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Chapter Fourteen

Matchmaker

There was no casual way to ask someone what their blood type was, Jack had determined. Without accosting Kate about her medical history, he'd have no way to figure out if she could be a match to Sam. And the blood type was only the first step— she'd have to undergo several more tests before being cleared for a surgery. And even if she was a match, there was a chance that something could go wrong in the OR, or maybe Sam's body would reject the new liver.

He didn't like to think about everything that could go wrong.

Jack sighed and sipped from his coffee cup. He'd been restless lately and couldn't sleep for more than a few hours at a time. Swirling thoughts clouded him; his mind wasn't at peace.

In medical terms, he knew if Kate had the surgery there was a relatively low chance of something life-threatening happening to her. She was young and healthy and would most likely have a fast recovery. But now he was attached to Sam, too, and there was more than one person to worry about.

Glancing at his watch, Jack rose and stretched. 9 a.m. Time for Sam's CT. Time to see how successful— or unsuccessful— his surgery went.

Earlier that morning he had woken Sam and prompted him to stand. The man was slow to it, and stiff, and Jack pretended not to notice when he grimaced in pain, but he'd managed to shuffle a few feet across the floor. He was healing nicely considering how beaten down his body was and how weak his immune system had become.

He ran into Sam and a nurse in the pristine hallway, where Sam was being pushed in a wheelchair to another wing of the hospital where the CT was.

"Nervous, Doc?"

Jack laughed. Sam was never too sick to make jokes.

"A little," he admitted. "Aren't you?"

Sam gave a noncommittal shrug. "Figured you're the best. And I didn't die in surgery like I thought I would. Thanks for that."

Tempted to bring up his liver condition, Jack bit his tongue. Now wasn't the time. When they figured out what Sam's prognosis was with the spinal tumor, he would talk to him about when he planned to tell Kate.

The nurse wheeled Sam into the room that held the CT machine. Jack fell behind and took a seat in an adjoining room beside the tech who would read the scan. The prep seemed to take forever, and Jack tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair, ignoring the annoyed glares he was getting from the young tech.

After the surgery he told Kate he was sure he'd removed the entire tumor. But as he sat there, waiting and waiting, he'd never doubted himself more.

"It's basically gone," he told Kate later that day.

Her face broke into a grin. "You got the whole thing?"

"Well, most of it. There are still a few small areas—"

Sam interrupted. "What he's trying to say is that there a two tiny, tiny pieces left about the size of atoms," he joked. "They're gonna keep me on a lower dose of the chemo. Dr. Holland seems to think that'll do the trick."

Part of her didn't want to believe that Sam was cured, didn't believe it could be true. But another part— smaller, but still there— could see that he was healing, that there was one less tumor ravaging his body.

"And the liver? What did Dr. Holland say about that?"

On Sam's hesitation, she looked to Jack. He didn't reassure her.

"I haven't been updated," he said unconvincingly. "Right now I only know that his spine is pretty much in the clear and I didn't get the chance to talk to Dr. Holland." He went through his explanation hastily, eager to exit before the situation blew up. "Aside from checkups, she's going to be his primary doctor from now on, which is a good thing. Means he has one less thing wrong with him..."

Kate saw the look shared between the two men. "What's going on? There has to be a plan with the liver tumors. What? More chemo, more radiation?"

Jack glared at Sam one last time, resisting the urge to say, "TELL HER!"

"I'm gonna go call Dr. Holland," he lied. "So I'll see the both of you later."

Waiting until Jack had cleared the room, Kate snapped her head around. "You're not telling me something."

Sam closed his eyes, unsure if he had the nerve to tell her of his situation. "Yeah... I talked to Dr. Holland the other day. She told me that my prognosis is not... it's not good," he managed.

Tears welled in her eyes. Why couldn't anything go right? What if, after everything she'd pushed him to go through with, it was his damn liver that killed him instead of his spine? All that hell, and for what? Nothing.

"It's untreatable? They absolutely can't do anything?"

"It's not that." Sam shook his head. "It's just that... the options I do have, I don't want to do— I can't do."

Kate tensed and prepared to fight her father again. Why was he so unwilling to fight for himself? Why did she always have to be the bad guy?

"If you have options, you're taking one of them," she said. "Look what you've already made it through. Whatever this is— surgery, more chemo, a trial, whatever—you can make it through it. You're tough."

Dad, she wanted to tack on to the end of the sentence, but held back.

Weary and tired already from the activity, Sam rubbed his temples. "You have to know that this is the last thing I want and somehow I know that you won't take no for an answer no matter what I do, so here it goes... Dr. Holland told me that the tumors on my liver are 'unresectable' and if she tried to remove them it would do too much damage. So instead they wanna take the whole damn thing out, which makes no sense to me—"

"A liver transplant?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. But the thing is, Dr. Holland doesn't want me to be on both chemo and radiation for too much longer, says my body will start breaking down even more. And when they put you on UNOS, I guess that kind of thing can take a long time. Time that I apparently don't have to waste."

