Once Upon a Wish (16 page)

“Let’s go fishing at the lake,” she’d suggest to her dad, and they would spend all afternoon cruising from one perfectly good fishing spot to the next.

She loved that her dad let her drive the boat, and cruising was more exciting to her than actually fishing.

“I don’t want to stop,” Brittney would say with a smile from behind the wheel.

“We can cruise all day if you’d like,” he’d reply.

One afternoon toward the end of June, Brittney and T’Ann were wrapped in blankets on the couch together watching a movie when the phone rang. T’Ann jumped and ran to the kitchen to answer it, and Brittney stared from the living room couch with big eyes as her mother’s face whitened and dropped slowly toward the floor. She
closed her eyes and turned her back to Brittney and asked, “What is this all about? Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

She hung up the phone and explained that they needed to go see Dr. Kadota later that afternoon.

“Who’s Dr. Kadota?” Brittney asked softly.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” she said, feeling the world around her fall apart again. Panic and uncertainty tore at her. T’Ann wasn’t cut out for this and she knew it. She needed this nightmare to end. No more doctors. No more phone calls. This all needed to go away, to disappear.

But as she stood there, staring at her daughter, she knew she had to face the reality of it all. It hadn’t gone away, and there was no guarantee that it ever would.

Brittney and T’Ann somehow made it through the rest of the afternoon, and when they got to Dr. Kadota’s office, T’Ann went in alone to face the news.

Inside, she met a short Asian man.

“I’m Dr. Kadota, pediatric oncologist,” he said to T’Ann.

He shook her hand as she said, “I’m T’Ann. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” he said. “Please, take a seat.”

T’Ann sat down and studied him: his hair was black and speckled with gray, and he looked at her with dark, friendly eyes. With her legs crossed, ankle dancing impatiently, she wished they could skip the formalities.

“I was notified by Dr. Meltzer of your daughter’s case, and as you know, we’ve been researching her tumor.”

T’Ann was aware that they had sent pieces of it to oncologists in Boston and New York for a diagnosis, and the only one they had given so far was a Primitive Neuroectodermal brain tumor (PNET) because “it’s the closest we can diagnose,” as one doctor put it.

She nodded and waited for the doctor’s announcement. He paused for a long moment and sighed. “The tumor is malignant.”

His words fell in slow motion, and T’Ann knew what that meant. The demon was alive, and the portion left inside her daughter would not let her go. It was determined to take her life.

“Noooo!” T’Ann sobbed into her hands as violent waves of pain crashed through her. The world around her turned white, and the words dripping from the doctor’s tongue became nothing but deep, subtle noise—a useless rumble in the background of her cries that blotted out answers she didn’t want to hear anymore.

“The other half is too entwined to remove surgically, so we’re going to start Brittney on seven types of chemotherapy and six to seven weeks of radiation,” he said, taking T’Ann’s trembling hands into his own. She didn’t want them, but she needed his answers.

“What are the chances we will beat this?” she asked, sitting up straight, hanging on to the strength her daughter had instilled in her during the past few months.

“Forty percent, and that’s generous,” Dr. Kadota said sadly.

“Well, she’s going to beat it,” T’Ann said, growing angry. Defeat was not an option. She gathered herself in that small room while the doctor left for a moment and came back with a stack of pamphlets and brochures. He handed them to her, and as she dried her tears, she read headlines such as “Coping with Cancer” and “Childhood Cancers: How to Communicate with Your Child.”

She saw a brochure for the Make-A-Wish Foundation and tossed it to the back of the pile. That foundation was for dying children, not for Brittney. She stuck the brochures into her purse, glanced at her feet, and slowly made her way out of the room.

   5   

T’Ann found Brittney in the waiting room and told her something a mother should never have to tell her child.

“Sweetheart,” she said, breathing out for a long moment and back in, hoping some strength remained in her voice for the sake of her little girl. “The tumor is cancerous.”

She took Brittney’s hands and waited for her response. T’Ann had cried long and hard enough for them both with the doctor, and now she knew she had to stay strong for Brittney’s sake.

“Yeah, Mom, I kind of knew,” she said, shockingly calm and straightforward.

“You knew? How?”

“I could just feel it.”

T’Ann let that sink in for a moment before asking the obvious. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to make you worry,” Brittney said, “especially since I wasn’t sure.”

