I wish I could call James, she thought.
At last the nurse said, "Poppy? Come on in."
Dr. Franklin's office was wood-paneled, with certificates and diplomas hanging on the walls. Poppy sat down in a leather chair and tried not to be too obv iou s about scanning her mother's face.
Her mother looked ... too calm. Calm with strain underneath.
She was smiling, but it was an odd, slightly unsteady smile.
Oh, God, Poppy thought. Something is going on.
"Now, there's no cause for alarm," the doctor said, and immediately Poppy became more alarmed. Her palms stuck to the leather of the chair arms.
"Something showed up in your sonogram that's a little unusual, and I'd like to do a couple of other tests," Dr. Franklin said, his voice slow and measure d, so othing. "One of the tests requires that you fast from midnight the day before you take it. But your mom says you didn't eat breakfast today."
Poppy said mechanically, "I ate one Frosted Flake."
"One Frosted Flake? Well, I think we can count that as fasting.
We'll do the tests today, and I think it's best to admit you to the hospital for them. Now, the tests are called a CAT scan and an ERCP-that's short for something even I can't pronounce." He smiled. Poppy just stared at him.
"There's nothing frightening about either of these tests," he said gently. "The CAT scan is like an X ray. The ERCP involves passing a tube down the throat, through the stomach, and into the pancreas. Then we inject into the tube a liquid that will show up on X rays."
His m outh kept moving, but Poppy had stopped hearing the words. She was more frightened than she could remember being in a long time.
I was just joking about the interesting scar, she thought. I don't want a real disease. I don't want to go to the hospital, and I don't want any tubes down my throat.
She lo oked at her mother in mute appeal. Her mother took her hand.
"It's no big deal, sweetheart. We'll just go home and pack a few things for you; then we'll come back." "I have to go into the hospital today?"
"I think that would be best," Dr. Franklin said.
Poppy's hand tightened on her mother's. Her mind was a humming blank.
When they left the office, her mother said, "Thank you, Owen." Poppy had never heard her call Dr. Franklin by his first name before.
Poppy didn't ask why. She didn't say anything as they walked out of the building and got in the car. As they drove home, her mother began to chat about ordinary things in a light, calm voice, and Poppy made herself answer. Pretending that everything was normal, while all the time the terrible sick feeling raged inside her.
It was only when they were in her bedroom, packing mystery books and cotton pajamas into a sm all suitcase, that she asked almost ca sually, "So what exactly does he think is wrong with me?"
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.