It’s time for my annual “acrostic”
story, but the contest organizers changed the rules this year. Instead of
starting with the letter ‘A’ and working through the alphabet, each story had
to begin with ‘Z’ and work backwards. They provided the first four required
words, and I find it uncanny that, in 2020, that first word was “Zooming.” It
was set up long before anyone knew how this year would unfold. I’m proud to
announce my entry placed third and pleased to share it here along with my Happy
Father’s Day to all.
A
Father’s Love
Zooming across the bridge leading
from one high rise medical building to another, Kaley Kincaid was glad she’d
worn sensible shoes even as she blinked back tears, scanning for signs indicating
the clinic pharmacy. Yellow arrows painted on the floor clearly marked the way,
but all she could think about was Dr. Chu’s solemn tone when he’d shared the
results of three-month-old Tommy’s tests.
“Xeroderma Pigmentosum, or XP, is
caused by a genetic mutation,” he’d droned. “While there is no cure, we can
treat it and try to minimize the destruction. Vitamin D supplements will be
required to replace sun exposure, which Tommy will need to avoid all his life.
Ultraviolet rays will cause damage to his skin just like it does to yours and
mine. The difference is, while our skin heals through nucleotide excision
repair, this damage is not repaired in people with xeroderma pigmentosum. Sunglasses
will need to be worn during all daylight hours to protect his eyes from forming
cataracts,” he continued. “Retinoid creams may help decrease the risk of skin
cancer, but should cancer develop, it will be treated in the same way as it
would for anyone else.”
Quartets of doctors, all of them Dr.
Chu in his white jacket and stethoscope, began to swirl in front of Kaley’s
eyes as she felt herself grow faint and a cold sweat begin to trickle down her
back.
“Put your head down between your
knees,” the doctor told Kaley with little sympathy as he grabbed his
prescription pad and began scratching something on it. “Our pharmacy across the
skywalk can supply you with a pair of child-size dark glasses immediately, the
kind that tie around the baby’s head. No need to be distraught. Many people
with this condition live to an almost normal life expectancy, provided they use
extreme caution.”
Life expectancy? Kaley wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, squeeze her
eyes shut, and will this awful doctor and his miserable diagnosis away forever.
Just when the medical community had finally gotten to the bottom of their
baby’s symptoms, just as she and Mark believed hope of a cure was within grasp,
just when they were anticipating sharing the good news with everyone, all had
come crashing down in two minutes.
“If…if I understand you correctly,”
she stammered, “not only will our boy never get to play outdoors but you’re
saying his life will be cut short too?”
How could she be having this
conversation, and why, oh why, hadn’t she insisted on Mark coming with them to
the appointment like he’d offered? Grabbing the handle of Tommy’s baby carrier
with one hand and the prescription slip with the other, Kaley stormed out of
the doctor’s office and across the glass enclosed bridge to the pharmacy.
Fighting tears while she placed the
tiny sunglasses on Tommy’s head, she felt relief at the sound of Mark’s
ringtone and the vibration of the phone in her pocket. Even in his shock over
her news, Mark managed to speak words that calmed Kaley and filled her with
hope—just like he always did.
“Don’t think for one second that we
can’t get through this together, Sweetheart, no matter how difficult it
becomes. Challenges are part of life just as much as good times, and we signed
up to face both—as a team. Best part of it is, now that we have Tommy, we’re a
team of three instead of only two.”
A heavy cloak of despair lifted off
Kaley’s shoulders and she knew that when she pulled into their driveway, Mark Kincaid—her husband of six months and Tommy’s proud
stepfather—would be waiting for them with open arms, eager to form a circle of
love and light that no diagnosis, no darkness, no doctors, could ever dissolve.
No comments:
Post a Comment