Brittney’s grown-up response kept T’Ann calm, so she explained to her daughter what would happen next, as the doctor had just told it to her. She would go through a very structured series of treatment, including chemotherapy, radiation, endless pills and shots, and, of course, frequent trips to the hospital. In a “perfect world,” the entire process would take a year and a half.

“If the treatment makes you too ill at any time, they’ll have to figure out what to do, and then it could take longer than a year and a half,” she said, eyes filling with tears. She snapped her head back and forth with closed eyes, took a deep breath, and hugged her daughter tighter than she ever had before.

They ate dinner together that night, and after tucking Brittney into bed, T’Ann sat on the couch with a cup of coffee, staring at the floor, numb with fear, broken from worry.

The phone rang, snapping her from her thoughts, from the concern
consuming her mind. It was Dr. Meltzer checking on Brittney and apologizing for not letting her know that Dr. Kadota’s office would be calling. T’Ann vented her shock and anger on Dr. Meltzer.

“I thought you said the tumor was benign,” she demanded. “How did this happen?”

“I said I
thought
it was benign based on its size and the fact that Brittney
walked
into surgery,” he explained. “It was such a large and rare tumor that I figured it was not possible for her to be as strong and healthy as she seemed before the surgery if the tumor was malignant. That’s why I thought it was benign. I was as shocked as you were to find out.” He paused for a moment. “Dr. Kadota is an excellent doctor and together we will do everything we can for Brittney.”

Later that week, T’Ann and Brittney went to the hospital and met with the head of radiology at San Diego Children’s Hospital, who explained how the process would work.

“We’re going to do six-and-a-half weeks of chemotherapy and radiation, five days a week, on your entire spinal cord,” he said. “And we’ll do extra radiation on the neck. Your hair is going to fall out, and you’ll be sick and fatigued.”

He was delivering the news rapidly, but T’Ann figured there was no other way. Anything he said that might have scared Brittney seemed to be a witty challenge to her.

“This treatment might stunt your growth,” he said, explaining that because they would be radiating only her spine and not the rest of her body, her limbs would continue to grow normally while the length of her core, stunted by the radiation, would remain the same.

“Cool, that means I’ll have really long legs,” Brittney replied.

He instantly loved her spirit.

“And you will become sterile,” he added gently.

“Who wants a period anyway?” she pondered, then solved the rest of the problem with a quick and logical solution. “I’ll adopt.”

“Looks like she’s got it all figured out,” the radiologist said, smiling.

When they left the hospital, T’Ann was filled with a hope she prayed was not false.

This is going to be okay,
she thought.
This schedule is okay. We can really, really do this.

During the first week of chemo and radiation, the “perfect world” was instantly shattered when Brittney became so ill and weak that they had to stop chemotherapy, blowing the plan in its earliest stage. They continued radiation, and though it made her frail and sick to her stomach, her body was taking to it and the tumor was starting to shrink.

As the end of those six-and-a-half weeks approached, T’Ann spent every waking minute worrying and wondering if Brittney was going to make it through. Her daughter’s once rosy cheeks were pale, her hair was falling out in large clumps, and the little bit of extra weight she had carried that made her a perfectly darling thirteen-year-old girl was dropping dramatically. During that time, T’Ann took Brittney to the movies every Wednesday afternoon that she felt up to it, getting them over the hump of the week.

To get through the rest of each week, Brittney brought her boom box to the hospital and blared Madonna and Christina Aguilera during radiation, demonstrating that, as she told her mom, “If I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna do it my way.”

During radiation, Brittney made such an impact on the hospital staff that they threw a party for her on her last day of treatment. Brittney and T’Ann walked hand in hand for the last time through a white maze of hallways leading to the large radiology room. Their usual tear-stained faces were bright and smiling with the knowledge that this was their last time down those halls. As they approached the double doors, the pulse of loud but muffled
music beat with every step. They looked at each other, puzzled, before the doors swung open, and every doctor and intern that had administered her radiation over the past six weeks was dancing to Christina Aguilera’s “Genie in a Bottle.”

They laughed at Brittney’s shocked expression and continued their choreographed routine. Dressed in scrubs, they jumped and twirled, swung their arms, and shook their hips, completely in sync. Her radiologist, a kind, reserved woman whose long, dark hair was always wound tightly in a braided bun, spun and lip-synched the lyrics as she yanked out the bun, whipped her head back and forth wildly, and continued the performance.

Brittney and T’Ann stood in the doorway with dropped jaws.

“What’s going …” Brittney started.