“Sorry, I got a little off track. All right, then. You cook breakfast for Noah, and then what?”
“He gets himself together and drives to the stadium. I stay home for a while longer, because he has to be there so much earlier. I spend the hours after he leaves getting myself all ready. I put on jeans and his jersey, and I wear heels—it’s a football wife thing. And I do my hair and wear big earrings, and I spend a lot of time on my makeup. I want to make sure I look just right for him.”
Her words, filled with love, tugged at my heart, and I swallowed over a lump in my throat before I continued. “And then . . .?”
“I drive to the game. First I go to the wives’ box with the other players’ families.” Sadness tinged her voice. “The kids are there, too, and there are always a bunch of little ones running around, and brand-new babies in their carriers.”
I was about to guide her away from that tender spot when she rallied on her own.
“But today, I’m just so happy that I can be here for Noah, and that I’m healthy again, and we’re together that it doesn’t even bother me, because I know we’ll have that family someday soon. Somehow.”
I swallowed a sigh and led Angela through the rest of her visualized day. We’d just gotten to the evening when there was a knock at her door, and I turned in my chair to see Deacon, also swathed in protective covering and mask.
“Anyone here in need of some stem cells? Anyone at all?”
Angela’s eyes fluttered open, and she waved at him. “Oh, pick me, pick me!”
“Sold to the little lady in the bed.” Deacon came into the room, followed by one of the nurses. He glanced at me. “Everything all right here?”
“Totally.” Angela pushed herself up a little bit. “Emma and I were just planning my life post-cancer.”
At his questioning look, I explained, “We were doing some visualization to help Angela picture a time that feels very far away right now.”
“Ah. Good thinking.” He patted her shoulder. “You know, a positive attitude goes a long way in the healing process.”
“So I’ve heard,” she responded dryly, watching as the nurse hung the first bag of cells. “Emma, did you know that since I’m getting these cells from my sister, my blood type is likely to change to what hers is?”
“I did know that. What’s really cool is that you’ll probably end up with two separate sets of DNA. If you have a DNA test after the transplant, which set comes up depends on which cells are tested. You’ll be a chimera.”
“I don’t mind sharing her DNA, but I just hope I don’t end up with her taste. I’m very grateful for her generosity in giving me some stem cells, but she has no sense of style whatsoever.”
I laughed. “I think you’re probably safe, Ang.” Rising, I reached to squeeze her hand. “I’m going to get out of the way and go visit some of those other patients, so they don’t guess my secret. But if you need anything, just have someone buzz. I’ll be on the floor all day.”
“Okay. Oh, and Emma—” She caught my fingers before I could pull away. “Thanks for the exercise. It did help. When I see it like that, I’m positive I’m going to get there. I’m going to live that life I saw today.”
“I’m positive, too.” My eyes met Deacon’s. He was regarding me over the top of his mask, but I couldn’t read his expression. I wondered if he was upset that it sounded as though I was guaranteeing Angela a happy outcome. Doctors all knew better than to do something like that. We outlined the risks, the benefits and the odds. We never made promises that we weren’t able to keep.
Still, what Angela needed today was someone to believe along with her. I wasn’t going to feel guilty for doing that. Not when it was the only thing I could do for her right now.
* * *
I was busy for the rest of the morning, and I didn’t stop for lunch until it was nearly two o’clock. I’d just settled at the table in the staff lounge with a veggie wrap and chips when Deacon came in.
“Hey.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. “That smells good. What’re you eating?”
I lifted my wrap. “Homemade roasted vegetables—broccoli, asparagus, peppers and turnips—with a vegan garlic aioli. It’s amazing.”
He grimaced. “I don’t know how you can eat that stuff. Don’t you miss hamburgers and grilled cheese sandwiches and fried chicken?”
I took a bite of my wrap, chewed and swallowed. “I honestly don’t. Every now and then, I miss something little—like cheese fondue. Dipping bread into that melted Swiss cheese and then sticking it into your mouth . . .mmmmm.” I closed my eyes, remembering. “But it’s a choice I’ve made, and there are so many amazing options for vegans these days. It’s not like I only eat lettuce and carrots. I have a very well-rounded diet.”
“Huh.” He dragged out a chair across the table from me and sat down. “And what about protein?”
“I get plenty from vegetables.” I cocked a finger at him. “Did you know that some of the best athletes in the world are vegan? Even entire pro football teams have made the change.”
“Well, I admire them and you, but I know it’s not for me. I’ll enjoy my compassionately raised, grass-fed beef, and you can enjoy your tofu.”
I lifted my wrap. “To each his own.” Swallowing another bite, I leaned back in my chair. “How’s Angela? Did the transplant go smoothly? I haven’t gotten back to her yet—I figured she’d have plenty of company this morning, with doctors and nurses going in and out.”
