“Well, she does have some fusion of the spine and her inflammation is a concern. Are her medications still working well for her?”
“So far,” I answered.
“Then we’ll continue with that treatment plan and we’ll schedule her to come back in six months for more testing to determine the rate at which her disease is progressing. As long as we monitor it and keep it under control, she should grow up to be a young, healthy adult.”
I replayed the doctor’s words in my mind as we left the doctor’s office. The spinal confusion concerned me, but I was glad that the doctor didn’t seem too alarmed by it. Sensing my mind was preoccupied, Dale interrupted my thoughts as we were getting back in the car.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked as Nevaeh buckled herself into the backseat.
“Just trying to wrap my head around what the doctor told us,” I explained.
“Mom, what did that doctor mean when he said all those things?”
Dale turned to look at Nevaeh as he adjusted the rear view mirror, “He said that your spine has grown together a little and that the medicine seems to be helping you.”
Yeah, if it were only that simple. Driving along, I continued to think about Nevaeh, the doctors, and all the testing. How am I going to keep paying for all of this stuff? I still owe close to fifteen hundred dollars on the x-ray and MRI, and that’s only because I put down a hundred bucks on the day of the testing. I just got her regular doctor visits and labs paid off, I have no cash and my credit card is maxed. Business better pick up so I can pay for these two specialist visits and her testing.
“Kimberly? What’s wrong?” Dale asked, perplexed by my silence on the way to my house.
“Nothing,” I lied.
We continued to drive in silence until we pulled up to the house. Dale helped Nevaeh out of the backseat as I dug through my purse to find my keys to the front door. My bag slipped from my grip, sending all the contents flying all over the driveway.
“Shit,” I muttered, bending down to pick everything up.
“Here, let me help you,” Dale offered.
Once we were inside, I flopped onto the couch. Dale sat beside me and offered a foot massage; I graciously accepted while Nevaeh went to her room to draw.
“You know, Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away. Do you have any plans?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, but normally we have Thanksgiving at my mom’s house. You?”
“No, but I was hoping we could spend it together.”
“I know I’d love it, and I bet Nevaeh would too.”
“We could have it at my house. You could invite your family; they’re welcomed to come here” Dale said.
“I don’t know if they’ll go for that. My mom’s been talking to me more, and so have my brothers, but I don’t think they’ll come over to celebrate the holiday with us.”
“Talk to them, see what they say,” he said.
If I was going to get my family to agree to have Thanksgiving at Dale’s, it was going to take some work. I called my mom that evening and presented the idea to her. At first she refused instantly, but I talked her into thinking about it. Now, I had to work on my brothers. Lying has never been my strong suit, but I pulled it off by telling my brothers that mom had already agreed. She had a sweet spot for me since I was the only girl; I would continue working on her until she finally said yes.
After quite a bit of persuasion, my mom finally agreed and told my brothers what we were doing. It wasn’t easy; I had to tell her how Dale came to Nevaeh’s doctor appointments and how much they’d bonded over the summer. If it weren’t for Nevaeh, I don’t think my mom would’ve ever agreed to come. Dale was excited that I’d talked my family into it; he began making big plans for the holiday.
Chapter Nine
On the eve of Thanksgiving, I worked hard in my small kitchen preparing deviled eggs, homemade apple pie, and my famous St. Louis salad. Nevaeh worked vigorously beside me, trying to keep pace with me.
“Can I help sprinkle the sugar on the pie?” she asked me.
“You sure can! And when we’re done with that, you can help me stir up the filling for these eggs. Dinner’s going to be so good tomorrow, Nevaeh, I just know it!” I pinched a bit of flour off the counter and playfully dusted Nevaeh’s nose with it and added, “My little baker.”
We had a marvelous time cooking and baking together in the kitchen, but by the night’s end, Nevaeh was worn out. My tiny eight-year-old passed out on the couch shortly after 10 PM. After carefully covering all of the food and putting it in the refrigerator, I carried her to bed and turned in for the night. We had a big day ahead of us tomorrow that would be filled with more cooking at Dale’s house, but I couldn’t wait to spend our first holiday together. I was even more excited that my family was joining us. It meant so much to me that they were starting to come around.