Say Good-Bye #5

  “Do you have any advice on how I should talk to the kids about Yum-Yum’s cancer?” Jane asks.

  “Well, we’ve broken the news to them already,” Nurse Bennett says. “They’re pretty upset about it. But these kids have seen it all. So mostly, I’d say just answer their questions honestly.”

  I brace myself for a really sad time.

  But as we walk down the hall, kids stream out of their rooms to greet Yum-Yum. They’ve made him get-well cards and posters. Everyone seems to want to hold him and talk to him and give him advice about his treatment.

  Jane is as amazed as I am. “I guess in some ways, they feel even closer to Yum-Yum than before—since they share the same disease.”

  The kids are happy to meet Yum-Yum’s “good buddy Sneakers,” too. I cross my fingers again. So far Sneakers is behaving himself—and loving all the attention. He doesn’t bark much, and it doesn’t seem to bother him at all to have lots of kids petting him and trying to hug him.

  I look around for Emma Morgan. I want to try to talk to her again. I want her to meet Sneakers.

  I see her across the room, in her usual spot. But instead of staring out the window, she’s looking at me—waiting for me. I wave and start to go over, but a little girl steps in front of me and yanks on my shirt. I realize it’s the same little girl who put clips in Yum-Yum’s hair.

  “Hi, Stephanie.”

  “Hi … um, what was your name?”

  “Zoe. Remember I came with Yum-Yum a few days ago?”

  She nods sadly. “I’m so sorry that Yum-Yum is sick.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Then Stephanie’s face lights up. “Do you think Sneakers would let me brush him?” she asks. “Do you think he’d let me put some clips in his hair?”

  I smile at the little girl. I remember being her age. I remember being obsessed with brushing and braiding and doing all kinds of things to my dolls’ hair. Sometimes my mom even used to let me do weird experiments on her hair.

  But Stephanie doesn’t have any hair to braid.

  Actually, Sneakers doesn’t have that much, either. Not like Yum-Yum. “Well, Sneakers’ hair is pretty short,” I say. “I don’t know if the clips will stay in.”

  Stephanie cocks her head and thinks a minute. “I know!” She takes a purple scrunchie and loops it over Sneakers’ left ear. She slips a hot-pink one onto his tail. “Sneakers!” she squeals. “You’re bee-yoo-ti-ful!”

  Sneakers runs around in a circle, trying to catch the bright pink cloth on his tail.

  Stephanie chases him.

  Another little girl sees them and joins in the game.

  Sneakers is getting excited. He jumps up on one of the nurses.

  “Down, Sneakers!” I tell him.

  But he won’t listen. The more I call him, it seems, the more he ignores me.

  He runs up to the nurses’ desk with kids chasing after him.

  Oh, no! He’s not going to… “No! Sneakers!”

  He tinkles right in the middle of the floor.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say to Nurse Bennett, and I can feel my face turning bright red. “Do you have any paper towels?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ll take care of it.” She sighs and glances at Jane. “Sorry, Jane, but… maybe it would just be best for you to take Sneakers outside.”

  I’m totally embarrassed. I glance back at Emma. She has turned her chair away from the whole scene. She won’t look at either dog.

  She won’t even wave good-bye.

  • • • • • • •

  As Jane and I walk back to the car with our dogs, I apologize over and over.

  “Don’t be silly,” she says. “He just got excited, that’s all. But you see, that’s why the special training is so important. If you and Sneakers take the formal training classes, you and he will learn how to behave in all kinds of new situations.”

  Jane is being so nice, but I feel so humiliated. Sneakers and I aren’t like Jane and Yum-Yum—we’re a terrible team. And I don’t see therapy training in our future at all.

  “Promise me one thing,” I beg her as I slink into the car. “Don’t tell Maggie or Gran!”

  Chapter Nine

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  It’s an hour-long drive to the university vet hospital where Jane is taking Yum-Yum for cancer treatments. Gran said she wished she could go with Jane, but she’s got her hands full at the clinic, with Dr. Gabe on vacation. So I volunteered to go.

  I hold Yum-Yum in my lap as we drive out of town and into the country, past rolling hills and old family farms.

