By now, Lenny Lockhart could close both her eyes and describe in perfect detail every piece of furniture, machine, and window in the chemotherapy room at Radcliffe Receiving Hospital. The pale cream walls, the cold, sterile machines that beeped and clicked rhythmically and the window offering one of the most undesirable views of the rural Kentucky landscape had all become painfully familiar. As a patient battling acute myeloid leukemia, Lenny had grown accustomed to coming here every week. The treatments, though life-prolonging, had left her feeling as though time had frozen within this room.

 

At twenty-something, Lenny now sported a smooth, buzzed head, her once-long blonde hair gone after her grandmother had taken a razor to it, shaving it clean when chemotherapy began to take its toll. It was a moment of reclaiming control, a decision Lenny made before her hair could completely fall out in clumps. Now, she sat in the chair, a thin blanket draped across her legs, receiving her weekly treatment in the otherwise empty room.

 

Beside her, her mother, Louise Saunders Lockhart, sat in silent support, occasionally glancing at the flatscreen TV mounted on the wall. The local news was airing a heartwarming story about a kid in Hudson Lake who had performed the Heimlich maneuver on his grandfather, saving the elderly man’s life. Louise’s eyes shifted between the TV and her phone, handling some business for the farm, her expression a mixture of calm and quiet concern. 

 

Louise glances at her daughter with concern etched across her face. "How are you feeling? And be honest with me, okay?" she asks softly. 

 

Though she knows Lenny must be tired of hearing the same question over and over again, 

 

Lenny shakes her head, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "I’m tired, but I just keep hoping I won’t have to do this forever."

 

Louise opens her mouth to offer some comfort, her words already forming, but before she can speak, the door swings open.

 

In walks Dr. Ike Saddleman, Lenny's oncologist. His towering frame fills the room. A black man in his 60s with salt-and-pepper hair in his white doctor’s coat covers a soft rust-colored cashmere sweater, and he wears dark slacks with his hospital badge clipped to his chest.

 

"Good afternoon, Lynn, Louise," he greets, his voice warm but serious, as he strides over to the chair, clipboard in hand. Both women tense slightly, knowing this visit isn’t just routine.

 

"I have the results of the donor test," Dr. Saddleman informs them, his voice calm but carrying the weight of what’s to come.

 

Louise instinctively tightens her grip on Lenny’s hand, her heart racing as she looks at her daughter, who seems to hold her breath. Lenny’s face remains composed, but there’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes even as she tries to brace herself for the news.

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Dr. Saddleman sighs softly before delivering the news. "Neither you, Sean, nor Tanner are matches," he says, his voice steady but gentle. The words hit both women like a punch to the gut. Louise's eyes widen in disbelief, her mind racing.

 

Dr. Saddleman sighs softly before delivering the news. "Neither you, Sean, nor Tanner are matches," he says, his voice steady but gentle.

 

“How could my parents or Tanner, my twin sister, not be matches?” Lenny asks, her voice laced with disbelief.

 

Louise sighs softly, sharing in her daughter’s frustration.

 

The words hit both women like a punch to the gut. Louise's eyes widen in disbelief, her mind racing.

 

Seeing their disappointed reactions, Dr. Saddleman quickly explains,

 

"Sometimes, a match isn't found within immediate family." His voice is calm, and though the news is frustrating, he reassures them, "We’re still waiting for more of your family to be tested and there is always the donor list. So, try not to worry, which I know isn't the easiest thing not to do." 

 

With that, Dr. Saddleman gives them a final nod before making his way out, leaving the room filled with the quiet hum of machines.

 

Louise, feeling her daughter’s despair, moves closer and wraps Lenny in a tight embrace, the way she used to when Lenny was a little girl, scared of the monsters under her bed. "Hey, hey..." Louise whispers, stroking Lenny’s head softly. "We’ll find someone. I promise you. It’s not over. You’re going to get through this."

 

Lenny rests her head on her mother’s shoulder, allowing herself to feel vulnerable for a moment. Though the fear lingers, her mother’s embrace brings her a small measure of comfort, like it always had.

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