Back to Part 4

And to Think It All Started with a Baseball
by Sammi M.

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"You'll look worse if you just let it keep falling out." Naomi turned sympathetic eyes toward her son and gave him an understanding smile. The hair had been coming out for a while, but because he had so much it hadn't really looked bad. Now, little bald spots were starting to peek through an they both had known it was time. She gently - he bruised so easily now - took his small face into her hand and kissed both of his sallow cheeks. "With hair or not, you'll still be my beautiful boy."

Though he tried to hide it, his little body perked up at the words as he turned to face the big chair. "Well, I guess there's no time like the present." Without any help from the adults, Blair climbed his way into the seat and patiently waited while the barber adjusted the seat to reach him. In his best grown-up voice he intoned, "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done."

The barber stopped his preparations and eyed the woman. "You must have your hands full with him."

"What makes you say that?"

"How many kids his age quote Dickens while getting their heads shaved?"

Naomi chuckled, "How many barbers would know what he quoted?"

"How many adults talk like the kid's not here?"

"Sorry, Baby," she sheepishly grinned. "You're right. We should include you in discussions about you."

"Apology accepted." The boy sat back in the chair and made a face at the little girl in his mother's lap. "You might want to cover her ears. The noise might hurt them."

"I'm glad you thought of that. That's why Schuy thinks you're the best big brother around – you're always looking out for her." She tickled the little girl and they all laughed at her baby giggles. "Isn't that right? 'Brair' always takes care of you."

After the laughter had died down a bit, Blair tilted his head only to have the barber move it straight again. He grimaced and looked towards his mother. "When mine starts growing back, am I gonna have to wear a mini-afro like Schuyler? My hair's just as curly as hers."

"When it does grow back, we'll look at our options, okay?" She grabbed his hand as he jumped with the turning on of the shaver. Raising her voice a bit to be heard. "Don't worry – it won't hurt a bit and it'll be done before you know it."

"I'm not worried; I was just thinking how that must have sounded to the baby. I hate it when she hurts."

*Typical of him to think of someone else when he's afraid.* Tears filled the woman's eyes as she watched what was once beautiful, soft curls fall to the floor. She could see how brave the boy was trying to be, and her heart ached as the small chest rose and fell in fear. Finally, the shaver stopped.

"Well, how bad is it?"

"Not too bad. Different, but not too bad."

That was not the answer he was looking for so he held out his hands for his sister who quickly climbed out of her mother's lap and into his. "What do you think, Schuy? And be honest."

The barber was a little confused at the boy asking the baby a question, but his confusion changed to amazement as the little girl tilted her head and answered, "Smoove. I … like. Look like Sky-Baby."

Blair grinned and ruffled the close-knit curls on the smaller head. "Not anymore. You've got more hair than I do now." Holding the little girl tight, he pushed the chair around – with a little help from the barber – and stared at his reflection in the large mirror. The smile dropped and his breathing increased. "I do look stupid. I don't look like me any more."

"That's not true. You're the same Blair David Sandburg who climbed into that chair. Your hair didn't make you who you are and it won't stop you from being who you're going to be."

Tears rolled down the sad face. "That's easy for you to say; you've got *your* hair."

"Oh, really. Well, there's an easy solution to that." She stood and motioned for him to stand. "Let me over there."

"What?"

"I said let me over there." She took Schuy into her arms as her son dazedly moved out of the chair and into the seat she had just vacated. When he was down, she placed the little girl back in his arms, bringing his hands up to cover her ears, and sat before the barber. "I want it all off."

Now, it was the barber's turn, "What?"

"You heard me. I want it all off just like my son's. If he's going to make a fashion statement, so am I."

The guy held up a long lock of her hair and looked at her through the mirror. "Uh, Ma'am, I don't normally do women's hair."

"You're not going to *do* anything to it. You shave heads, and I want mine shaved. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Whatever you say."

Naomi was worried that Blair's eyes would meet his open mouth as the man set about his business. The boy couldn't believe what he was seeing. *Sweet Baby, don't you know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you?*

It took almost an hour, but finally, there were *two* bald Sandburgs looking at themselves in the mirror. "I can't believe you did it!"

