by Olivia Jake
“First time?”
We both nodded.
“Ok then. I’ll walk you through it. We access your port and take some blood.”
Before the poor woman could finish my mom screeched, “More blood?”
The nurse just laughed. “I know, we drain you every damn time. Just think of us as vampires, only not nearly as sexy.” That finally got a smile out of Barb.
“All right, so yes, we’ll be taking your blood each time you come in so that we can monitor all your levels. The chemo can do funny things to you, so we always want a baseline, not to mention other things we’re looking for. Then, after the blood, your first drip is the anti-nausea, and that’s about 15 minutes. Then, it looks like Dr. Rosenberg is pulling out all the stops on you. Lucky lady! You’re getting two of our finest chemos. So after the anti-nausea, then you’ll get the first medicine, and that drip will take about 20 minutes. Then when that one’s done, you get the other, which is another 20 minutes or so.”
As awful as this all was, everyone other than Dr. Rosenberg had been nothing but nice. I appreciated this nurse’s information and her delivery. She talked to us like we were adults.
“And that will be the plan each time?” I asked.
She nodded. “Unless Dr. Rosenberg changes anything, yes.”
“And will we be seeing him today?” my mom asked.
“He’ll be making rounds, walking the floor and will stop by to say hello and answer any questions.”
“Oh good.” My mom seemed pleased we’d be seeing him. I hadn’t even given it much thought. The last time I’d seen him was at the bar, which I’d conveniently forgotten to share with Barb.
“So, if we’re all set, just go ahead and lean back and relax.”
Barb had some sarcastic retort on her lips but she held it. Through all the visits and procedures so far, she was losing patience. We could both recite the questions that every doctor, every nurse asked. All the talk of systems being synched was all marketing b.s. because even though all the information was in her chart, they invariably asked the same questions over and over. It became an inside joke with us, which was a nice relief amidst the crap.
Once the IV was inserted and we were settled, I looked to the woman next to us and caught her eye. We exchanged soft smiles and there was something warm about her. I guessed she was maybe early-to-mid 40s, but again, without hair, eyebrows or eyelashes, it was so hard to tell. She didn’t have anyone sitting in her guest chair and my heart went out to her, that she had to go through this alone. Just then, Dr. Rosenberg came up behind her and her expression changed as she felt his hand on her shoulder and looked up to him. I saw him squeeze her shoulder as they just stared at each other, neither saying a word. The woman’s eyes welled up and Dr. Rosenberg took a deep breath before he squeezed again and then came over to us. It was an odd exchange to watch between doctor and patient.
Before he reached us, he did a bit of a double take when he saw me but regained his composure.
“How are you doing, Barbara?” he asked with what sounded like genuine concern. Gone was the condescending attitude of the previous appointment.
“I’m nervous, scared, uncomfortable.” I guess my mom just reserved her snarky comments for the female nurses, but when Mr. Hot-Doctor asked, it was another story.
“That all sounds about right. But now that we know what it is, we’re going to hit it with everything we’ve got.” He paused, knitting his brows. “I’m a little concerned how jaundiced you are though.” He leaned in and pulled down the bottom of my mother’s eyelids. “You didn’t look like this when I saw you the other week.”
I piped up, “It’s progressed since we last saw you.” I tried to remain as neutral as possible with my language.
“Well why didn’t you come see me sooner?” He asked like we were idiots.
“We’ve had doctor’s appointments every other day for the last month. And, as you so astutely pointed out last time we were here, I’m not a doctor, so I don’t know when a little yellow means go to the doctor versus wait the few days till our next appointment. Perhaps you or one of the other half dozen specialists we’ve seen could have suggested we watch out for this.”
“Stephanie.” My mom scolded. I was so sick of this jackass.
“We’ll get her bilirubin count in a half hour.” He said flatly.
I wasn’t surprised he didn’t reply to my little rant. “And?”
“And then we’ll know whether or not your mother needs a stent to drain her bile duct.”
“Because the tumor is pressing on it?” God, it was like pulling teeth with him.
“Yes.”
“And that’s surgery?”
“Yes, outpatient.”
I nodded and again mentally chastised myself for engaging with him. It upset my mom and wouldn’t change anything.
“I’ll be back in a little bit when I have her blood results.”
“Thank you, doctor.” My mom said, and I knew that tone. She was trying to smooth things over. Once he walked away she turned to me.
“Why do you have to be that way with him?”
“Are you kidding me? We’re the patients! Why is he that way with us, with me?” I was sucking at keeping calm for my mom.
“I’m sorry, let’s not argue. You just relax. I’m going to get some work done.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead and we were back to smiling softly at each other. I think we were both realizing there just wasn’t room for pettiness.
I was so focused on my laptop that when Dr. Rosenberg came back I was startled.
“I’m sorry Barbara, but it looks like we’re going to need to put a stent in you. And we need to do it soon. I’m going to have arrangements made for you to go in tomorrow or at the latest, Friday. It’s outpatient surgery, so if all goes as planned, you’ll be back home the same day.”
