Her mother didn't answer immediately. She was looking down at the suitcase. Finally she said, "Well, he's not sure a nything is w rong."
"But what does he think? He must think someth ing. And he was talking about my pancreas-I mean, it sounds like he thinks there's something wrong with my pancreas. I thought he was looking at my gallbladder or whatever. I didn't even know that my pancreas was involved in this...."
"Sweetheart." Her mother took her by the shoulders, and Poppy realized she was getting a little overwrought. She took a deep breath.
"I just want to know the truth, okay? I just want to have some idea of what's going on. It's my body,
and I've got a right to know what they're looking for-don't I?"
It was a brave speech, and she didn't mean any of it. What she really wanted was reassurance, a promise that Dr. Franklin was looking for something trivial. That the worst that could happen wouldn't be so bad. She didn't get it.
"Yes, you do have a right to know." Her mother let a long breath out, then spoke slowly. "Poppy, Dr. Franklin was concerned about your pancreas all along. Apparently things can happen in the pancreas that cause changes in other organs, like the gallbladder and liver. When Dr. Franklin felt those changes, he decided to check things out with a sonogram."
Poppy swallowed. "And he said the sonogram was-unusual.
How unusual?"
"Poppy, this is all preliminary...." Her mother saw her face and sighed. She went on reluctantly. "The sonogram showed that there might be something in your pancreas. Something that shouldn't be there. That's why Dr. Franklin wants the other tests; they'll tell us for sure. But-"
"Something that shouldn't be there? You mean ... like a tumor?
Like ... cancer?" Strange, it was hard to say the words.
Her mother nodded once. "Yes. Like cancer."
CHAPTER 3
All Poppy could think of was the pretty bald gi rl in the gif t shop.
Cancer.
"But-but they can do something about it, can't they?" she said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded very young. "I mean-if they had to, they could take my pancre as out...."
"Oh, sweetheart, of course. " Poppy's moth er took Poppy in her arms. "I promise you; if there's something wrong, we'll do anything and everything to fix it. I'd go to the ends of the earth to make you well. You know that. And at this point we aren't even sure that there is something wrong. Dr. Franklin said that it's extremely rare for teenagers to get a tumor in the pancreas.
Extremely rare. So let's not worry about things until we have to."
Poppy felt herself relax; th e pit was covered again. But somewhere near her core she still felt cold.
"I have to call James."
Her mother nodded. "Just make it quick."
Poppy kept her fingers crossed as she dialed James's apartment.
Please be there, please be there, she thought. And for once, he was. He answered laconically, but as soon as he heard her voice, he said, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing-well, everything. Maybe." Poppy heard herself give a wild sort of laugh. It wasn't exactly a laugh.
"What happened?" James said sharply. "Did you have a fight with Cliff?"
"No. Cliff's at the office. And I'm going into the hospital."
"Why?"
"They think I might have cancer."
It was a tremendous relief to say it, a sort of emo tional release. Poppy laughed again. Silence on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
"I'm here," James said. Then he said, "I'm coming over."
"No, there's no point. I've got to leave in a minute." She waited for him to say that he'd come and see her in the hospital, but he didn't.
"James, would you do something for me? Would you find out whatever you can about cancer in the pancreas? Just in case."
"Is that what they think you have?"
"They don't know for sure. They're giving me some tests. I just hope they don't have to use any needles." Another laugh, but inside she was reeling.
She wished James would say something comforting. "I'll see what I can find on the Net." His voice was unemotional, almost expressionless.
"And then you can tell me later-they'll probably let you call me at the hospital."
"Yeah."
"Okay, I have to go. My mom's waitin " "Take care of yourself."
Poppy hung up, feeling empty. Her mother was standing in the doorway. "Come on, Poppet. Let's go."
James sat very still, looking at the phone without seeing it.
She was scared, and he couldn't help her. He'd never been very good at inspirational small talk. It wasn't, he thought grimly, in his nature.
To give comfort you had to have a comfortable view of the world. And James had seen too much of the world to have any illusions.
He could deal with cold facts, though. Pushing aside a pile of assorted clutter, he turned on his laptop and dialed up the Internet.
Within minutes he was using Gopher to search the National Cancer Institute's CancerNet. The first file he found was listed as "Pancreatic cancer-Patient." He scanned i t. Stuff about what the pancreas did, stages of the disease, treatments.
Nothing too gruesome.
Then he went into "Pancreatic cancer Physician--a fi le meant for doctors. The first line held him paralyzed.
Cancer of the exocrine pancreas is rarely curable.
His eyes skimmed down the lines. Overall survival rate ...
metastasis ... poor response to chemotherapy, radiation therapy and surgery ... pain ...
Pain. Poppy was brave, but facing constant pain would crush anyone. Especially when the outlook for the future was so bleak.
He looked at the top of the article again. Overall survival rate less than three percent. If the cancer had spread, less than one percent.
There must be more information. James went searching again and came up with several articles from newspapers and medical journals. They were even worse tha n the NCI file.
The overwhelming majority of patients will die, and die swiftly, experts say.... Pancreatic cancer is usually inoperable, rapid, and debilitatingly painful.... The average survival if the cancer has spread can be three w eeks to three months....
Three weeks to three months.
James stared at the laptop's screen. His chest and throat felt tight; his vision was blurry. He tried to control it, telling himself that nothing was certain yet. Poppy was being tested, that didn't mean she had cancer.