  I notice round, colorful folk-art designs on signs over the doors of some of the barns. “What are those things?” I ask.

  “Pennsylvania Dutch hex signs,” she explains. “Aren’t they beautiful? The Germans brought them over from the Old Country. They’re supposed to keep away evil spirits.”

  We could use a good-luck charm like that ourselves today.

  Yum-Yum squirms a little, as if he can’t get comfortable. I stroke him softly, and he seems to settle down.

  I try to entertain Jane, to keep her from worrying. I tell her about what it was like living in Manhattan, a place she’s only seen on television and in the movies. “I wish you could meet my mom,” I say. “You’d really like her.”

  “I feel like I know her already.”

  “How?” I ask, puzzled.

  “From watching her soap on TV, silly!” Jane laughs. “I tuned in to watch the show when your grandmother first told me about Rose being on TV. Then I got so hooked on the show, I couldn’t stop watching! I always used to have it on in my shop, and all my customers got stuck on it, too.” Jane shakes her head and smiles. “I’ll never forget that first episode. Rose only had a few lines that day, but your grandmother and I gave her a standing ovation. J.J. was so proud of her!”

  “Really?” I say. “I didn’t know that.” I don’t think my mom knows that, either. Somehow I always got the feeling that Gran didn’t approve of Mom’s acting.

  “You look just like her,” Jane says.

  That makes me smile.

  Jane sighs. “The day the last episode ran, a couple of my regulars and I just sat in front of the TV and cried. We couldn’t believe they’d canceled that show.”

  “I couldn’t believe it, either,” I say softly.

  Jane shoots me a quick glance, then reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Tough break for you, too, huh, kiddo?” she says.

  I nod. “It’s hard…” I don’t finish my sentence, but Jane seems to understand what I mean.

  “Don’t worry,” she says cheerfully. “Your mom’s young and gorgeous, and unlike a lot of those soap stars, she can actually act. She’ll get something fabulous going before you know it, and then the two of you will be back together again.” She pats my hand, then says with a little catch in her voice, “Meanwhile, Yum-Yum and I are really glad you’re here.”

  And it hits me—even though I miss Mom really badly, I’m glad I’m here, too.

  Glancing down, I realize that Yum-Yum has fallen asleep, and I study the little dog in my arms. He looks the same as always—tiny and plump, with a cute little nose half hidden by long, silky hair. I brushed him well today before coming so he’d look his best. Jane dressed him up with a bright red bow.

  If I didn’t already know how sick he is, there’d be no way to tell from looking at him. It’s hard to imagine the illness spreading secretly through his body.

  Maybe he’s not all that sick yet. Maybe we’ve caught it early, and they’ll be able to make him well. I make a wish on all the hex signs we pass along the way.

  • • • • • • •

  Finally we reach the cancer center. As we get out of the car, I can tell Jane is nervous.

  “Don’t worry, Jane,” I say as I gently pass Yum-Yum into her arms. “Gran says the doctors here are the best.”

  Jane shakes her head. “J.J.’s the best. But if she recommends these folks, I’m
sure they’ll be great.”

  Inside we check in at the front desk, then get sent to a waiting area. It’s a lot like the waiting room at Gran’s—only much, much bigger. Lots of people are waiting with their pets. Some of the animals don’t look sick at all. Others look tired and weak.

  I wonder what’s wrong with them. I wonder if some of them have cancer like Yum-Yum.

  At last a tall woman in a white coat comes out to meet us. “Ms. Young?”

  Jane looks scared. “Yes?”

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Edwards. I understand you’re a friend of J.J. MacKenzie’s.” She holds out a hand for Yum-Yum to sniff. “And Dr. Mac’s taking care of little Yum-Yum here, huh?”

  Yum-Yum wags his tail and licks Dr. Edwards’s hand.

  Jane seems to relax. I guess she thinks if Dr. Edwards passes the Yum-Yum test, she’s all right.

  When Dr. Edwards looks over at me, I hold out my hand. “I’m Zoe, Dr. Mac’s granddaughter.

