The Quaker Café (31 page)

“Just please circle the correct phone number in Nathan
Hoole’s folder and I’ll call the doctor,” Liz said. After she’d pulled Dr. Rao’s pager number out of her address book and called, an answering machine asked for a call back number. True to his word, Dr. Rao returned her call within fifteen minutes.

“Dr.
Rao, this is Liz Hoole, Marjorie Kendall’s friend. I have a signed release in her records that you may talk to me about her health.”

“Ah yes, Miss
Hoole. I am glad you called.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. Miss Kendall’s body is not responding to our platelet transfer treatment.”

“But she responded okay to it last time?”

“Yes, she did, but sometimes the body will, shall I say…change its mind the second time around and start to reject the platelets. That’s what it seems to be doing now. There’s a chance that we can get a better response if we can obtain platelets from someone who is related to her.”

“Related in what way?”

“Any way; cousins, half-brothers or sisters, nephews or nieces.”

“How many people do you need?”

“At least two. Three would be perfect.”

“Blood type doesn’t matter, right?”

              Liz knew enough about platelets to know they didn’t have to be the same blood type, but this was the first time she’d heard that rejections of platelets might be overcome if they came from relatives.

“If the donors could come two days apart that would be wonderful, as we can only store p
latelets for about five days.” Dr. Rao continued. “If we could get at least three people this week and then if they would come again next week… I think that would do it.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Dr.
Rao. Thank you.”

Liz got on the phone and called Grandpa
Hoole. “Grandpa, have you taken any aspirin in the past forty-eight hours.”

“No, should I?”

“Don’t take a thing. Could you go with me to Durham again today if I picked you up at lunch?”

“Yes, I believe I could
. Why?”

“You’ve been called to give some platelets for Maggie
. She needs them today.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“And Grandpa.”

“What?”

“Drink lots of fluids before I get there.”

Next Liz called Nat in Charlotte
. “Hi, hon.”

“Hey, Mom
. Everything’s on track at this end. Everything okay there?”

“Yes, wedding plans are all good, but Maggie could really use your help right now
. She needs additional platelets.”

“From me, Mom?”

“Well, actually, darling, we need them from everyone. I know this is a busy time for you, before the wedding, but do you think there is any way that you could get to Durham on Saturday and donate some platelets?”

“She needs them this week?”

“Yeah, sweetie, it’s urgent. You could help her out a lot.”

In true
Hoole spirit, he said, “Sure. Yeah, I’ll do it for Maggie. Should I bring anyone else?”

“They can always use blood from any of you boys
. Bring as many people as you can get in the car. It’ll take a couple of hours, though. Just nobody take any aspirin for forty-eight hours ahead of time. Can’t use anyone who’s sick. No colds. No alcohol between now and then. Could you do that?”

There was a pause, and then, “Sure, we can do it
. What time and where?”

“I’ll call the hospital and make an appointment and get back to you within the hour.” 

Next came the hardest part. Liz pulled in front of the pharmacy and went inside. Two customers were in line at the counter and she sat down at one of the tables up front until both had filled their prescriptions and left.

“So tell me what you found out,” Chase said rather coldly as he worked on the orders in the to-fill-basket.

“They do need you to come to Duke to give platelets.”  Liz stopped and then added, “day after tomorrow, if at all possible.”

Chase extended his arms and laid both hands flat on the counter
. Looking down at her he spaced his words. “Liz, what’s going on?”

“All I can tell you is that Maggie needs your platelets this week.”

“All you can tell me… all you can tell me?” He stammered in frustration. “You’re asking me to take off a day of work and drive to Durham to give platelets when you and I know they’ve got plenty of platelets at Duke Medical Center and that’s
all you can tell me
?”

Liz looked down at the floor and didn’t respond.

“I’m not a fool, Liz. I’m a pharmacist, for crying-out-loud.”

“I never meant to imply you were
a fool. I know you’re not; that’s why this is so hard.”

“Liz,” Chase said with exasperation
. “I’m not doing anything without an explanation.”

“I would give you an explanation if I could,” she said
. “All I can do is to tell you that Maggie would benefit greatly if you would go to Duke to donate platelets this week. I can’t make you do it. That’s your choice. All I can do is to ask. The rest is confidential information.”

  As Liz turned her back on her husband and walked out of the pharmacy she knew that for the first time in their marriage she had stepped on a line of trust that had cemented their relationship for the past twenty-seven years
. Was it worth it?  She didn’t know. When this all started to unravel, she wasn’t sure who was going to get hurt, but  someone had to start telling the truth…and it couldn’t be her.

Nat stuck his head in Maggie’s hospital room without crossing the threshold. He had somehow sidestepped all of the hospital paraphernalia. “You got magic platelets on the way, Maggie, ole girl, just in time for you to make the wedding next weekend.”

Maggie’s face lit-up when she saw him
. “Thanks, Nat,” Maggie said. “Don’t think I’ll make that wedding, but I’ll be thinking of you.”

Liz flushed
. “Nat, you can’t come in here. How did you get past the nurses’ station?”

Nat looked at Liz and did a double-take
. She pushed him out the door and into the waiting room where she removed her mask. He looked down at her with alarm. “What happened to your hair, Mom?  Are you sick?”

“No, I’m not sick
. I told you on the phone I cut my hair.”