"And, why not? If it's good enough for the gosling, it's good enough for the goose – or something like that."

Schuyler looked from her mother to her brother and back again several times. She reached up and rubbed her tiny hand over both of the smooth heads and announced, "I want!"

"Oh, no, young lady. It took us this long to get you this far. There is no way I'm letting you…"

The small shop rattled with the announcement, "Brair have. You have. I want."

"No!"

Twenty minutes later, *three* Sandburgs admired themselves in the mirror.

The barber tried to contain himself as he shook his head at the sight, but it was a lost cause for him and the rest of the men in the shop. By the time they had themselves under control, Naomi had her children ready to go and was waiting with her purse open to pay the man. "Thank you for taking care of us. How much do I owe you?"

He shook his head again, "Not a thing, Ma'am. I think you've done more for me in this little time than I did for you. So, let's just call it even." Seeing the woman start to reach in anyway, he gently grabbed her hand. "Just keep taking care of your little ones like you're doing and that'll be payment enough."

~ @ ~

Robyn shook her head, "You should have seen the reactions of the staff when they walked in the building. One of the interns helping me with Blair's case almost passed out. It was hilarious!" She thought about it for a minute. "Umm, the reactions, not the hairstyles. The hairstyles were cute. Well, not cute, but…"

Her friend turned to her and rolled her eyes, "I think they get the idea, Rob." Becky listened at the restless sounds coming from the people in the room and made a decision. "Since my schedule has been cleared today, why don't I give you a little background on Tolliver and regale you with more stories. I'm sure you're curious." She stood and stretched. "I'll show you to the Break Room and give you a few minutes and then I'll fill you in about us and what makes our little spot so special."

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Robyn had left to check on a patient, but had promised to re-join them for the tour. She wanted to see the rest of the group's reactions when they saw the Sandburgs' section of the Wall. The little family had been shocked to hear they had their own section, but they accepted it when they found out that all of the survivors had one.

"Okay, we all settled?" Becky made eye contact with everyone and relaxed into her seat. "First things first, a little history about Tolliver. A family that had been disillusioned with hospitals' regimens when dealing with cancer patients founded us in 1970. Stan and Jane Tolliver's daughter, Elizabeth, was diagnosed with CML, Chronic Myelocytic Leukemia, in 1967 and, after numerous stays in various hospitals, died in '68. The Tollivers were understandably upset at their loss, but they were also angry. The doctors and hospitals refused them any input in their daughter's treatment. They were relegated to positions almost comparable to concerned strangers rather than loving parents – and they felt that Elizabeth paid for that with her life. So, they contacted the appropriate people and worked on a charter that embraced what was officially called 'alternative methods of treatment.'"

Simon snorted. "These 'alternative methods' wouldn't get you arrested in most of the fifty states by any chance, would they?"

"Well, some of them might, but we have permission from the government as a licensed and accredited medical facility." She smiled. "But, that's not what the Tollivers were really looking for. They wanted a place set up so that family and friends would have a chance to be there for their loved ones in every aspect of their treatment. They wanted someplace where the beliefs of the individual and their families could be incorporated into the healing process. They didn't want another family to have to live with what they had to face and TORC was their way of getting their message across.

"It started off as a small sixty-bed facility connected to a small housing unit that could house ten families. They were able to pull a team of seventeen excellent doctors in the oncology field together and some of the best nurses, techs and other specialists in. They also hired two religion experts and a small team of counsellors.

"Word spread like wildfire and before they knew it, the facility was filled with a waiting list. The Tollivers then turned things over to a Board of Trustees with a hefty sum to cover things for a while and set off to make a good life for the rest of their children. TORC thrived and grew and now boasts a five hundred-bed hospital – private and semi-private rooms, housing on and off the grounds for up to one hundred and fifty families, still some of the best doctors, nurses and techs in the field, full research and counselling staffs, a bank of lawyers that specialise in federal assistance and medical rights, an alternative and holistic healing department and a world religions department that several universities and colleges supply interns for."

Rafe was impressed. "So, how do you fund all of this?"

"Grants, mostly and then private funds and investments. We don't accept payment from the families of the patients unless they've been shown to make a certain amount over a designated income level."

"What's your success rate?"

"We're at about 57%."

