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    That Quiet Voice: A Memoir of Hope
    That Quiet Voice: A Memoir of Hope
    That Quiet Voice: A Memoir of Hope
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    That Quiet Voice: A Memoir of Hope

    By Cynthia René Doss

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    About this ebook

    After Cynthia Doss' sister suffers a severe Sickle Cell Anemia crisis sending her into a coma, their family is confronted with the devastating effects of the disease. Days after the two sisters return from an idyllic vacation in the Bahamas, Renatè is rushed to the hospital. Every day presents a new challenge for the medical team. Renatè's lungs fail, her liver fails, her kidneys fail and she has an infection unresponsive to antibiotics. The rollercoaster of events creates a cascade of emotions in Doss as she witnesses her sister's struggle.
    When a nurse tells her Renatè would be able to hear even though she was comatose, Doss begins to talk about their childhood in hopes that some shared memory would trigger a response. All the while, she wonders, had they done something in the Bahamas that exposed her sister to danger? Why did the Sickle Cell Anemia attack so many of her body's systems? How could she possibly face a world without her sister?
    Renatè's illness weighs heavily on her for years. It would be almost a decade before Doss is diagnosed with clinical depression yet she discovers the catalyst for her depression goes back farther in time than her sister's illness. She has to dig much deeper to unearth the true source of her depression.
    Deeply personal and beautifully written, That Quiet Voice: A Memoir of Hope is a testament to the strength of family bonds—especially when tested. It amplifies the whisper in all of us that tells us we are stronger than we think.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateMay 2, 2018
    ISBN9781543934434
    That Quiet Voice: A Memoir of Hope

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      Book preview

      That Quiet Voice - Cynthia René Doss

      PROLOGUE

      Iam standing in the open doorway of an airplane 12,000 feet in the air, ready to jump. I didn’t tell any friends or family my plans in advance. I suspected they would try to talk me out of it. But now I’m thinking: Why are you here? What the hell possessed you to try something so drastic?

      I am not a risk taker. I’ve worked for the same employer for over thirty years, I use double bags to take out the garbage, I never exceed the speed limit on the freeway, and most importantly—I am deathly afraid of heights. Yet, here I stand, ready to jump.

      Cool air brushes softly across my cheeks. The roar of the plane’s engine pounds against my eardrums and the vibration of the plane jerks my body from side to side. I plant my feet at the edge of the doorway to try to steady myself. Greg, my instructor is tethered to my back. My knees are locked beneath me. I hear Greg say, All you need to do is take one step. I’ll do the rest. A cold sweat washes over me. There is a knot in the pit of my stomach. And my mind is racing without perceptible thoughts.

      Don’t be nervous, you can do this, Greg says.

      Suddenly, my mind is clear with the exception of one thought:

      You’ve wanted to do this for months. It’s showtime!

      A surprising calm comes over me. I shake my head, adjust my shoulders and step away from the plane. My quest for answers had begun. In the end, I would learn what compelled me to take such a dramatic step; to risk everything. It began one fateful night seven years earlier.

      THE CALL

      Aloud noise rang in my head. I opened my eyes to a dark room. I assumed the noise was my alarm clock, so I smacked the top of it, knocking it off the nightstand. When the noise didn’t stop, I looked at my backup alarm clock. It was only 3 am, too soon for the alarm to be ringing. Then I realized it was the telephone. I answered in a gruff voice,

      Hello?

      Hey, it’s me. It was my sister, Renatè. Her voice was barely audible.

      Hey, what’s up? I asked, trying to keep a light tone though I knew if she were calling at that hour it was for a serious reason.

      I have sickle cell pain and I’m on my way to the emergency room. I’ll call you tomorrow.

      Renatè had been battling Sickle Cell Anemia (SCA) since she was an infant. In a SCA crisis, normal disk-shaped red blood cells change to the shape of a sickle. The sickle shaped cells carry less oxygen and tend to clog veins, further depriving the body of life sustaining oxygen. The result for the patient is excruciating pain. It is estimated that over 80,000 African Americans suffer from SCA. In the 1960’s when Renatè was diagnosed, most SCA patients didn’t live beyond their 20’s. At age 38, Renatè had beaten the odds.

      I hung up the phone and the dead silence of night confronted me. "How could she be sick?" I thought. We were in the Bahamas on vacation the previous week and she had been fine. She seemed a little tired, but that was what the vacation was for—relaxation. I lay flat on my back, staring up at the florescent stars mounted on my bedroom ceiling. I stared for an hour and tried to occupy my mind with figuring out the constellations. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t escape the dread that was slowly grabbing hold of me.

      Some SCA patients have to be hospitalized to get their pain under control. Renatè hated hospitals. She chose to deal with her condition on her own. She had pain medication and used hot compresses on whatever part of her body the disease attacked. I knew she had to be in bad condition to volunteer to go to a hospital, and that thought haunted me to the point where I finally gave up on the constellations. Instead, I rolled over, covered my face with my pillow, and cried.

      12 HOURS IN HELL

      The next day was torturous. I started calling Renatè as soon as I got to work. I left several messages throughout the morning but got no response. I was an event manager with a wedding reception to oversee that day. I busied myself making sure that the arrangements were perfect, but my pleasant smile masked the growing anxiety I felt inside. While I waited, I tried to go about my duties as if I weren’t faced with impending doom. When afternoon came and I hadn’t heard from Renatè, I decided to take action. Being born two years before her gave me license to go into big sister mode. I was 1,400 miles away, which put me at a disadvantage. It was time to call in the cavalry, so I called the police department where she lived in Wichita, Kansas.

      WPD, this is Officer Barnaby speaking, how may I help you?

      Words flew out of my mouth as if they had been shot from a cannon. My name is Cynthia Doss. I’m calling about my sister Renatè. She called me last night. She said that she was on her way to the emergency room and she’d call me today. It’s been twelve hours and I haven’t heard from her. I’ve called her apartment, but get no answer…I don’t know if she’s sick and can’t answer the phone or if they kept her in the hospital. And directory assistance wouldn’t give me the names of hospitals in Wichita. I’m in California, so I can’t check on her myself. I don’t know what else to do.

      There was a moment of silence.

      Okay, ma’am, just calm down. You say your sister told you she was going to the hospital?

      Yes, she was supposed to call me today but I haven’t heard from her.

      Give me her address. I’ll send a patrol car to her apartment. And if you have a pen handy, I can give you the names of our hospitals. I’ll call you as soon we know more.

      I scribbled the names of the hospitals and thanked him for his help. When I got off the phone, one of the event staff called me over the two-way radio. The bride and groom had arrived. I ran downstairs so that I could assist with their grand entrance into the reception, but my heart was racing so fast that I needed to pause for a moment and compose myself before entering the lobby. We lined up the wedding party; they proceeded inside as the room erupted in applause.

      It was such a joyous day for the wedding couple. The florist had expertly decorated the venue with stunning arrangements. The wedding cake was a tiered marvel trimmed in flowers. Cute little favors designed and made by the bride surrounded the floral arrangements on each guest table. Though I was happy for the couple and their prospect for a bright future, my immediate future was uncertain and shrouded in despair. As soon as the doors shut behind the wedding party, I ran back upstairs to my office to see if they found my sister. I was only there a few minutes when I heard the phone ring.

      Ms. Doss, this is Officer Barnaby. Our officers checked your sister’s apartment. She wasn’t home but they left a message for your sister to call you as soon as possible. I wish I could do more.

      You’ve helped me tremendously, I said. Thank you so much.

      As soon as I finished talking to Officer Barnaby, I started calling the hospitals. None of the three of them had a record of

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