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“Well, hi, Mom,” Dr. Chidozie chirped. “If anyone needs me to remember a name, you’ll have to wear tags next time. He examined his chart but not too carefully. It seemed more like an effort to avoid eye contact and to segue into a more serious vibe. Which he effectively did. “We won’t have the tests back until later today or tomorrow now.”
“Can you give me an overview,” Nora asked. “I know what Drake and Maeve have told me, but sometimes kids have a way of protecting you from information. Leaving important stuff out.”
Dr. Chidozie nodded. “I know that too well. Drake?” He gestured toward Nora. “I assume your mom’s ready to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
Drake nodded.
“Ms. Jackson, Drake’s been diagnosed with something called severe aplastic anemia.”
“But anemia?” Nora said it as though it wasn’t that serious. As though she hadn’t been on Google like the rest of us. “But surely you don’t usually need a blood transfusion for that? And all this bone marrow situation…what does that have to do with bone marrow? I thought you could just take iron pills and eat a steak.”
So did my mom.
“It’s not iron deficiency, ma’am. Drake isn’t producing enough red and white blood cells in his bone marrow. The only cure for this disease is a bone marrow transplant. But, and this is the part that’s tricky to discuss, we can’t be certain to find a match. So we’ve started a treatment, a drug, that could possibly be successful.”
“Possibly?” I asked.
“In twenty percent of cases this is successful,” Dr. Chidozie informed then set his jaw. Those weren’t the kind of numbers anyone with a life-threatening illness wanted to hear.
I’d known about the drug, I’d Googled everything to do with this blood disease, but Nora’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyebrows knitted, even though I knew she tried hard to remain neutral.
“Well, I’m not looking for twenty percent. You need to do better.” Her words came out as an accusation. How deeply we all wanted someone to blame.
She bit her lip. “Sorry.”
Drake grabbed his mom’s hand. “Mom, it’s going to be fine. I feel great today.”
The doctor looked back down at his chart. The room went quiet, as even though we knew Nora’s demand was simply an outburst, we waited for him to “do better” and thought maybe the answer was on his chart. All eyes were on him.
Before he spoke, Dr. Chidozie’s eyes set on each and every one of our faces. He considered us. I felt his compassion and something even resembling love.
“Here’s the thing. I have to level with you as I have with Drake. A disease like this can be catastrophic. I don’t like to give my patients anything but the facts because life is for living. Sometimes, when you think you don’t have much of it left, it becomes the best time of all the years you’ve had. You need to all enjoy every day as it comes. Be present. Be hopeful.”
Dixie scoffed. “All due respect, Doctor, we can kumbaya later. I appreciate your bedside manner, but what are we dealing with? What can we do?”
Dr. Chidozie took off his glasses. He scratched his nose. “We’re looking for bone marrow donors. I’ll level with you. To have success in this treatment, we need a seventy-five percent match…”
I couldn’t help but interrupt. “We can all get tested. Can’t we?”
“Herein lies the problem. The best match would be a sibling. After that, with the rarity of multiracial donors in the donor bank… it’s…” He sighed. “It’s a problem. Assuming you’re all as white as you appear, it’s unlikely that you’d be matches.”
“We’ll get tested anyway,” I said.
Nora, Dixie, and Tyran and nodded.
Dr. Chidozie paused.
Dixie practically pulled out her credit card. “Money’s not a problem. We’ll pay for it. For us and anyone else in Drake’s life who wants to get tested. Sir, there’s nothing I’d rather spend my money on than this young man right here. Experimental drugs, whatever. Just make the options clear.”
For the first time in my life, I was grateful to be rich. For the first time, I didn’t give a flying fuck that Dixie flashed the cash. And I knew my dad wouldn’t have wanted their fortune to have been spent on anything more than trying to save someone’s life. But more than that, having someone like Dixie in the room right now, someone who wasn’t taking no for an answer, was empowering at a time we needed it most.
Dr. Chidozie smiled. Not a “great idea” smile. More of a “you need some kindness” smile. “I can arrange anything you want. The database might give us something, too, we’ll find out in a couple weeks’ time, but in the meantime,” he turned to Nora, “a parent is always a half match. I suggest both you and Drake’s father get tested. It’s still a low probability, but there is a one percent chance that either you or Drake’s dad could be donors. But since there’s only six percent chance in the registry, it’s always worth giving this a go.”
The room fell silent as the diminishing chances of Drake’s survival sucked air out of everyone’s lungs and smothered our voice boxes. Twenty percent became six percent became one percent became half of that. Because Drake’s dad wasn’t even in the equation.
