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I skid to a stop and glance at the phone, seeing a name that immediately puts my internal alert system on high. It’s Saturday, why is Astria’s doctor calling us on a Saturday?
Astria’s on the phone in the living room, chatting away on the couch. The girl’s head might hurt, but it’s not hindering her ability to use her mouth.
We allowed her to get a cell phone because of the nature of Damien’s job and because we don’t live near either of her grandmothers. The only other person she’s allowed to call is Camden. And those calls must be made in a public space in our home. Our inner circle is tight, and unfortunately, we have to be very strict. She has enough danger to worry about with her own body trying to attack her. Damien might be the face of professional hockey, his body plastered all over North America, but that doesn’t mean our daughter has to be. It’s important to us that we maintain a certain level of privacy.
“Astria, is that your daddy you’re on the phone with?” I ask quickly, swiping at the screen on my phone.
She sits up slowly and glances over the back of the couch at me. “Yeah, why?”
“Put him on speaker, my phone’s ringing and it’s the doctor.” I catch the call just in time.
“Mrs. Henderson?”
“This is she.” I’m breathless from all of my running around. My palms sweat with nerves that set in the moment I saw his name on the screen.
We’ve been looking for a match for over a month now. I know it doesn’t seem like a long time, but it feels like an eternity.
“I have good news.” He says and my heart starts beating a fast rhythm of exhilaration mixed with relief.
“You do? Hold on, we’re all here. Damien, can you hear the doctor?”
I walk closer to the couch, where Astria holds her cell phone up in the air. She watches me with nervous excitement. The energy building in the room is palpable. We’re all hoping for the same thing.
“Loud and clear,” Damien says.
Damien’s only been gone a week this time. It’s just a two-game series. The Renegades are still undefeated. They’re having a strong season, but Damien refuses to admit they could be looking at a cup this year. He doesn’t want to jinx it. Some superstitious voodoo. We could use some good in our lives. I don’t blame him for holding his breath.
“It’s time. We need to have you come in; we believe we’ve found a match.”
“Oh, my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand.
Tears fill my eyes, as I look at Astria, and watch her reaction. She’s crying too. She might be young, but she realizes the opportunity this could be for her. We understand the risks, but we’ve had time to accept them. Now we’re just ready to move forward and end up on the other side of all of this. The waiting has been hard on all of us.
“We’d like to schedule the conditioning for the procedure as soon as possible, that’s why I’m calling you on the weekend. I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything. Good game last night, Damien.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Damien’s voice sounds muffled. I can imagine he’s experiencing similar emotions right now.
I wonder if he’s with the boys. I glance at the time on the clock above the stove in the kitchen, they’re probably down for breakfast before the pre-game meeting.
I still can’t believe the show of support for our family by the entire team. Damien’s medical history disqualified him from being a match, and my tissue typing didn’t match the standard they were looking for. My mother and Damien’s mother were both disqualified due to age. But the team, every single one of them lined up to be tested during their last home stint, despite knowing that if any one of them were a match, they’d be out the remainder of the season. They didn’t care.
Unfortunately, we didn’t get a match then either. Astria was put into a national database, and we’ve been sitting in this holding pattern since.
My mind jumps around, unable to focus on just one thing, as I try to listen to the doctor.
“Astria will need to spend a minimum of thirty days in the hospital so that we can monitor the effects the transplant has on her disorder, as well as her body’s reaction to the transfer. As we’ve discussed before, this is a relatively new science. Not the transfer itself, but the application for her diagnosis. We’re pioneering our own way, questioning what was previously thought possible, but I’m confident in the success rate of this procedure. I’m confident that we will see an improvement in Astria’s quality of life.”
“Can I ask who it is? Who is the donor? Can you tell us?” I’m not sure what the rules and regulations are with this sort of thing, but I’d like to know this person. I’d like them to be a part of our family. What they’re doing for us is completely selfless. I want to thank them.
“I figured you would ask that. The donor has asked that he or she remain anonymous until the transfer is complete. Is that something you can live with?” My knee-jerk reaction is to say no. I want to know. It feels important. My daughter is going to receive bone marrow from a total stranger. Who is this person?
I look at my daughter, noting the look of pure relief on her face. If I take a step back and try to think about this rationally, I guess it shouldn’t matter. I mean, if you need a blood transfusion you don’t ask to speak to the person that donated blood before receiving it. That’d be ridiculous. I don’t have a clue whose blood Damien received that night he died on the ice. None. And up until this point, it’s not something that’s ever crossed my mind.
Not to mention, we’ve been waiting over a month already, and it’s hard enough to find a match that meets the criteria as it is. What am I going to do? Reject this one just because they want to do a good thing without praise. If anything, that makes whoever this is even more remarkable. Right?
“Um, sure. Right? Astria? Damien?” I ask, needing their validation.
“We’ve waited long enough. I think we move forward.” Damien says through the phone, his voice coming through stronger than it did before. I wish I could see him. I wish he was here for this.
