Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [54]
She took a quick breath and plunged on, “I’m so sorry to have to tell you we’ve discovered Charlie has a sizeable tumor connected to and just above his tibia, involving the knee also.”
Fran gasped, and Charles reflexively put an arm around her. Neither could take their eyes off Dr. Owens’s face.
“We’ve called our pediatric oncologist, and we need to do more tests. Our resident oncologist, Dr. Joel Lee, is overseeing those procedures. Nothing is certain until a biopsy is done. But it appears to be osteosarcoma.”
“Oh, God,” Fran cried.
“That’s a type of cancer.” Charles’s voice was flat. Still removed from him. More so, his emotions.
Dr. Owens never let her eyes wander, her gaze intently shifting back and forth between Charles and Fran. “Yes. It is. We don’t know what causes it, and I want to relieve any guilt you might be feeling. I assume Charlie’s been complaining about his leg?”
Fran physically jerked away from Charles’s touch. She faced him with an accusatory glare, spitting out, “I knew something was wrong, Charles. I knew it. And yet you—” The charge was left incomplete. She closed her eyes, slumping in her seat.
“Fran, be reasonable. We had no idea,” Charles pleaded. “None at all.”
Dr. Owens reached out to put one hand on Fran’s clasped hands, the other on Charles’s arm. “Please … may I finish? I brought it up for that very reason. Parents almost always feel overwhelming guilt when osteosarcoma is first found. Especially in this manner, with a severe break. But it’s not your fault that you didn’t rush him to a doctor or the emergency room beforehand, since it’s very typical that symptoms are present for months before the diagnosis is made. You couldn’t have known. So please, please don’t carry that burden of guilt—and especially don’t … Let me put it this way: Charlie’s going to desperately need you—both of you.”
Fran began weeping softly, but Charles made no move to comfort her.
“What happens next? What kind of tests are you running?” Charles asked, calmly assessing the situation.
“We’ve sent some blood to be evaluated, and eventually, we’ll want to do a CT scan and radionuclide bone scan.”
“When will he go into surgery? Certainly you can’t leave him like this much longer.” Charles’s voice rose slightly in intensity. “I mean, you are going to fix his leg, aren’t you? Take out the tumor and then put pins in the bone, or whatever it is you do?”
“We won’t do surgery until Dr. Mia Chang gets here.”
“And she is?”
“The pediatric oncologist. She and I will make the determination about how we recommend to proceed.”
Charles leaned back in his chair, a defensive movement. He narrowed his eyes at her. “The determination of what, exactly?” The icy tension in his voice increased dramatically, appearing to fill every space in the small room.
“Mr. Thomason, it’s premature to speculate.” Dr. Owens’s voice was calm in contrast, almost patronizing. “We’re not even positive yet this is osteosarcoma. We’d do the biopsy first and then—”
Charles’s eyes suddenly grew wide and his body jerked reflexively as though he’d been slapped. “My God, no. You will not. I absolutely forbid it!”
Fran blew her nose, looked up at Charles with confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”
Dr. Owens and Charles stared at each other until Dr. Owens eventually looked away. Fran appealed for an explanation, glancing from one to the other, even to Greg. All three avoided meeting her gaze.
“Tell me what you’re talking about,” Fran ordered, her intensity causing any tears to temporarily subside.
Dr. Owens finally—and boldly—turned to Fran, though her voice was incongruously soft. “The possibility that Charlie’s leg may need to be amputated.”
Fran could feel the blood draining from her face. She felt light-headed, struggled to clear her thoughts.
Someone knocked, then stuck his head in the door. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’re