  Dr. Edwards smiles and takes my hand. “I’m glad to meet you. Your grandmother is a good friend—and a great vet. Well, come on. Let’s have a look at Yum-Yum.”

  The patient room is a lot like the one back at Gran’s clinic. Somehow I expected a top cancer treatment center to look more high-tech—more like Star Trek or something. But as Gran told me once, “Medicine is in the minds and hands of the doctors and nurses—not in the clinic’s interior design.”

  Dr. Edwards examines Yum-Yum with quick, sure hands, feeling all over his body, the way Gran did. She takes his temperature and some blood samples.

  “I’d like to do a fine-needle biopsy of one of Yum-Yum’s lymph nodes,” Dr. Edwards says.

  “Can I stay while you do it?” Jane asks.

  “Sure,” she replies.

  They don’t ask me, but since Jane is clutching my hand so tightly it’s cutting off my circulation, I figure I’ll stay.

  Dr. Edwards explains that this biopsy can be done while Yum-Yum is awake. While Jane holds him, Dr. Edwards inserts a thin needle into one of the lymph nodes. She explains that as she pulls up on the syringe, it removes some of the cells, which she can then examine under a microscope.

  I can’t believe how good Yum-Yum is through the whole thing.

  Then Dr. Edwards shoos us out of the office, and we have to do some waiting, which is hard on Jane. But soon Dr. Edwards calls us back into her office to talk.

  Jane looks as if she has a million questions. But she just clutches her shoulder bag as she waits for the doctor to speak.

  “We don’t have all the tests back,” Dr. Edwards begins.

  And somehow I already know the news isn’t good.

  “But the biopsy shows that the cancer has spread from the original tumor in Yum-Yum’s mouth to the lymph nodes, just as Dr. Mac suspected.” Dr. Edwards’s face is serious, professional, but also very kind. “It’s spreading into the jaw and damaging the teeth.”

  “Not good, huh?” Jane says, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes beg to be contradicted.

  “Not good,” Dr. Edwards agrees gently. “From my examination, he seems to be experiencing some pain already. But he’s a tough little dog,” she adds with a smile.

  “I should have done something sooner,” Jane says. “I should have realized he was sick.”

  Dr. Edwards shakes her head. “You saw Dr. Mac as soon as you noticed something wrong. That was the most anyone could have done. This is a rapid disease, Jane—and a sneaky one—in both animals and people.”

  Something in Dr. Edwards’s eyes tells me that maybe she’s lost a loved one to cancer.

  “What about chemotherapy? Is it too late to try that?” Jane asks.

  “No, we can still try that,” Dr. Edwards says. “We’re having a lot of success with chemotherapy for dogs. Most dogs handle the treatments well. But I’m sure Dr. Mac has explained to you that what we do here is not a cure. The best we can do is work our hardest to arrest the disease—to keep it from spreading. After a complete series of treatments, a good many of our animals go into remission—which means there are no outward signs of the disease. But even then, remission for most animals only lasts about ten to twelve months—sometimes less, sometimes more. Each type of cancer responds differently to chemotherapy, and unfortunately, we have less success with Yum-Yum’s type of tumor.”

  Jane nods her head. “Tell me about the treatments,” she says simply.

  Dr. Edwards hands some printed sheets across the desk, but Jane doesn’t move to pick them up. She just listens to the doctor’s words.

  “Many of the drugs we use to treat cancer in animals are the same drugs that are used on people. A normal course of treatment would be four to six rounds of chemotherapy, at three-week intervals. We also like to see the animal every week for four weeks, then a little less often after that.”

  Jane stares out the window. When she turns back to the doctor, her eyes are watery, but her expression is calm. “Is it worth it, Dr. Edwards?”

  Dr. Edwards sighs wistfully and shakes her head. “That’s a very difficult question to answer, Jane. I have two dogs myself.” She points to a photograph on her desk of a pair of beautiful golden retrievers. “Morgan and MacDougal. They’re very special to me. And working here, of course, I’ve thought about what I’d do myself. But it’s a very individual decision, Jane, one that no one can make for you.”