Panic took over my mom’s face. I looked up, but before I could say anything, Dr. Rosenberg spoke again.
“My assistant will let you know when they can take you. It’s good that we caught it now, Barbara.” He patted her shoulder, looked at me briefly and then walked away. I couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or upset or what.
Before chemo ended, his assistant, Carleen, let us know that her appointment was set for Friday at the hospital. My head was spinning. One more appointment, one more day off of work, one more thing that could go wrong. Once again, after I dropped Barb off at her house, I found myself driving, not home, but to a bar to hopefully forget some of what happened today and what we had to look forward in the coming days.
****
I chose another hotel bar, this time The Bungalow in Brentwood. I needed the distraction, but didn’t want a meat market. Hotel bars tended to be more upscale and less of the type of place I used to frequent. There were plenty of seats available and I once again tried to focus on anything other than cancer. By the second martini my body relaxed as I scrolled through my emails.
“Hey Stephanie.”
I jumped, spilling some of my drink on my hand as I turned to find Dave laughing a little too loud and hard. Seriously, the universe had to be telling me never to go to a bar again.
“Whoa, didn’t mean to scare ya. Let me buy you a drink.”
“No worries. I’m good.”
He chuckled and put his hand on my shoulder, “Oh, I remember. I know how good you are.” He started idly running his index finger up and down my arm. He was obviously drunk and even though I was a little buzzed, I wasn’t nearly as far gone as he was. I wondered how I could have had sex with him as the feel of his finger going up and down my arm started to annoy me. I shifted away.
“Oh, come on, what happened to that girl I met at the bar? Damn you were hot.” He stepped a little closer so that there couldn’t have been more than a couple inches between us. “You wanted it so bad, you couldn’t even wait.” He reached out again and put his hand possessively on the back of my neck and I stiffened.
“Don’t you remember how good it was?�
�� he leaned in, trying to be sexy but all I was feeling was disgust at myself and at him.
“Actually, no.”
“Come on, I’ll remind you.” his grip on the back of my neck tightened and I pulled back.
“No thanks.”
“Maybe you just need a little incentive.” He stepped closer so that his semi-hard cock was now pressed against my knee.
“Seriously, I’m not interested.” I tried to pull away but he just ground himself in harder as he dug his fingers in deeper. “Ow please, Dave, seriously, I don’t want that.”
“Why are you being such a bitch?” he spat, literally. Little bits of spit hit my face as if his insult weren’t bad enough.
“I don’t think she’s the bitch here.” I heard a familiar firm voice say from behind me.
“Excuse me?” Dave said as he straightened up and puffed out his chest, finally releasing my neck.
“I said, I don’t think she’s the bitch here. So, that would leave you as the bitch in this scenario.” I knew that voice. I still hadn’t turned around. I didn’t need to.
Dave looked at me, and then at the man behind me and backed away. “Fine dude. She’s all yours. Little bit of advice, get a few more drinks in her and she’ll be begging you for it.”
I blushed with embarrassment and wished Dave’s crotch was still pressed up against my knee because I would have pressed back, hard. Dave gave me one last smirk and a wink before he turned and walked away. I couldn’t quite believe my luck or timing. If I’d believed in fate or signs, I’m sure this would have been a big bright shiny blinking neon sign telling me never to set foot in a bar again. I really didn’t want to turn around and face the good doctor, but eventually I would have to. Worse than that, I had to actually thank the smug bastard. But hell, obviously I’d done a lot worse with men the likes of Dave, so a little more pride swallowing wouldn’t kill me.
When I swiveled around and looked up, he wasn’t the ass I’d argued with only a few hours earlier. It was the same look he’d had the last time I saw him in the other bar. There was no arrogance or self-righteousness. He actually looked kind.
“Thank you, Dr. Rosenberg.”
He just shrugged and tilted his head. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at me. This man was big into eye contact, and the way he was looking at me, I couldn’t tell what he was trying to see, but finally, I looked away.
“Hey, Brad, what can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Macallan, thanks Jim.”
“Does every bartender in town know you?”
He sat down and actually smiled a little. “I’m probably giving you the wrong impression.”
“Well after what good old Dave shared, I’m not so sure your impression of me is any better.”
“I don’t listen to jackasses.”
“From what I’ve seen, you don’t listen to most anyone.”
He chuckled. “Well, most people are jackasses, so you’re probably right there.”
“So, just how many bartenders know you on a first name basis?”
“You happen to have chosen the two bars I frequent.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Do I strike you as the type of man who kids?”
I laughed, actually laughed, which made him smile. Not just smirk, but a full on smile.
“No, not at all.”
He took a long sip and then mused, “Good to know my reputation’s still in tact.”
“And that reputation is…?”
He thought for a moment as he looked into his glass of scotch and swirled the amber liquid around before lifting the glass to his lips. He took a deep breath before he answered.
“Whatever it is, it’s well-deserved.”
I could relate.
“You have no one to blame but yourself?” I asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.
“Something like that.”
Emboldened by the alcohol, I asked, “So there is someone else to blame?”
