Chapter Twenty-One

It takes less than three days for the news to hit. Some girl up in New England is the first. She's older than Ashley, almost twenty. It's not on the major channels, but we see the local report on the Internet one night while browsing for more information on the trial. The camera crews catch her leaving a restaurant. She's wearing a red and white striped waitress uniform shirt and carrying a dirty apron. Surprised by the small crew outside, she blinks in the glare of the lights. They fire questions at her, holding out the microphone hoping to see her hang herself. She mumbles and pushes past them and leaves in a beat-up car.

Without a subject to engage, the reporter walks through the small group of people who had gathered because of the camera, and holds out the microphone to whoever wants to get his uninformed opinion on TV.

"I think using people as guinea pigs for some medical experiment is immoral!"

"Did you say stem cell treatment? Isn't that like what they did with that sheep, Dolly?"

"I think it's great they can use aborted babies. At least something good is coming out of that, you know?"

"She doesn't even look sick. I'll be she's getting big bucks to be in that trial. You know--like giving plasma or something. Only this is more dangerous. Didn't you say that? That this is dangerous?"

"I heard that, too--that it's real risky because it's never been done before. I hope she's got a lawyer in case anything goes wrong. Then she can sue the doctor if she dies."

"What idiots," Travis says.

"Do we need lawyers?" I ask.

The second report is in California. This one's on some cable news station, one of many stories all displayed at the same time, with three boxes and two scrolling news lines at the bottom. It's the medical report of the day--a two-minute update on breakthrough stem cell miracles. A boy this time, about Logan's age, being whisked into his house by his dad. The reported stands in front of a handful of protesters on the sidewalk with signs that read, "Who says your life is more important than his?" above a sonogram picture. I keep waiting for one of them reporters to say it's got nothing to do with babies, but they don't. They actually don't give much information at all. They let the crowds do most of the talking.

I don't know how the media is getting the names. The stem cell doctor said they can't give out the names of their patients, and it's clear the patients didn't want to be on TV. I'm hoping it's not a matter of time before we're in the spotlight, too.

The hives are nearly gone now, and Ashley's swelling has gone down enough that it's easy to see how much weight she's lost. They've started her back on real food again, and I worry that when we leave the hospital there will be cameras, and people will look at her and think, "She's not sick enough."

On the calendar there are two dates circled in red. One reads: Ashley goes home. The other, ten days later, reads: Ashley goes to Baltimore; starts beta cell replacement treatment. I've spent the last two days gathering up my things, which have scattered like dandelion fuzzies in a breeze. A coffee mug in the kitchen. A towel hanging in the bathroom. Magazines and books in the common room. Cosmetics in the bathroom in Ashley's hospital room.

Ashley's wearing normal clothes again. She smiles and hums and is sometimes crabby with me when I baby her. I found a new word in a book Logan left the last time he was here: buoyant. I like it. It sounds like we are floating. Which is what it feels like.

When all the days before the red circle are crossed off, I pack my car with the remains of our life here. Bags of books and DVDs, the laptop, a box of cards, and photos Ashley has helped me take down from where the Baptist ladies taped them. We stand in the room looking at the bare white walls, the room stripped of everything that had made it home the last month, and it almost seems sad. Ashley finds a card in the box from one of the kids at church, a sloppy rainbow across the front with the words, Get Well Soon in childish writing. Inside, it reads, "God answers prayers." She holds the card to her chest for a minute and then lays it on the white pillow. I thought saying goodbye to this place would be all joy, but turns out it's a bit teary, too.

Travis has gone to drive the truck under the overhang by the front door to wait for Betsy to wheel Ashley out in a wheelchair. Not that she needs it today, but it's hospital tradition, Betsy says, so we agree to it.

Ashley looks around in that saying-goodbye kind of way and walks out to meet Betsy and the wheelchair.

The parents who live with us in the McD house are there to see us off, like I was for others before us. Several kids Ash has made friends with wave from a second story window. I've never seen so many bald children in one place, but our going seems to give them hope. I look at Ashley and think of what we've gone through, of what is ahead, and I think I didn't know hope until this moment.

I watch Ashley and Logan pile into the front seat of Travis's truck, Ashley's feet propped up on dashboard, a grin spreading from ear to ear.

"See you at home?" Travis asks, and I nod. The small crowd waves as they turn out of the parking lot and disappear down the street.

When she's gone, I return to check for anything we might have missed. The sheets are already stripped, and there's a hint of ammonia that replaces the smell of Ashley.

