It’s terrible when your child is sick and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. I stand by helpless as Andi tends to Violet, cleaning her up.

“Chase, can you fill the tub?”

“Sure.” I get the water going.

“And, Chase?”

“Yeah?”

“You might want to …” Her finger motions up and down, so I glance to where she’s pointing and realize I never got dressed. I’m running around naked in front of Violet. “It’s okay,” she assures me.

“I’ll be right back.” I quickly pull on a pair of shorts, and by the time I get back to the bathroom, the tub is ready.

“Hand her to me,” I say.

Violet is limp and lethargic. I only hope she doesn’t throw up again. I’m not like Andi in that regard. She’s so tough when it comes to that stuff. I’m a pussy, though I would never admit it.

When I dip Violet into the warm water, she whines and I want to whine right along with her.

“Dada, don’t feel good.”

“I know, Little One. Your tummy hurts, doesn’t it?” I ask her. “Let me rinse you off and we’ll get you back in your jammies.” I make short work of the bath and soon have her wrapped in a warm and fluffy towel. Andi has clean pajamas waiting, so we put those on her.

Once she’s dressed, she wants her mama. Andi gathers her up and cradles her in her arms. I watch the two of them and my heart pinches at how it must be killing Andi to see Violet ill. We have to get her better. There is no other option.

“Let’s get in the bed,” I suggest. “She’s so tired. Look at her eyes.”

“It’s probably the aftereffects of the anesthesia still. Maybe that’s why she threw up. She doesn’t feel warm to me. Does she to you?”

“No, but let’s check her temperature, just to be on the safe side.” I go to Violet’s bathroom and grab the thermometer. Andi scans her forehead, and sure enough, it’s normal.

Andi hands it back to me, saying, “I’m sure it’s a side effect from all the meds they gave her.”

“I hate to say it, but that makes me feel better.”

“Me too.”

I rub Violet’s soft curls and ask her if she wants to sleep with us tonight. The only response I receive is a small nod.

Andi gives me a questioning stare.

“What?” I ask.

“Are you sure about this? She may throw up again.”

“Then we’ll move to the other bed. She’s so pitiful, I can’t bear to send her back alone to her room tonight.”

“I know. Then let’s all snuggle in for the night, shall we?”

Luckily, in the morning, Violet wakes up feeling much better after not having any more episodes during the night. Soon, she’s slapping us both on our stomachs, telling us she’s hungry.

Andi groans, “Well, that’s a good sign.”

“I’ll get her breakfast,” I offer.

“I’ll get her dressed,” Andi says.

By this time, Violet is half-jumping on the bed. She’s not one hundred percent, though. I mention this to Andi.

“It’s probably because she might be a bit sore from the test yesterday.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think of that.”

“They said she’d act a little funny, remember?”

“I do now. And now starts the waiting game.”

“The doctor said it may take up to a week, but it could be sooner.”

“I hope sooner, Andi.”

She grabs my hand. “So do I. Now let’s go feed our daughter.”

After breakfast, we watch movies and hang out with Violet. With each passing hour, she seems to feel better. I notice that Andi is less stressed as well. She even mentions that I should practice the next day.

“I will. But … if you get any calls, you must promise to call me immediately. Will you do that?”

“I will. I don’t think we’ll get a call that quickly, though.”

The following two days we settle into somewhat of a lull. Andi fusses over Violet, as do I, and we play with her as much as possible. I go to practice every day, coming home exhausted. Luckily, I have two home games in a row. But I’ll be on the road next week, which disturbs me. The truth is, my nights are sleepless because I lie in bed, hoping that bad news doesn’t occur for our precious little girl.

It’s a week later that Andi gets the call. It happens, of course, when I’m at practice. One of the coaches calls me off the field and I’m told to go home. It doesn’t take any deduction on my part to figure out what the problem is. I don’t even shower before I jump in the car and go.

When I storm through the door, she’s standing there, waiting.

“Well?”

“He wants to see us. In the office.”

“More waiting, dammit.”

“No. He said to come as soon as we could and he would see us when we got there.”

“I haven’t showered.”

“Go now. We’ll go as soon as you’re done.”

