Chapter 4:
Velma was normally a morning person, but it is always hard to get up when one dreads the day before one. Ironically, the thing she was dreading was one of the most important appointments of her life... regarding her life.
She put on her coat just as Fred rang the doorbell.
"Ready?" he asked. Velma nodded.
"Yeah..."
She followed her friend out to the familiar old van. Fred opened the door for her and she climbed in.
Shaggy, Scooby, and Daphne were all inside, looking solemn... but also natural. As if they had taken it as a matter of course that they would accompany her toward her fear.
Then she realized they had.
Smiling for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, Velma realized something vital: Her friends had not simply gotten the idea to come with her. Rather, it had not occurred to them that they couldn't. She turned around, offering them her first genuine smile since they had picked her up last night.
"Thanks for coming, guys..."
"Like, no problem..." Shaggy, who had brought a packet of Pop-Tarts and a juice box (Velma's theory was that with Shaggy's sleep schedule he had to take his breakfast on the road) smiled back. So did Scooby and Daphne. Fred was concentrating on driving, but Velma saw the corner of his mouth tilt upward as well.
"Oh, Velma..." Daphne reached into her purse. "This is going to sound crazy, but I never got your hairbrush back to you!"
Velma stared at her blankly, then her eyes lit up. She took the brush and stifled a giggle.
"Jinkies..." Everyone laughed.
"When, exactly, was it that you made that up, Velma?" Daphne said, reminiscing.
Realizing that she had uttered a word she had probably forgotten about since high school, Velma grinned. "I think it was in sixth grade... I honestly don't know..."
"I think it happened after the mini-golf incident..." Shaggy suggested.
The tension in the air lessened. By the time they reached the clinic, it had almost become like a normal mystery.
Almost.
Except when Fred pulled into the parking slot, it was as if everyone felt a cold memory slither down their spines once more. They were back. Back, at the place they never wanted to see again.
Velma climbed out of the van.
Her friends watched her go, not breathing. The chill had returned. Velma had insisted a long time ago that her friends not actually follow her into the building during appointments; this late in the game that was no longer questioned. But this wasn't a routine appointment.
"Velma?" Daphne called. Velma turned around.
"I'm coming with you." She jumped down. The boys quickly followed.
"Guys..." Velma gave a fake giggle, to ease the tension. "You guys don't have to... really, you'll be stuck in the waiting room for hours..."
"I know we don't have to. We want to. Is that okay?"
Velma thought for a minute. The part of her that had secretly always longed for her to beg them, to ask her friends to not leave her alone, seemed to now scream that she had every legitimate reason to accept.
"I-- all right..."
"If it makes you uncomfortable..." Fred began, a little nervous at Daphne's persistence.
"It doesn't," Velma assured him.
She led them into the clinic, feeling secure, satisfied that she had just told someone the straight truth.
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Mystery Inc. waited. They pretended to be terribly interested in the magazines on the tables, although anyone who was watching them would have noted that their eyes weren't moving across the pages. Instead, they seemed to be staring straight through the sheets of glossy paper, right at the door through which Velma would emerge shortly.
Really,Daphne wondered vaguely, she seemed in favor of the transplant... how long can it take to tell her doctor?
Velma stepped outside, an impossible-to-read expression on her face. Daphne jumped up.
"So... the transplant..." She felt really stupid asking. It wasn't even a sentence, just an idea that was present in every sentence she could have composed at that very instant.
"They're not doing it."
"I... what?"
"They will start more chemo treatments, if they can do me any good. And they'll start them... today. But the reason we're not doing a bone marrow transplant is... they can't."
As the gang surrounded her, she told them why.
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Velma had entered the office just a tiny bit hopeful. It was a denying sort of hope, she had to admit. The kind of hope that comes when hoping is easier than believing hope doesn't exist.
The doctor's expression now, however, suggested something else.
"Miss Dinkley?" Dr. Georgis had begun, slightly nervously.
Velma looked back, obviously listening, but didn't say anything. There wasn't anything she could say. He knew more about her disease than she did, despite her having devoured every book in the library on the topic.
Dr. Georgis breathed. "Miss Dinkley, I'm afraid I have misinformed you."
For one wild, fleeting moment, an irrationally optimistic section of Velma's brain interpreted that in a good way. Maybe there was a misdiagnosis. Maybe she wasn't having a relapse. Maybe...
His continuation snapped her back to reality. "I shouldn't have mentioned the option of a bone marrow transplant. In your case, we can't."
"Why not?"
Dr. Georgis sat down next to her. "Miss Dinkley, to give an effective transplant, your type must match that of the donor." Velma nodded. This was pretty basic stuff.
"Otherwise, your body could reject the marrow... or you could develop graft-versus-host disease." Velma nodded again.
"And your type is... well... rare."
Velma almost laughed. "Is that all? I mean, there's still some time... you could look around... have you checked my family yet?"
Dr. Georgis' pitying stare gave Velma the answer. "We have."
The doctor continued. "Miss Dinkley, I'm not just talking about something that is 'routinely uncommon.' I'm talking about having made a scientific discovery."
Velma felt sickeningly like a lab rat. "You don't mean--"
"This appears to be a mutation. To be honest, given your parents' types, which are standard and average, there appears to be little else it could be. How this mutation came about, I don't know, but--"
"But what about my treatment!" Velma protested, horrified.
He paused. "If you wish, we can try a different combination of chemo drugs and radiation and hope for the best. Otherwise, I'm afraid there's not much we can do."
Her fate was sealed. Velma had no choice. Perhaps she could still live. Perhaps she would go into remission and never relapse again. It wasn't impossible...
Twenty-five percent.
Velma latched onto that one-in-four hope, onto the possibility that therewashope, and prayed.