.
I’ve got bone marrow.
Let’s get this show on the road.
When I look around the room, though, my parents look like they’re frozen, and I don’t understand why. This is good news. But then, hope isn’t always easy and nothing is guaranteed, and it hasn’t been the easiest few days, so maybe it’s not such a weird reaction.
“How soon can we check if I’m a match?” I ask.
Dr. Hansen nods. “We’ll just need to draw some blood, so as soon as you’re ready.”
I turn and send my family an encouraging smile. See? It’s going to be okay. I don’t know what makes me so sure. There’s a one in four chance. But it’s a gut feeling I can’t shake.
Mom’s eyes are on where she’s holding Dia’s hand in hers. When she finally looks up, it’s not at me.
She clears her throat.
“Can anybody get tested?” she asks the doctor. “Just in case?”
“I understand the urge, but the chance of a random person being a match is extremely low. We test the siblings first, and then if there’s no match, we’ll go through the databases for possible donors.
” She sends us all a sympathetic look. “I’m not shutting down the possibility of testing unrelated donors. I’m just saying we have a process.”
“Wouldn’t it be quicker to just test now, so we know?
” Mom asks. I blink at the abruptness of her tone.
She looks around the room, eyes moving from Dia to Nick to me to Dad.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry.” She presses her hand to her chest for a moment.
“Is this official protocol or can it be bypassed somehow? Is there a way to do it in some kind of private lab? Is it about the cost? We’ll pay for the test.”
Dr. Hansen, who’s never seen my mother when she’s in her I’m-having-a-plan mode, looks increasingly startled by the barrage of questions.
“Uh, I understand the situation is stressful,” she says, carefully choosing each word. “But we have the process for a reason. I assure you, we’re doing everything we can for your daughter.”
She gives us all a polite smile and walks out.
She doesn’t see the determined set of Mom’s shoulders or the look on her face.
I do.
She whirls toward Nick. “Would you be willing to get tested if I make it happen?”
Nick’s brows hike higher.
“Liz,” Dad says. The grave tone is very much unlike my father.
I don’t understand what’s going on here.
Mom whirls around and pins Dad with a look.
“Do not ‘Liz’ me with that tone. Our daughter is in the hospital with a life-threatening condition. I will do whatever it takes.”
Dad sends her a long look, but he doesn’t say anything.