“You said
cut your hair
, not
shaved your head
.”

“Well, I might not have been clear enough.”

“Why?” Nat said and then his eyes darted to Maggie’s room, and he knew.

“That’s why,” Liz said
. “It’ll grow back before you know it.”

Nat raised his eyebrows
. “Okay, that’s that.”

“Think it’ll upset
Lexa – with the wedding and all?”   She didn’t want everyone to feel sorry for her thinking she might have cancer, and she certainly didn’t want to detract from the bride in any way.

“No, why should it?” Nat looked confused
. Liz knew he honestly hadn’t considered all of the possibilities she fretted over. “I’ll tell her, though, just so she’s not surprised.”

“You do that, honey
. Tell her your mom will be the one in the church wearing the baseball cap.”

“You wouldn’t….?”

“No, I won’t wear the baseball cap. Now, go on. Get back to your friends, and thank you. Thank you all for doing this for Maggie. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

*****

Liz was relieved to see Richard when he dropped by later that afternoon. Care-giving was labor intensive; she welcomed another person in the room, if for no other reason than to take a break and go to the bathroom.

  Richard sat quietly as Liz went through a routine she’d adopted during her long days
. Maggie dozed on and off. The mouth sores were better; and despite Maggie’s on-going struggle with back pain, she found some relief with foot massages and moist heat. Dr. Rao had been pleased with her response to the new round of platelets provided by Grandpa and Chase.

Later if Maggie felt like sitting up in a chair, Liz would give her a pedicure
.   However Biblical, the act of washing her feet provided unexpected comfort to them both.

“Richard,” Maggie said after a period they’d mistaken for slumber, “what happens when you die?”

Richard gave an uncomfortable little laugh. The question had startled him. He hadn’t come expecting to discuss theology. To this point his weekly visits had involved local news and gentle encouragement. “I don’t know, Maggie.”

“You’re a minister
. It’s your job to know.”

Richard made a tent with his fingers at the base of his chin
. “I played hooky that day in divinity school.”  He was assessing Maggie’s genuineness. Was she seeking answers or simply posing an unanswerable question in an effort to shift her focus from the pain?

“I don’t believe you.”

Richard became more solemn. His eyes focused on the ceiling as if he expected God to intervene with an appropriate answer. Instead he asked, “What do you think happens, Maggie?”

“No fair,” Maggie rebuked
. “An answer that’s a question is no answer.” She seemed weary and not sure whether or not to continue the conversation. Liz watched Richard shift uncomfortably in his chair, as if he’d let an important opportunity slip by.

Then Maggie spoke again
. “I once read a quote that stuck with me, can’t remember exactly how it went.” She thought for a moment. “Something about not being aware of anything before we’re born and after we die, and comparing the two.”

“
‘There was a time when we were not; this gives us no concern. Why then should it trouble us that there will come a time when we cease to be?’
William
Hazlitt
,”
Richard quoted.

“You did too do your homework,” Maggie looked up
. “That’s what I used to believe.”

“And you don’t anymore?”
Richard said.

“It changes somewhat when you’re standing at the precipice.”

No one said anything for another couple of minutes. Liz stood at the bottom of the bed and started to rub Maggie’s feet. She wanted to dismiss Maggie’s statement about
standing at the precipice
, but then thought better of it. She knew there were days Maggie felt like giving up. Better to explore those feelings with Richard than her.

“What do you believe, Liz?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, Maggie, I don’t know. I guess I believe if we were supposed to know, we’d know.” 

Liz didn’t want to tell Maggie what she believed
. She had come to feel that when you were dead, you were dead. Afterlife was merely a panacea created in pagan history and carried over into mainstream religions to encourage believers to live better lives. Not that she had any opposition to the overall objective. It helped civilizations become more humane to one another.

“Quakers don’t believe in a heaven or hell, do they?” Maggie asked.

“Some do. Some don’t.”

“So you think there’s just nothing after death?”

“Quakers don’t have a doctrine, per se. You know how they are…always searching, no absolutes. Everyone takes their own journey.” Liz laughed a small laugh to lighten the conversation and then regretted it. She realized Maggie was very serious.

“I’ve always believed that death is part of an ongoing process,” Richard said.

“Ongoing to what?”

“Well, if we are to become one with God, it isn’t something that crescendos at death and is done
. If there’s something afterwards, then we’ll become a part of that evolving process.”

“So what’s the point to life?”
Maggie asked.

“Dissertations are written on that subject,” Richard said.

“But I’m asking you.”

Liz interjected, “To respect the fact that there is that of God in every man.”

              “What if there is no God?” Maggie asked.

             
“God is love,” Liz said.

There was a moment of silence and then Maggie looked over at Richard. “Your turn, preacher.”

Richard took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I guess I think of death like I think of the birth of a child. When we were in our mother’s womb we were completely taken care of. Someone breathed for us and ate for us and kept us warm. All we did was grow. And we didn’t even do that on our own… it just happened.”  He paused for a moment and opened his eyes. “Then unexpectedly, without any desire on our part, the birth process commences.”

Liz stopped rubbing Maggie’s feet and listened.

“I can only imagine what an infant’s brain must think during those hours of birth. It can’t be easy. Undoubtedly it must be stressful, maybe even painful. Yet we remember none of it.”