As he wheeled her down the hall, Shelly noticed room 1648. “Hey, that’s Chucky’s room! Where’s Chucky?” she asked as the open door revealed its emptiness.
“How do you know Chucky?” Carol asked.
“He walked by my room a few weeks ago. Did he go home?”
Dr. Wall continued pushing the wheelchair down the corridor.
“Yes, honey, he went home a few days ago.”
“He’s really nice,” Shelly said. “I‘m glad you made him better. I hope you can do that for Kristen, too. You think you can?”
“We’re trying, honey. We’re trying real hard. So say a little prayer for her. Can you do that?”
“Sure I can do that.” Shelly beamed, craning her neck backward
to be sure Wall could see her. “That’s easy.”
*****
Radiologist Phil Thompson arrived at the main nurses’ station out of breath, stopping Wall, who was just about to turn down the hall of the west wing to check on a patient.
“I need to see you about Shelly White,” Phil said. “I have her film.”
Dr. Wall stopped in his tracks and turned, fearing the worst.
“You ran over here? It’s bad news?” “More like weird news,” he said. “What do you mean, weird?”
“These films, Doc,” he said, holding up the x-rays. “They’re
clean.”
Wall stepped back trying to process what Phil was saying, unable to believe what he had just heard. Yet Phil would not joke about such matters. He waited for him to continue.
“Doc, I’m telling you, these films are clean. No tumor. No spots. Zip. There is nothing there. I checked all her previous films, compared them, and it’s gone.”
Dr. Wall stared at him for a moment, then pulled him aside.
“Give me those. A grapefruit-sized tumor does not just disappear overnight.” He walked into the lounge and placed the film on a wall-mounted light board. Phil stood behind him. “I’ll be damned.” The gray outlines of Shelly’s chest showed no sign of the tumor. “A cancer miracle may be in our midst.”