EMMAAn hour later, I left Mr. Crew's room, feeling somewhat better than I had when I'd gone in. He wasn't an easy man, that was for sure, but on the other hand, he'd been fighting multiple myeloma for almost four years. He'd been in remission for two years; now, the stem cell transplant that had given him a few years of relative health had to be repeated. He was in the hospital for a clinical drug therapy prior to the next stem cell harvest. The man had been through excruciating pain, crippling illness and fatigue. I couldn't blame him for being tired of more doctors, more questions and more options. Still, he'd opened up enough to listen to me for a while and had seemed amenable to further discussion, once I'd had the time to review his file more thoroughly.Back in the hallway, I wasn't unaware of the eyes that followed me with interest as I wandered toward the staff lounge. The head nurse and I hadn't been exactly circumspect in our disagreement, and if this hospital was lik
EMMAThe humidity wasn't bad today, but it was still muggier than I would've liked. Still, the sun was warm, and there was the slightest breeze keeping me from sweating through my cute little short-sleeved top and pencil skirt.I closed my eyes, lifting my face to the warmth, letting the soft air mend the hurt and upset from this morning. Intentionally relaxing my shoulders, I began the deep-breathing exercises that I knew would help bring me back to center."Is this a private class, or can anyone join?"I jerked up, my eyes flying open. In front of me, nearly blocking the sun, a man was looking down at me. In my surprise, as I squinted at him, I had the fleeting thought that he looked like a god, huge and backlit and impossibly attractive. "Um, what?" Ever the mistress of a snappy comeback, I blinked, trying to take him in.He pointed to me and then waved around the general area. "I figured this had to be a yoga class, right? You were doing that deep-breathing stuff that
EMMAI hadn't paid much attention to my surroundings when I'd driven into Harper Springs early that morning, but now, as I followed my navigation app's directions from the hospital to the piece of land that was my new home, I took the time to check it out. The main street was lined with shops and businesses that gave way to small homes, most of which looked like they were fifty years old or more.My first reaction to the email asking me to consider taking this position had been cautious interest. And then I'd opened up a map on my computer to see exactly where Harper Springs, Florida, was located, and I'd laughed. Why in the world would I leave Philadelphia? Why would I give up an apartment that was within walking distance of restaurants serving five different cuisines, the best grocery stores in the world, and a bustling nightlife? The answer was that I'd never really wanted to live in the city. For years, my dream had been to find a piece of land where I could build my own hom
EMMA"Wow." Jenny stood alongside her car, gazing at my new home. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but her mouth had drooped open slightly. "I know." I slumped back against the side of my sedan. "And if you think the outside is bad, wait'll you open the door. The smell . . ." I shook my head. "It's bad. I think maybe if I open the windows and air it out, it might help some, but there's no question that it's going to take some bleach, too. Lots of bleach." Jenny nodded slowly. "Okay. So . . . we need bleach. And vinegar and baking soda." At my questioning glance, she explained, "It's good for cleaning sinks and showers and toilets. Great for deodorizing, too." She looked back at my car. "It's not furnished, is it?" "Bobby Lucas told me there was a bed, but it's nothing I'm going to sleep on, believe me. I'll haul it out. I'll need a mattress at the very least, and maybe a chair or two . . . but I won't be able to afford much." I threw up my hands. "I sank everything I have into th
EMMA"Well . . . this is better." Jenny stood in my sitting room with her hands on her hips, surveying the trailer. "I mean, with all due respect, it's probably not going to make the cover story of Home and Garden any time soon, but it's kind of cute, actually." I flopped back into the comfy chair we'd found at the thrift store, kicking off my shoes. "It smells better. And it's clean. And . . ." I took a deep breath. "It's mine.""It is, indeed." Jenny's tone left it up to interpretation as far as whether that was a good thing or a bad one. I understood her trepidation. While my little home-on-wheels was better than we'd found it, it was lit by a variety of gas lanterns (from the camping department at Walmart) and kerosene lamps (from the thrift store). My bedroom and sitting room walls were lined with jugs of water I'd bought for drinking, washing dishes . . . and showering. I hadn't been sure how I'd manage basic bathing, but then when we'd been looking for the lanterns at
EMMAI arrived at St. Agnes the next morning, feeling fresher and more myself. If I wasn't a whole new woman, at least I was one who had gotten a solid night's sleep, thanks to hours of hard labor and several glasses of wine. And if my new home had seemed a little less cozy in the harsh morning light than it had by the glow of the lanterns the night before, I was in a better place to square my shoulders and get on with it, even if that meant using the dreaded composting toilet and showering with my new camping equipment. Since the solar panels hadn't had time to work overnight, I cheated and warmed two gallons of water on my stove to use in the shower. The result might not have been the kind of experience I'd have had at a five-star hotel, but it did the job. What I hadn't taken into consideration was that I couldn't use my blow dryer. After a little bit of deliberation, I managed a French braid, which looked neat and efficient even if it wasn't the most flattering style. At
EMMA"You look like you've just run from the devil." A teasing voice came from behind me. "Don't tell me you've been sparring with Mrs. Hoskins again." I glanced over my shoulder, smiling at the slender young woman who was curled on a chaise lounge. Angela Spencer wore a long cotton dress with a huge hoodie over it. She'd told me yesterday that even the softest sweats or yoga pants chafed her back since she'd lost weight over the course of her illness, so she'd defaulted to what she called granny house dresses. From the size of it, I guessed that her hoodie belonged to her husband. "Not so much sparring today." I sat down in the chair across from Angela. "And if you heard about that, I'm guessing your husband tattled on me." She grinned. "I wouldn't call it tattling so much as a full report. He told me that he'd met you on his way in to see me, and he said you were having a rough day." Inwardly, I winced. It was one thing to whine about my troubles to someone like Jenny-o
EMMAI worked about eight hours over that first weekend at St. Agnes, mostly because I was still trying to catch up and become familiar with all of the patients. In addition to those currently on the floor of the oncology wing, we had others who would be coming in for treatment in the future. I wanted to begin establishing some protocol for integrating natural healing into their care plans from the start. And to be honest, being in the air-conditioned corridors of the hospital was a far cry better than melting in the afternoon heat in my trailer. On Sunday afternoon, Jenny called me just as I left St. Agnes and invited me over to swim and eat dinner. I was pathetically grateful for both the company and the chance to be in a real house. The home she was sub-letting from Nico really was gorgeous. I loved the lush backyard, with flowers and deep green plants surrounding the swimming pool. Jenny made us salads with crusty homemade Italian bread and special vegan cookies for dess