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She also forced herself to eat a few bites and drink a sip of water. Her hands shook and she couldn’t decide if the reaction betrayed her mental or physical state. Likely both. But she wouldn’t be any help to anyone if she collapsed.
Creeping into the vet’s office, as if by entering that way she could avoid any bad news, she caught Deanna’s eye.
“Room three,” the receptionist mouthed, jerking her head toward the back.
Entering, Abby poked her head through the open back door, glancing past a desk with a bank of monitors, a few microscopes, and glassed-in shelves above holding tools and medications.
Dr. Stevens wore a pristine, white lab coat like a cape around his shoulders. Flanked by two vet techs, he caught sight of Abby and nodded, then gave a few, final directions to one of them. Approaching, he and the other tech joined her in the small exam room.
Without Gen’s enthusiasm to fill it up, the room echoed. The dog had always loved her vet, had loved the treats and the full-body massage he gave her during his exams. Even the occasional vaccine hadn’t been enough to teach her to fear a white coat.
“Abby.” He reached for her hand and gave it a quick shake, then frowned. “I won’t belabor the point. I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”
Abby sucked in a quick breath at his words but forced herself to stillness.
“Gen has a form of lymphoma that focuses its attacks on the gastrointestinal system. It’s malignant.”
Abby struggled for a moment, reached deep, found the place of center, of quiet, she’d spent years honing as an EMT, let the right words find their way out.
“Prognosis?” Her voice rippled but didn’t break.
“It’s hard to say. You mentioned yesterday she’d been struggling with some tummy issues, which, to be honest, is what made me suspect this instead of something milder. More...treatable. The blood screens came back positive, so I ordered a scan to find out how much it had progressed. If it hadn’t, surgery would have been an option...”
“But it has.” Abby swallowed hard. “How far?”
He shook his head. “It’s spread throughout her intestinal track and has begun moving into other areas. Surgery isn’t an option.”
Abby closed her eyes. “How... How long?”
“Abby...” Dr. Stevens reached out and squeezed her arm. “You can’t do that. This isn’t your fault.”
She gritted her teeth and repeated herself. “How. Long.”
He sighed. “If we’d caught it when you came in a few months ago? Maybe a year? Hard to say. The prognosis would be better, though.”
“And now?”
“Well, there is some positive news, if you can call it that.” Dr. Stevens knew about her background and Gen’s therapy work. Her familiarity with human medical diagnoses meant he didn’t have to sugarcoat or explain. He could simply give her the facts. “I’d recommend starting her on chemotherapy. It’s spread, but I wouldn’t call it systemic quite yet. If we treat it aggressively, she may be uncomfortable for a while, but there’s as much as a sixty percent chance of survival. With remission, she could have another few years, still.”
Abby’s knees gave way, and she grabbed at the small exam table to catch her balance. “Sixty percent? That’s... That’s so low.”
It wasn’t. Objectively, she knew kids whose chances of survival were much lower. But nothing in all her years of therapy work with Gen had prepared her for the stark reality of facing exactly what every parent she’d ever met in the oncology department faced.
Gen’s entire battle reduced to a simple number.
“There’s another option, too.” Dr. Stevens spoke slowly, carefully, as if unsure Abby could handle his words.
She pulled her shoulders back and cleared her face. If Liam and Ethan’s mother could face years of these conversations, Abby could manage a few more minutes.
“There’s a clinical trial that opened up recently at the university: combination chemotherapy and adoptive T-cell therapy. I went to grad school with the doctor overseeing the study, and Gen would be an excellent candidate. She’s otherwise healthy, at a good weight, active, and I know they’d take the very best care of her. Of course, it’s a study, so she might end up in the control group, but it’s worth considering.”
“I... I don’t know...”
“You don’t have to decide today. I’ll pull the information and send it home with you so you can think about it. I’d like to keep Gen another day or so, try to take care of the dehydration and at least give her a foundation for improving. If you weren’t going to join the trial, I could start treatment right away, but if you’re willing to consider it, it might be better to wait until she’s enrolled.”
Abby shook her head. “No. Start the treatment.”
“Are you sure? It’s not cheap...”