Stitches of Survival

Hope for the Hopeless

Chapter Seventeen: Hope for the Hopeless

*~*~*~*

"Derek, just the guy I wanted to see." I grinned as I caught up to Derek in the hallway.

"Oh, boy." He sighed.

"Oh, boy?" I raised a brow at him. "What's the for?"

"Well you haven't been talking to me much. Then I found out that you requested to be on my service today and now you seem all excited to see me." He pointed out. "That makes me think you want something. So what is it?"

"Has any ever complimented you on your amazing manners?" I asked sarcastically.

"Beth, hey, I didn't realize you were on Derek's service today." Lexie offered me a smile as she joined us, walking on Derek's right side while I was on his left.

"Technically it's a peds case so why not?" I shrugged as we reached the room, finding a middle-aged woman standing outside the room, looking inside at the boy.

"Dr. Shepherd." She smiled at Derek, shaking his hand once we reached her.

"Ms. Conners, I wanted to let you know that I looked over Wes' scans." Derek informed her. "His neuroblastoma is more complicated than most I've seen. It's very rare that someone his age-"

"They're mostly in younger kids, I know." Ms. Conners cut his short with a nod of her head.

"It's in a very large region of his spine." Derek continued. "There is the very likely risk of paralysis-"

"From his upper body down." She finished for him, glancing through the window at her son. "There's also the risk of death, a death that he is gonna meet in three months anyway if you don't do this surgery. I understand the risks, Dr. Shepherd. The surgeon in- in Boston compared it to dismantling a bomb with your eyes closed, and the one in Chicago said it was patching a dam with gum. You're the ninth surgeon I've talked to. So what I want to know is, are you gonna say anything different, or do I have to take my kid somewhere else?"

"There is only a five percent chance of success. Maybe a little less." Derek told her. "Yes, if you're willing, I'll try. Okay. Should I go tell Wes?"

"Wait. Um..." Ms. Conners stopped him before he could go in Wes' room. "There's something else. He- He doesn't know about his tumor. He's eleven, a young eleven, and knowing that he's very likely gonna die is not something that's gonna do him any good."

"Wh- Why does he think he's here?" I asked.

"A backache. A very bad backache." She admitted.

*~*~*~*

"Fort Ticonderoga is probably my favorite." Wes told us as Derek gave him a checkup. "It's not giant like Gettysburg or famous like the Alamo."

"You feel any pain here, Wes?" Derek asked as he used a little hammer to tap the inside of Wes' elbows.

"A little." Wes shrugged before continuing with what he was talking about. "Still, it was a really important fort. It changed hands a bunch of times in just a few years. Benedict Arnold even fought there."

"He's got a thing about battlefields." Ms. Conners stated the obvious.

"I wish my son was that interested about stuff like that." I chuckled. "He's your age, Wes, but he hates his history class."

"My mom says I get it from my dad. He died when I was two." Wes told us as Derek moved down to his legs. "We've gone to eighteen battlefields in the past year."