Chapter 11
Charlie was distracted during his fourth week of chemo by Don, who actually brought him a case to consult on. Larry and Amita joined him as often as they could, and the three heads soon had results that led Don's team to yet another arrest. Monday, Don joined his father and brother at the house for lunch, and the three left earlier than usual for Charlie's chemotherapy, as they had to stop at Dr. Stevens' office first. They all hoped there would be no chemotherapy today; that Dr. Stevens would send Charlie home in remission.
The three waited anxiously for the results of Charlie's blood test. They were back in those same chairs again, facing that same desk. All at once, the déjà vu became too much for Charlie, and he stood up.
"Don," he said, "trade chairs with me."
Don was startled. "What, Buddy?"
Charlie sat down again, sheepish. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just wanted it to look different this time."
Alan touched his son's arm, but before anyone could say anything else, the door opened and Dr. Stevens joined them, chart in hand. He greeted them and sat at his desk, and then looked directly at Charlie.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Charlie felt the disappointment choke the air right out of him, and before he knew what was happening, the doctor was kneeling in front of him, encouraging him to breathe into a paper bag. As soon as he figured out what he was doing, he felt like an idiot. The doctor's hand was still on his, though, so he couldn't do anything except breathe into a paper bag, and look over the edge at the faces of his father and brother, both of whom had left their chairs at some point and were hovering over him. His father looked like he was going to pass out. Charlie looked at the doctor, and waved toward Alan with his free hand. Dr. Stevens looked up, then spoke sharply. "Alan! Please sit down before I have to deal with two of you!"
At the doctor's voice, Don gently guided his father back to his chair, and then sat in his own. The doctor had removed the paper bag from Charlie's face, and was taking his pulse. Then he leaned over and took Alan's. Finally, he stood back up and leaned against the desk. "Well," he said. "I guess that didn't go too well now, did it?"
NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS
After another week of therapy, during which Charlie only seemed to wake up in order to vomit, the three made the trek again.
This time, Don was careful to sit down before Charlie, in a different chair, forcing Charlie to look around and find another one. It reminded Charlie of the "musical chairs" game they used to play as children, and the ghost of a smile crossed his features.
Charlie felt terrible. Today, he wasn't so much worried about the remission results. He couldn't be in remission and feel this bad. He was just worried that Dr. Stevens would put him back in the hospital.
The door opened. "Well, I've got all kinds of news today," Dr. Stevens said as he walked across the room. He sat down and smiled at the three men. Don and Alan were looking at him, and smiled back, but Charlie was preoccupied with his feet.
"Charlie," said the doctor gently, and waited until Charlie finally met his gaze. "Congratulations. You've got a week off."
Don and Alan whooped, and fell into an embrace, but Charlie just kept staring at him. "What?" he finally asked.
Dr. Stevens laughed. "You're in remission," he said. "That's why the chemo is making you sicker than ever. It's acting like poison."
Charlie felt his father's arms around him, and he tried to hug him back, but he couldn't stop looking at the doctor.
"But I want to jump while the iron is hot," continued Dr. Stevens. "That's why I am only giving you a week off. Go home, go to bed, and have your father and brother wake you in a week. Next Monday morning, you're checking into the hospital."
He let the men relax into the news a little, smiling. He loved this part.
"The first thing we'll do," he finally continued, "is a brief surgical procedure to insert a central line under the skin of your chest into a vein. This is how you will receive the myeloablation, or high dose chemo that will destroy your existing bone marrow." He noticed that everyone had stopped smiling, and all the men seemed to be hanging on every word. "This will last between two and four weeks," he said, "and infection is a very serious risk. You'll probably have to spend at least part of this time in islolation."
Charlie blanched, and the doctor rushed on. "Don't worry," he said, "you can still have visitors. They will be limited, however, and will have to follow isolation techniques when they enter your room. You might want to bring your laptop, so you don't feel so cut off from the rest of the world, but Charlie…" and he paused again until he was certain the mathematician was with him. "Charlie, this is high dose chemo. You don't know what feeling bad is, yet."
The doctor turned his attention to Don. "As for you," he said, "you might want to inform your supervisors that you'll be needing some time off soon. I can't be exact until we see how Charlie reacts to the myeloablation."
Don's brows knit as he tried to follow the doctor. "Of course I'll be taking time off for Charlie…" he started, but the doctor interrupted him.
"Yes, and you'll probably want a day or two for yourself, as well. Your tissue type qualifies as an HLA identical donor, Don. You're a six-antigen, full tissue match! This is the best we could hope for."
Don broke into a wide smile and looked over at Charlie, who was looking back, mouth hanging open.
"Hey, Dr. Eppes," said Dr. Stevens, turning his attention back to Charlie, "You like numbers, don't you?'
Automatically, Charlie intoned, "Numbers are everything," still not taking his eyes off Don.
"Then you'll love this," the doctor continued. "There was only a 25 percent chance than Don would be a full tissue match. We usually settle for much less."
"Not me," Charlie answered, eyes locked with Don's. "Don's never given me anything but the best."