Admittedly, Kate knew very little about anything medical. Most of what she knew was from TV, and the episodes tended to deal with strange, unlikely cases.

"So how are you supposed to get a liver if she doesn't want to put you on the list? Seems a little illogical."

Dropping a heavy sigh, Sam decided it was now or never. "They wanna do a live-donor transplant and I guess the best chance for a match can be in a family member—"

"What do I have to do?" Kate asked. "Tests, what? Anything."

She was struck with how quickly she'd volunteered herself, and what that said about her relationship with Sam. When she first arrived in L.A. she would have hesitated immensely to have part of her liver cut out. Now she didn't give it a second thought. Sam was no longer a stranger, and basically the only family she had. She would do what it took to make sure he made a full recovery.

Her father cocked his head back, clearly surprised. "I didn't think you'd take to this whole idea so easily. It's a big deal, Kate. They cut you open and take out at least half of your liver..."

"I don't care," she said. "If that's what I need to do, I'll do it. Where's Jack? I wanna talk to him about this."

She thought back to when the three of them were in the room together, and the looks Sam and Jack were giving each other. Jack knew. He had to.

He knew that Sam was going to ask for half of her liver and didn't even tell her about it. Didn't warn her.

Reading her anger, Sam said, "Don't blame this on him. I made him promise not to tell you."

"What the hell were you thinking? Not telling me that Sam needs a new fucking liver? And from me?"

Jack jumped and stopped eating his lunch. "Umm, how did you find me?"

"Your receptionists are stupid, Jack. I'm not. Anyway, here I am, and there you are, eating that sandwich all innocently."

Practically choking on a bite—"Excuse me?"

"Why didn't you tell me? I know you knew."

Motioning with his hands for her to calm down, Jack said, "That wasn't up to me to decide. I wanted to, believe me, but I bit my tongue, Kate. I think he should've told you right when he found out, not because it's you he's asking... but because you've been with him for the hardest parts of this whole thing."

If she had to pick one of Jack's best traits, she'd pick his sincerity, she decided. He looked hurt at her accusation that he was playing a game with Sam and withholding information by choice.

"Okay," she said, "I didn't mean to get on your case, but I'm frustrated with Sam and wondering why he couldn't just ask me. He knows I'll do it."

Jack nodded. "Maybe that's what he's afraid of."

"I'm assuming this has to be fast… How do we figure out if we're compatible or whatever?"

Standing, Jack led her into his office for more privacy. Hospital gossip was his least favorite part of the job.

"This isn't really my field, but I know the basics. It starts with blood type. Certain types are compatible with others in transplants, but your blood types don't necessarily have to be identical. If you get past that stage, you'd go through a variety of tests mainly focusing on the anatomy of your liver and the general health. Sam's entire liver would be removed and replaced with the portion, usually about half, of yours. We can get all of the testing arranged..."

Suddenly the thoughts of all the poking and prodding surely involved in these 'tests' left her mind. She had the chance to do something great, lifesaving, even, and she'd be stupid not to try, she thought.

"Do you know Sam's blood type? Or what type could be compatible to his?"

"Not offhand, no. Hold on a sec, I'll go grab his chart."

He left her sitting there, alone in his office, surveying the mostly blank walls and sparse decorations. If she'd never talked to Jack, never spent so much time with him, she would have thought he was rather uninspired. Except for a few certificates, there were almost no signs of his achievements. Wasn't he supposed to bring prospective patients into his office to convince them he was their best choice for a surgeon?

And what blood type was she anyway? O? A? How many types of blood were there?

Jack walked back into the office briskly, Sam's chart in hand. "He's B positive."

"So what does that mean?"

Squinting in thought, Jack tried to call on the types of blood compatibility. "B positive... that means he can receive... B positive, B negative, O positive and O negative."

They sat in silence, and Jack knew right away that the transplant wasn't going to work. He forced himself to ask, "Do you know your type?"

He saw a tear roll down her cheek and tried his best to ignore it, tried not to pull her to him, comfort her and tell her everything would be alright. That might be a lie…

"A positive, I think. A something for sure, but either way that doesn't work."

Jack shook his head. "No, it doesn't. Kate, I'm sorry... I know that you wanted to help your dad—"

"So I'm not a match? Definitely?"

Maybe there was some sort of test they could do, she thought. Maybe a transplant didn't have to entirely depend on blood type.

He shook his head again, seriously, his eyes full of apologies. "You're not a match."

Up next: Uh oh, what's gonna happen to Sam?