He gave me one of his trademark Dr. Rosenberg stares. “Sometimes, Stephanie, there’s no one, nothing to blame. Sometimes, things just happen. People think if they find out why something happened, it’ll miraculously change the outcome.”
“Yep, your reputation is still in tact.” I said as I turned back to my drink. Just like that he had switched back to condescending ass.
He exhaled loud enough for me to hear. “But to answer your question, yes, I blame myself for a lot of things. There are others to blame too, but I know what I’ve done, where I’ve fucked up. I can’t change that.”
“I hope you’re talking about your personal life and not your professional one.”
The good doctor didn’t like the inference but hell, my mother’s life was literally in his hands. If he’d fucked up in his personal life, what did I care? But if he fucked up with patients, yeah, I cared.
“You strike me as a smart woman. I’m sure you can figure out which I’m talking about.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes as I downed the rest of my drink and signaled the bartender for my bill. I really couldn’t believe that once again, this man was driving me away from a bar.
“History’s repeating itself?”
“You strike me as a smart man, doctor. I’m sure you can figure out the answer to that.”
He chuckled. “Touché.” He seemed amused, by what I wasn’t sure. Perhaps people didn’t typically call him on his shit.
As I reached to grab the bill he put his hand on my forearm, startling me. I tensed to move my arm but he just kept his hand there. I don’t know what it was, his touch? His refusal to let go? Whatever it was, I hated that my body betrayed me, as I felt something deep down inside me. It couldn’t be attraction or desire. Not to him, not to this arrogant jerk.
“You can let go of my arm.”
“I know I can.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“I don’t want to make you leave again.”
“Why, because you so clearly enjoy my company?”
He relaxed his grip and removed his hand. The spot where it was suddenly felt cold. He shrugged and downed the rest of his drink.
“You probably won’t find this hard to believe, but I have a knack of driving people away. It’s one of my many skills.”
I smiled. “One you’ve honed over the years?”
“It takes a lot of practice to be as big of a prick as I am.”
I snorted as I laughed. “Did you really just brag about your size?”
He smiled as he let his eyes drift down and then back up my body. “I don’t need to brag, Stephanie.”
I rolled my eyes and reached again for the bill. This conversation was going nowhere, though I was actually enjoying the sparring. And again he grabbed my arm.
“Dr. Rosenberg.”
“Brad.”
“Dr. Rosenberg.” I repeated and he smiled. I think he enjoyed the sparring too.
“Have a drink with me. Let me fool myself into believing I didn’t drive you away for a second time.”
“No offense, but you’re kind of the reason I came here. Much like the last time I ran into you. I wanted to forget the cancer for a couple of hours.” Before he could give me some depressing speech again, I clarified. “I know it’ll still be there, but I just wanted to pretend for a little while before I go back to reality.”
He nodded. “No offense taken. I get it. If anyone gets it, I do.”
He signaled the bartender and ordered another round for both of us.
“I thought you understood that I wasn’t staying.”
“I understood that you wanted to get away from cancer.” He stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Brad.” He forced a bit of a smile.
I rolled my eyes and shook his hand. I’d lost my fight, and if I were being truly honest with myself, a part of me was enjoying talking or arguing with the good doctor.
“Hi, I’m Steph.”
“It’s nice to meet you Steph.” He paused and I could alm
ost see the wheels turning trying to think of what to say next, but all he came back with was, “Uh, is that short for Stephanie?”
I burst out laughing. “Wow, maybe we should talk about cancer if that’s your witty repartee.”
“I’ve never been one for small talk.”
“You don’t say?”
He shrugged and took a sip of the fresh cocktail in front of him.
“Actually, neither am I.” I took a sip, and then, it must have been the alcohol talking. “In fact, as messed up as some of this conversation has been, I think I’ve talked more here with you than I ever have with any man in a bar.”
“Uh, thank you?”
“My point exactly.”
He laughed and then raised his glass. “To small talk.” I repeated it and we clinked glasses. Then there was silence.
“I think this is the part where we ask each other what we do for a living or talk about sports or…”
His expression changed and became somber. He shook his head and took a moment, like he was warring with himself before he spoke. “How was your mom feeling after today’s session?”
“What? I thought you understood. I thought we just agreed… I don’t want to talk about that.” I huffed.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t sit here and pretend.”
“Well, you didn’t try very hard.” I sounded like a petulant child, but I didn’t care.
“No, I didn’t.” He said almost apologetically. “I just know I can’t.”
“And I can’t either.” I wasn’t going to delay leaving any longer. He could pick up my damn tab again. I grabbed my purse, slid off the stool and once again walked out of the bar because of the good doctor.
As I walked to the bathroom, I chided myself for starting to enjoy sitting and talking with my mother’s oncologist. Even flirting. I’m not sure what the hell I expected from him or from me. I should have known better than to think that people could change just like that, that I could have a nice conversation with someone who could be such a jerk. Then again, there was that other side of him. Who knew, maybe that was what Dave thought of me. Two totally different people.
Lost in thought as I dug through my purse to find my keys I walked straight into Dr. Rosenberg as I came out of the bathroom.