"That's pretty good," Joel reasoned. "Are you strictly alternative treatments or do you use conventional methods as well?"

"We use both in the treatments unless the patient and family prefers a different arrangement."

"So, if this is so good, why don't other hospitals adopt the methods?"

"The All-American dollar. With the way health care is structured today, most places are looking at methods to save money rather than the patients and for those facilities that do put the patients first, they don't have the funds to implement a program like this. Then you add in a few doctors who don't want to share the glory of remission with say a vial of holy water sprinkled daily in a patient's food or something as simple as the mind overcoming the disease and you have a lot more reasons why this isn't popular. There are a few others out there like us, but not many."

Jim shook his head. "That isn't right. The primary concern should be making people well, not how much money you can make or how much glory you can garner."

Sympathetic. "Welcome to the world of the bottom line."

He took a deep breath. This was hard for the Sentinel to accept because it went against everything that he considered right. *Ultimately, aren't people's lives worth more than a financial statement or recognition?* His mind might have continued in this direction if Blair hadn't placed his hand on his arm and smiled at him with understanding. That simple gesture was enough to bring him back from the frustration of not being able to do more. He looked at his friend and thanked any and all of the deities that his partner had found this place. "So, what's the deal on the Sandburgs?"

Now, it was Naomi's turn. "After the debacle with Dr. Frasier, I didn't feel comfortable with that hospital. It was pointed out to me by more than one doctor and administrator that Schuy's being allowed to visit her brother so much was a *very* special arrangement. That really angered me because I knew, and Dr. Nelson had known, that Blair was going to need both of us to get through this. So, I started researching options and I sent out feelers through my friends until one day somebody told me about Tolliver.

"Bren and I checked out everything we could about the place and we liked what we saw. The only problem was the waiting list. She helped me apply and then we waited." Frowning slightly. "It took about four months before we were accepted and during that time Blair seemed to get worse. Some other families had protested Schuy being allowed in to see him, so we were told she couldn't. As soon as I had our acceptance and space assignments in my hands, I went to the doctor in charge of Blair's treatment, told him to prepare my son for travel and then, in no uncertain terms, told him what he could do with his rules and regulations."

Simon was admiring Naomi more and more and he wasn't afraid to say it. "You were and are definitely some kind of woman." He winked, "And I'm sure that hospital never forgot you."

"Good cause I never forgot them. They just didn't know who they were dealing with."

A few chuckles filled the air as everyone silently agreed with her. The story about the doctor had slowly made its rounds and they knew Mama Sandburg was a force to be reckoned with.

Becky picked up the story. "Now, I had been working here as a summer counsellor at the camp since I was sixteen, so it was natural for me to continue in various lower positions during college. The summer right before I was set to enter my masters program found me interning in the Counselling Centre and I suddenly found what I wanted to do with my life.

"The Sandburgs showed up a month after I had graduated and accepted a full-time junior counselling position. The rest of the staff decided that I would take on his case and work with him while he was a patient.

"Naomi and the kids had been assigned an apartment off-grounds with the promise that as soon as we had an opening, they would move here. I met with her and Schuy to see if there was anything I needed to do to help them get settled and she warned me this wasn't going to be easy with Blair because the illness had caused his trust of people to waver. I thanked her for her input and started thinking of ways I could get next to the kid without scaring him. Because I'd read his file and knew how smart he was, I knew it wasn't going to be easy … and I was right."

~ @ ~

He startled a bit when a voice called out, "Come on back; I'm in the kitchen."

The boy frowned at the nonchalant tone and followed the noises of pots and pans banging against each other. As he entered the room, the noises stopped and an apron mysteriously wrapped itself around him. "Hey! What's this?"

"This," the barefooted, jeaned woman answered as she finished tying the wrap around the tiny body, "Is a cooking session."

"Why?"

"Because one of the boys on your ward schedule has a birthday coming up and I promised him a cake - a home-made cake to be exact."

"And this involves me how? I just got here; I don't know him."

"Doesn't matter," she answered as she pulled out the various ingredients. "For the next two hours you're mine and we're baking."

"Do your bosses know this how you spend your counselling time?"

"Lemme ask you something. Do you want to be counselled?"