My legs chew up the steps and I set a record for how many minutes it takes for me to bathe. I dress and get back downstairs in no time.

“Where’s Violet?”

“Watching a DVD. Where else? She’s oblivious. I wish I were.”

“Me too,” I answer. “Let’s do this. And, Andi, remember: Team Wilde.”

She gives me a shaky laugh. But I can’t have that, so I pull her up to my chest. “We got this.” I press my lips to hers for a brief kiss. “Have the faith. We can do anything, including beat the worst news. Now stiffen that steel spine of yours.”

“Yes, sir.”

I go into the living room and grab my daughter. “Come on, kiddo. We’re going for a ride.”

We arrive at the doctor’s and they usher us straight back after Andi tells them who we are. We’re given the red carpet treatment and I want to chuckle, only not with humor. I guess you have to have a dreaded disease before you’re treated like this.

They escort us into the doctor’s office instead of an exam room this time. We don’t wait even five minutes before he comes in. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I glance at Andi. She notices it too.

“Ms. James, Mr. Wilde, I was hoping for much better news than this. I’m afraid Violet has aplastic anemia. It’s very puzzling to us. We don’t usually see this in children her age. That’s not to say it never happens. But it is quite rare, particularly since hers is the acquired type. We do have treatment for this, but the ultimate cure is a bone marrow transplant. I would like to try the treatment first.”

Andi has done a lot of research already since she’s a nurse, so she pipes in with questions. “For the bone marrow transplant, my understanding is that the best matches are siblings. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Violet is an only child.”

“I am aware. There are a few options. Although it’s unlikely you both would be a match, we can still test both of you, if you choose. And if there are any relatives that would be willing to be tested, that would be a good option. There is also a bone marrow registry.”

Andi looks at me. “We could ask Fletcher,” I say. “And what about Mark?”

Her eyes tug down at the corners and appear pained. “I’m adopted, remember? Mark and I wouldn’t share any genetic markers.”

Shit. Why didn’t I remember that? “It’s okay, baby. We’ll figure something out. Doctor, how much time do we have?”

“We may have years. That’s a question I can’t answer. But it’s best to get this arranged now and not wait until you need it.”

Andi nods. “I agree.”

“We’ve been discussing having another baby.”

Andi jumps into the conversation. “Chase. Not here.”

“Actually, that’s a good idea. That is, if you were planning it anyway. It’s the best option for Violet,” the doctor says. “The first thing I’d like to focus on, though, is getting Violet started on treatment that may bring her blood count up to normal. If that works, then the bone marrow transplant can be shelved for later.”

“Is there a possibility she would never need it?” I ask.

“Yes, if she’s controlled by the drugs. Some cases are.”

“I have one last question, doctor. Would you recommend that we go back to the States to be close to our family?” I ask.

“That’s something only you can decide. But I can say if it were my family and me, I probably would want to be close to them.”

“Thank you. I think you gave me the answer.”

Andi asks, “When can we start treatment?”

“Tomorrow, if you want.”

“Are there side effects?”

“Possibly. But not any different from her being ill, and as soon as she begins to feel better, those side effects should dissipate. We’ll be using bone marrow stimulants because we want her bone marrow to start producing new blood cells. We’d also like to give her transfusions if necessary.”

“Is that safe?” I ask. I’ve always heard about the risk of disease transmission through blood transfusions.

“There are always risks associated with it, but we’ll only do them if we think it’s medically necessary.”

Andi says, “Can we start with the marrow stimulants?”

“Yes. Can you bring her here tomorrow? These are given either by IV or injection. I want to discuss her treatment with another hematologist before I decide on which stimulant to begin. And after she receives it, I would prefer for her to remain here for a few hours to monitor her for side effects.”

We leave with an appointment for eight o’clock the next morning. I’m sure Violet won’t be happy, but we are both praying these drugs work. In the meantime, we have to make a decision on whether to stay or go home. I can’t stand the idea of us being so far away from our families with no support structure in place.

And then there are all the phone calls that will have to be made. My head aches with the thought of them.

As we pull in the driveway of our house, Andi leans over and presses her lips to mine. Then she says, “What should we do, Chase? I don’t want to pull you away from your career.”

“I won’t have a career if all I do is worry about this.”