  Dr. Edwards leans forward across her desk. “Every dog—just like every person—is unique, and we have to deal with each case in a different way. Chemotherapy will be a big investment on your part—an investment of money, an investment of time, and an emotional investment, too. Many dogs do well under chemotherapy, and we’re able to extend their lives by many months. We can even cure some cancers. But if it becomes clear that the treatment is not working, that your animal is in pain or severe discomfort, We will inform you of that. Only you can decide what you want for Yum-Yum.”

  She swivels in her chair and nods at me. “We hope, by the time this young woman is grown, to have this stuff under control—if not totally cured. But for now, Jane, this is the best we can offer.”

  “What’s best for Yum-Yum,” Jane says. “That’s what I want.”

  “It’s your decision. But I would urge you to try to come to a decision as soon as possible. Now—today—if you can. If you do decide to do the chemotherapy, we don’t want to waste any time. We should go ahead and start—this afternoon.”

  “Can I have a few minutes?” Jane asks.

  Dr. Edwards smiles. “Of course. I’m going to check on another patient. Then I’ll be right back.” She gets up and leaves the office, closing the door behind her to give Jane privacy.

  Jane holds Yum-Yum in her arms and gazes out the window.

  I decide to give her some time alone, too. I move toward the door. “I think I’m going to go look for a soda machine,” I say softly. “Can I bring you anything?”

  “No thanks, dear,” Jane says, without looking up.

  I head out to the front desk and ask the nurse if there are any snack machines around. I follow her directions, digging change out of my pockets. I walk very, very slowly.

  Jane has a lot to think about. I want to give her all the time in the world.

  • • • • • • •

  When I get back with my soda, Jane is sitting in the waiting room. Things have happened fast.

  “Where’s Yum-Yum?” I ask.

  Jane reaches out for my hand. “I decided to go ahead with the chemo,” she says. “To see if I can give him a few more months of quality time.” She looks at me, and this time her eyes are strangely dry. “I hope I did the right thing, Zoe. I just feel like I have to at least try.”

  I reach over and give her a hug. “Yum-Yum is lucky to have you,” I whisper into her shoulder. She squeezes me hard, then lets me go.

  “So now what happens?” I ask.

  “Yum-Yum’s in there now, getting his first treatment.”

  “Won’t they let you be with him?” I ask. “You should insist!
”

  Jane shakes her head. “The chemotherapy drugs are given through an IV. You know what that is, don’t you?”

  I nod. Since I’ve been at the clinic, I’ve seen Gran do it. It’s a way to inject a liquid drug through a needle directly into a vein.

  “They say it’s very important for the dog to stay completely still during the treatment,” Jane continues. “They say it’s actually easier on the animal if the owner isn’t there. They’ll have someone hold Yum-Yum still, but Dr. Edwards assured me that they’re very kind and gentle.”

  “How long will it take?” I ask.

  “About thirty minutes,” Jane says.

  That’s quick. I ask her if she wants to take a walk with me, or if she wants a magazine or some coffee.

  But Jane says she just prefers to sit and wait.

  So we sit. My opened soda can stands untouched on the chair beside me, losing its fizz.

  The minutes drag by.

  • • • • • • •

  At last Dr. Edwards brings Yum-Yum out to us. At first I’m almost afraid to look at him. How has the chemotherapy affected him? But when I study him, I’m surprised to see that he looks just the same. He acts the same, too. For animals, the treatment can be as silent as the disease.

  “Yum-Yum’s a wonderful little patient,” Dr. Edwards says. “He has the best manners I’ve ever seen. It made it much easier to do the treatment.”

  • • • • • • •

  Jane beams at the compliment. She explains it’s probably because he’s a therapy dog.

  “I bet he’s terrific with his patients,” Dr. Edwards adds.

  Then they talk about the details of Yum-Yum’s next treatments and set up a schedule. Dr. Edwards gives Jane more printed information.

  Yum-Yum sits patiently through it all, wagging his tail.

  Jane is quiet as she drives through the peaceful countryside on the way home. I hold Yum-Yum, wondering about the chemicals coursing through his blood. I try to use ESP to make the drugs work fast.

  “It’s kind of strange to think that Yum-Yum is going through the same things as Emma and Michael and the other kids at the hospital,” I say.