Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [70]
Charles and Fran exchanged a tentative glance. “No.”
Dr. Chang pursed her lips, tucked her hair behind an ear. “They often exhibit this unnerving … sensitivity. It appears that, because they’re forced into experiences far beyond their years, they develop an uncanny appreciation for what’s truly important in life. And the children who are Christians—believers—demonstrate an amazing sensitivity to God that’s …” She stopped abruptly, taking in Fran’s openmouthed response. “What is it, Mrs. Thomason?”
“This is uncanny. Charlie and I just talked about that very thing.”
Charles raised an eyebrow in irritation. “When? You didn’t tell me this.”
“It was just after surgery; I simply forgot to tell you, Charles. I discounted it as … I don’t know … maybe an odd effect from the anesthesia. He’d had a dream about stars and was babbling on about being able to see them all so clearly. And I told him something my mother had said years ago—that people who see stars clearly can see God’s will more clearly too.”
Dr. Chang smiled. “That is amazing. But here’s my reason for bringing this up: Charlie’s a bright child, obviously. I have the impression he was pretty intuitive even before he got cancer. But he’s going to be even more so now … have this ‘sixth sense’ … whatever you want to call it. Bottom line is that he’s going to pick up on things.” She paused, looking from Fran to Charles. “Lots of things. And anything that might interfere with our patient’s recovery, Dr. Owens and I are concerned about.”
Charles stared back at her, returning her steady gaze. Finally, breaking the tension, he stated matter-of-factly, “Fran and I will take that into consideration, Dr. Chang.”
They started toward the room, but Charles reached out to stop Fran. “Let’s agree on something before we go in. Charlie’s to only hear positives—that the surgery will get rid of all the cancer.”
Dr. Chang broke in. “I can’t promise that, Mr. Thomason.”
“Are the odds good you’ll get it all?”
“Tests show we have an excellent chance, but—”
“Then you can tell Charlie exactly that, can’t you?”
She smiled, solicitously. “That’s what I had planned to tell him.”
Fran reddened; she closed her eyes and sighed. But Charles, either oblivious to or ignoring Dr. Chang’s gracious nuance, had already charged into Charlie’s room.
After Dr. Chang told Charlie about the surgery, she waited patiently, granting him time to absorb the news. Then she gently asked, “Are you worried about the pain, Charlie? Because we can help you with that.”
“Yeah. Some.” He swallowed, as though deliberately ingesting his fears. Charlie looked from Fran to Charles, his parents flanking the sides of his bed. “But I can do this, I know I can. Right, Dad?”
Charles gave his son a thumbs-up sign, his face glowing with approval. “Of course you can, son. Of course you can.”
The hospital room sizzled with the exchange between the two, the hidden expectations. Stripped to its core, the connection between father and son was palpable in its vulnerability and cry for the most basic of needs. Survival. Acceptance. Love.
Then Charles’s voice knifed into the void and Fran visibly started. “So, tell them again, Charlie. Tell Dr. Chang the surgery tomorrow is a go.” His dark eyes bored into his son’s hazel ones.
Charlie obeyed. “Let’s do it. I want to get it over with, I really do. It’s that much faster I’ll get the chemo started and done. And that much sooner I’ll get my leg.”
“That’s my boy.”
According to Dr. Chang, the surgery the next morning went extremely well. She reassured Charles and Fran the doctors were hopeful they’d gotten all the cancer and that Charlie’s prognosis looked excellent.
Fran thanked God for his goodness.
Charles praised Charlie for his courage to go ahead with the surgery, and then charged him to work even harder to recover.
Point.
Counterpoint.
With Charlie wedged squarely in the middle.
The next few weeks presented Charlie with one seemingly insurmountable challenge after another.