I drive home alone. When I walk in the door it's like the last month never happened, except the house is actually clean and there's no laundry on the sofa. Ashley's in her room, music turned up. Logan's gone. Travis is sitting in his chair in front of the TV, watching NASCAR. I sit on the couch watching with him, not talking, until car racing turns to bull riding and Logan comes home and Travis is hungry, and everything is so old normal I don't know what to do with it.

~~~~

Janise calls a little after ten. "Turn on your TV."

We turn on right as the news anchor cuts to the shot of a reporter standing in front of Children's Hospital. I recognize her as one of those local gals, the platinum blonde, face-tanned reporter whose drawl is just a bit too sugary as she reports stories that aren't sweet at all.

Logan's gone, Ashley's in bed, but Travis and I sit to watch.

"Yesterday we reported on a new treatment for diabetes-- called by some a cure--that is being touted as a possible medical miracle. As is usual with many medical breakthroughs, however, there is a controversial side to the procedure. Today, we're learning that many are protesting the fact that this cure comes from one of the leading embryonic stem cell researchers, a Dutch physician named Jack Van Der Campen."

"I thought he's American," Travis says.

"He is."

"It's come to our attention also, through extensive research, that a young Texas girl is the next patient to enter this untried and very risky treatment."

"Just because it hasn't been done in the U.S. doesn't mean it's untried," Travis growls.

I'm surprised to hear him so defensive when he himself was saying these same things not long ago. I don't get why the news, which always seems on the side of medical research, is now against it.

"Each of the patients in this trial suffer from type 1 diabetes, a disease which has no cure but is easily controlled by a drug called insulin."

"Is this lady an idiot?" Travis says.

"According to the regulations we were given to view, each patient must have some sort of complication that makes the disease difficult to control," she continues. "It seems that even the doctors running this trial agree it would be hard to justify the type of risks these children are taking."

"Why does she keep referring to them as children? One is twenty."

"I'd like her to sit up with her kid all night testing her sugar, worried every minute that she might end up passing out." I get up to turn off the TV, but Travis put his hand on my arm so I sit back down again.

"Can you tell us about the procedure and the likely complications?" Bob is saying.

"Certainly, Bob. Firstly, each child will undergo a very painful surgery in which their bone marrow is removed with a long needle."

The camera cuts to a series of pictures of things like needles and blood drops, in case people don't know what they look like, I suppose. Seems to me like they are trying way too hard to make something of nothing.

"While scientists take the marrow and attempt to extract stem cells from it, the child will then have their immune system destroyed by drugs similar to chemotherapy. This is where the majority of the risks are. Besides the usual dangers of surgery, completely killing the immune system leaves each of these children open to many other illnesses and infections."

The camera cuts back to too-tan girl looking very serious, like she really cares about all this. In the background, the sign-wielding morons are jumping up and down and smiling, and I get the feeling they are more interested in being on TV than making a point.

"If stem cells are found, they are cultivated in the lab to reproduce. When the immune system is rendered ineffective, the stem cells are reintroduced and stimulated to create more of the insulin producing cells in the pancreas. If successful, this might reverse the disease and the children might be cured. We must emphasize, though, that this has not been proven yet."

"It has been done successfully," Travis yells at the TV. "Do your research, lady!"

At the bottom of the screen a little graphic of a fetus with one of those DNA strand things through it appears, with the streaming words, check out our website for more information on embryonic stem cell controversies. Just the fact that they put this alongside the story about Ashley makes my blood boil. No one will remember what this big-haired lady says. What they will get out of this is that this is about killing babies.

Behind the reporter are protesters standing out in front of the hospital waving posters that show their collective idiocy in matters of stem cell research. On TV, Bob and the blond drone on.

"We've heard a lot about stem cell research, but we rarely hear about the practical aspects of putting this research to use. Are there drawbacks with this type of therapy?"

I hate the way they do this back and forth thing, like they're sitting in a coffee shop having a conversation instead of on TV reporting.

"Most definitely, Bob. Adult stem cells have been known to mutate into the wrong type of cell, which can obviously cause some very dangerous problems, as well as the fact that they have, in the past, had a tendency to increase the risk of cancer."

"Is this true?" Travis clicks the TV off and looks at me. "I don't remember reading about cancer, or about the stem cells turning into something else other than beta cells."

"She don't know what she's talking about." I don't know this; I'm as concerned as Travis, but I am afraid this single blonde bimbo is about to derail our plans to save Ashley, and right now all I know is, cancer or not, this is the only option we have.

"Where'd she get that information?"

"Who cares? It's wrong. You know the media. They just like to blow things up. They exaggerate it to get a reaction."

He considers this and decides I'm right. "We should ask the doctor, though. About the cancer thing."

"Okay," I say. I won't ask, but I don't tell him this. I don't want to know. She dies of diabetes now, or cancer later. I'll take the later and deal with that when it comes.

~~~~

After Travis is in bed I sneak out for my cigarette and think about what the reporter said, and what everyone else is thinking. The protest signs saying we are interfering with God's design. The news that the stem cells could become something other than what the doctors intend. Could they become heart tissue or eye balls? I remember years ago hearing about some lady who had stomach pains and went in for an operation. They found she had teeth growing on her ovaries. Some cells traveled and made their home in the wrong place. Could that happen to Ashley?

I've been so worried about finding some answer, any answer, I wonder if there are some answers that are worse than no answers at all. Is it possible this cure might be worse than the disease?

And then I think of Ashley, barely strong enough to walk, sleeping all the time, not able to eat, wasting away to nothing but a skeleton in sallow skin, and I think anything is better than this life she has now.

"How far will you go?" Travis had asked me that day outside the restaurant, motioning to Dr. Van Der Campen inside munching on chips and salsa.

"As far as I need to," I said.

Right now I hope we aren't going too far. Whatever too far is.

~~~~