The Greatest Evil

Delvecchios, particularly at this point, she came in a distant third.

It wasn’t fair! That she knew. But her day would come. Would it ever!

This was still the era, especially in parochial schools, when young ladies (at least those with no thought whatsoever of entering the convent) were pointed at the vocation of finding a man, having his babies, and answering to the sublime name of homemaker.

Lucy had paid close attention when the nuns spelled all this out-with, nonetheless, of course, a word or two on religious vocations. Realistically, the nuns knew that, of the two life vehicles, wife and mother would draw far more applicants than the religious calling.

Lucy, early on, had set her sights on the medical profession. It mattered not that there were precious few female MDs. Determination was Lucy’s middle name. Had the priesthood been her goal, it would not have mattered that her Church did not ordain women. But Lucy didn’t crave ordination. One priest in the family seemed enough. Of course, if she were offered an immediate bishopric …

Things were rolling for the Delvecchios.

But more and more Louise was able to participate in the fulfillment of her children less and less.

There was a nagging pain that would neither be relieved nor identified. With some frequency, she visited the physician who had treated the family for many years.

Lucy, mostly because she was the only child still living at home, was the only one who knew-or at least had some glimmer, since Louise did her best to mask her condition.

Lucy urged her mother to seek other medical opinions. “After all, Mother, things have changed since scalpels replaced leeches.”

“Don’t be disrespectful, Lucy. Don’t forget: Dr. Schmidt brought you into this world!”

Actually, Dr. Schmidt agreed with Lucy. It was he who sent Louise to a series of specialists. One of whom called Dr. Schmidt. “Werner, I got Mrs. Delvecchio’s biopsy.”

“And …?”

“It’s bad. Doesn’t get much worse. Pancreatic cancer.”

“I feared as much. I don’t suppose we’re in time to save her.”

“It’s inoperable, Werner. Sorry, old man. I don’t envy you now-or her.”

“Nor do I.”

Schmidt phoned Louise, told her he had news that was not so good, and asked if it would be possible to gather the family to discuss the options.

12

Lucy was home, but Tony was in Kalamazoo and Vincent was in Plymouth. Louise would try to gather the tribe. Would tomorrow morning at ten be all right?

Ten would be as good as any other time.

Lucy wasted no time. She got her mother to lie down. Now Louise was fighting whatever was wrong with her and, additionally, the worry over her children. Lucy would contact her brothers. Mother was not to be concerned.

Vincent and Tony were shocked. They knew their mother had not been well. But not being on the scene, they’d had no clue how serious her condition was. To obviate any possible excuses, Lucy painted the situation to be as bleak as her imagination would permit. Even so, she could not match the hopelessness of reality.

Only Vincent encountered resistance to his request to leave immediately for home. In the face of his insistence, however, the rector had to admit that Delvecchio had already proven his “manhood” sufficiently. And if any student could afford to miss classes, it surely was Vincent Delvecchio.

And so, at ten the next morning, all assembled in the Delvecchio living room: Louise, Dr. Schmidt, Vincent, Anthony, and Lucy, as well as Father Koesler, whom Louise had contacted.

To the hushed and increasingly dismayed group, the doctor explained how difficult it was to diagnose cancer of the pancreas. He was not exculpating himself, but merely spoke the truth: As advanced as the diagnostic tools were, as brilliant and capable as the specialist was, the condition was very good at hiding itself.

The diagnosis was bad news, the prognosis even worse: Two to five months. It could be longer … but yes, in all frankness, it could be sooner.

Dr. Schmidt explained the only option that current medical science had to offer: radiation therapy. He explained further that it was not much of an option: It would intensify debilitation, while offering practically no possibility of even minimal effectiveness.

Louise, brow furrowed, was thoroughly confused. The decision clearly was hers. But there was no marked path in this maze.

Bewildered, in distress, she looked slowly around the intent circle. “What …? What …?”

Finally, in the absence of any other response, Koesler spoke. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “if you shouldn’t consider radiation. It seems the only choice to me,” he added after a moment. “If we do nothing … inevitably it’s the end.” For the first time in his life he shied from the word “death.”

Tony broke the brief silence. “I’m with Father. It’s the only shot we’ve got. I say we take it.” Ever the athlete, Tony could not imagine his body betraying him. It didn’t matter what injury had been sustained. An hour or more in the whirlpool bath could do wonders. Or a temporary brace. Or a massage. Or something. Sports medicine was forever coming up with novel splints, supports, methods of taping. In the brief experience of this resilient, powerful, young-and emphasize the young-man, the body could come back from anything. The body would never fail if you gave it a modicum of care. Tony never thought of death. It was there, of course, but he didn’t consider it.

Two votes were in: Koesler and Tony both favored the therapy.

Vince looked as if he were in a decisionary limbo. The news of his mother’s seemingly fatal illness had rocked Vinnie to his core. He couldn’t think beyond this moment, let alone recommend a course to take.

One voice, though small, sounded loudly. “No!” Lucy insisted. “I’ve read about radiation therapy. It’s worse than the sickness-well, maybe not worse: It doesn’t kill you; it just makes you wish you were dead. If you want, I’ll tell you what the side effects of this treatment are. Then let’s see how you vote!”

Everyone looked at this young woman still in high school. No doubt about it, she would become a force to be reckoned with.

“Doctor”-she turned to Schmidt-“you said it was possible-possible-that radiation might help contain or even put a cancer in remission. Does that include pancreatic cancer?”

The doctor slowly shook his head.

Lucy turned to face the others. “Tony … Father …” Her tone turned apologetic as if she should not dare correct a priest. “Think of what you’re recommending. This has hit us like a ton of lead. We can’t just pop off. We’re grasping at a straw that’s not attached to anything. With this therapy we’re condemning Mama to months of added sickness and pain while the statistics tell us it’s all for nothing.”

“I know,” Koesler said, “that I’m not a member of this family-”

“You might just as well be,” Lucy interjected.

“Thanks.” Koesler nodded. “I don’t really feel I’m entitled to a vote. But … on thinking it over, I have to agree with Lucy. She’s focusing on quality of life …” He hesitated, then said firmly, “Louise, depending on how important it is to you, this radiation doesn’t promise you much of any quality of life.”

“Wait a minute!” Tony’s tone was challenging. “We can’t give up! If Ma doesn’t get this treatment, it’s … curtains. She’ll be dead! That’s for sure, isn’t it, Doc?”

“I’m afraid so,” Schmidt said.

“Well, maybe I haven’t been around as long as some of you people,” Tony said, “but I’ve learned one thing: If you don’t compete you can’t win. If Ma doesn’t take the treatment, she isn’t competing … she hasn’t got a chance!”

Lucy looked at the doctor. “Please … be very realistic. We aren’t asking you to play God. But you know more about this than we do. You’ve had experience with pancreatic cancer when the patient chose radiation. What’s it like?”