"I've already done this kind of thing. My mom's a big believer in it, so I already know everything you're going to say."

"Well, since you know what I'm going to say, then what's the point of me saying it? Why can't we spend our time doing something for someone else?"

The logic behind the question really appealed to Blair. He liked the way the woman thought. "What's your name?"

She held out her hand as seriously as she would have to an adult. "Becky Chandler. I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Sandburg."

He shook her hand equally as serious. "Call me Blair – everybody does." Looking around. "So what's his deal and why are you doing this?"

"His deal is he has ALL as well and his last batch of chemo treatments left him pretty sick and his birthday is tomorrow. I felt bad because he was already down, so I volunteered us."

"Is he short-term or long-term?"

"I don't understand."

Blair moved a chair over to the island where the ingredients were and climbed up on it. "At the old hospital, the rest of the kids on the floor had a system so you could be prepared. You were either labelled long-term meaning your friendship could last a long lifetime or short-term meaning enjoy the time you have." His wise eyes locked into hers. "Is he long or short?"

Becky was shaken by the child's intensity, but she hid it well. "Does it matter?"

He shrugged. "Not to me. If I like him, I don't care how long he's got; I'll be there. I just want to know if we should go all out and give him the triple-chocolate-I-may-die-but-at-least-I'm-happy cake or if we just do the regular kind."

"I think he'd really like … the first one." She cleared her throat. "But, I don't know how to make something like that."

A solemn look had crossed the small features as he stared at the materials in front of him. "My mom used to make it for special occasions and sometimes I'd help. All you're missing is some Caro™ Syrup. Got any?"

"Sure do. When I took a trip down South, I got hooked on this stuff and so now I have a friend who sends it to me." She pulled the bottle out of the cabinet. "Is there anything else?"

"Nope. This should be enough."

Together, they set about making the cake. With the exception of a small flour incident, – small only because the body that was involved in getting covered in the stuff was - the treat quickly found itself safely ensconced in the oven.

The contented bakers drifted to the sofa with the messy bowls, spoons and mixer rotors and sat, not caring about the mess. "I really appreciate your help. Max is really going to enjoy his cake."

"Good." He was silent for a minute while he licked the chocolate off of the stuff in front of him. "Becky, don't you want to know how I feel about being sick?"

"I thought we had agreed you didn't want to go over that."

"No. We agreed I'd already done that kind of thing and I didn't want to be counselled. I didn't say we couldn't talk."

"Is that what you want to do now … at least until the cake's ready to be frosted?"

"I think so. I don't think you'd try to do me like the others. They told Mom all sorts of things were going through my mind and I hadn't thought about any of that stuff. They needed more counselling than I did."

She laughed. "You're probably right." Settling him closer to her. "So, talk to me."

"Would you think I was coward if I said I was scared?"

"Not at all. If I had something like this in my life, I'd be pretty terrified." She smiled. "But, I don't believe you're really scared; you don't look it."

"I can't. Mom cries enough as it is and if she knew I was afraid, she'd cry more."

"But, Blair that's what loving Moms do. They hurt because their children hurt. It's their way of saying how important their kids are in their lives."

"I guess, but I still don't like it. She's so pretty when she's happy and smiling and that makes me feel better. If I told her I was scared, all of that would go away."

Shaking her head. "I don't think so. She's just as scared as you and if you told her how you felt, you and she would be able to work through it together."

"You think?"

"I know. You're both so strong there's no way a little thing like fear would mess you up." She gave him a hug, which he messily returned. "Are you afraid of dying and what happens when you die?"

"Not really. All of my aunts and uncles have told me different stories of what happens and what's waiting for you on the other side. They never sounded sad or scared and they always seemed peaceful when they talked, so I know it can't be too bad. I told Schuy it was probably like going to sleep and waking up to a beautiful new world with no pain or monsters and all your favourite foods and toys and games."

"That's a pretty good way of looking at it." Becky thought about the smart child beside her and pulled him closer. "So, if that doesn't scare you, what does?"

"I just don't want to leave Mom and Schuyler alone. They need me and I don't know what they'd do if I wasn't here. I take care of them and if I were gone, who'd make sure they were okay?"

~ @ ~

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Sammi