The Art of Breathing

by Janie DeVos

  I had forced myself to eat the little I’d consumed. I knew that part of the reason for my lack of appetite was a result of the tuberculosis itself. That was a common symptom. But I also knew that I wasn’t hungry because I was emotionally devastated that my life had taken such a horrible turn.

  Two days ago, when we returned from the mobile clinic, we found Mama waiting on the porch for us. Hurrying down the steps the moment she saw us turn onto the road to the orchard, she barely allowed the truck to come to a complete stop before she opened the passenger door and pulled me to her. Her words were meant to be comforting and reassuring, but her trembling body gave away her true emotions. She’d been told the news as soon as we’d left the clinic when Daddy called her from a pay phone just down the street. I knew I couldn’t talk to her without breaking down, so I’d asked Daddy to call her while Aunt Harriet and I walked across the street to the town square to find a quiet place to sit down.

  I had decided to call Geoffrey later. There was no reason to call him as soon as I left the clinic because he didn’t know I was there to begin with. There had been no reason to upset him until I knew what was what. Now that I did know, though, I needed time to digest the news before I tried to calmly explain to my husband that the life we had created for ourselves had been completely altered. I would call him after supper, I decided.

  The worst part of all, however, would be telling Donnie. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew it would have to be right away because my son would quickly realize something was wrong with me. We were connected; connected in a way that continued long after the umbilical cord had been severed. And, though he was so young, he was amazingly sensitive, as well as intuitive.

  “I’m not going to ask you if you’re all right,” my aunt said as soon as we sat down on a bench in the cool shade of an enormous oak tree, “because none of us are at the moment. But, Kate, you’re going to be all right. You’ve got a lot of factors going for you, and you’ll get through this.”

  “What factors do I have going for me? Seems like I had all the right factors to get me to this point!” I was angry, but more than that, I was petrified. “And what if Donnie is sick, too? I gave life to that child! Am I going to be the one to take it away? And what’s the likelihood of Geoffrey being sick because of me, and Mama and Daddy, too! And what about you, Aunt Harriet?”

  “Kate, the chances are great that none of us will ever get this disease. We’ve talked about this. Your family is going to be fine, but right now, we need to discuss the best course of action for you.”

  She gently tucked a wayward lock of my hair behind my ear. I’d worn it down and some strands had escaped one of the tortoise shell barrettes that I had clipped above each ear. Her gentle, loving gesture cracked my resolve to hold myself together. Bowing my head, with my chin resting on my chest, I began to softly cry, and a moment later, the sound had another layer added to it. My aunt’s façade of professionalism and bravado had finally crumbled and she was crying with me. Reaching over, I grasped her hand, and together our tears washed away all vestiges of hope that I would go home after leaving the doctor’s office to live my normal life. Now, I just prayed that I would live.

  Aunt Harriet pulled a handkerchief from her purse and offered it to me, but seeing that I had one, she wiped away the wetness on her own face, blew her nose, and cleared her congested throat. “We need to discuss some of these hospitals on the list that Dr. Black gave us. There are several here that I think are excellent. Do you want to wait till we’re back home, so your folks can discuss this with us? Or maybe you’d just like to discuss it with Geoffrey. I don’t mean to rush you on this, but, well, it’s . . .”

  “Urgent, like the doctor said,” I finished for her.

  “Yes, honey, it is. There’s no getting around that. I looked the list over, like I said, and there’s the Western North Carolina Sanatorium. That’s in Black Mountain. That’s a good one. And there’s Oteen Hospital, in Swannanoa. Both of those are just outside of Asheville. But there’s also Pelham State Hospital. Before you look at me like I’m as crazy as some of the patients there, you have to consider the fact that we have some of the best doctors in the state and some that are extremely experienced with treating tuberculosis, because Pelham used to be strictly a tuberculosis sanatorium. It’s also a little closer to Cabot.

  “The housing for sound-minded TB patients is separate from the other patients’ housing. In other words, Kate, you wouldn’t be in the same ward with folks who have schizophrenia, for example, even if they have tuberculosis, too. And I work there, honey, so you’ll have family around you. I can see you most every day of the week. I know those doctors well, and I know how talented and skilled they are. You’d be in the best of hands . . .”

  “Call Pelham, please. See if they’ll take me. I don’t need to think too long and hard about it. I just want to be as close to my home and family as possible. Geoffrey can bring Donnie to see me. They’ll only be about an hour and a half away. And you’ll be there. That’d be really good. I want to be able to talk to someone who will be honest about what’s happening, and I know you will be. I don’t ever want anything withheld from me ’cause folks are worried it’ll just upset me. I just want to be told the truth. Every day. And if that means telling me that nothing more can be done, that I won’t get well, then I need to know that, too. And I’m going to count on you to do that for me; to always be honest. You will be, all the time, no matter what, right?” I grabbed her hand and held it hard, desperately. I needed to hear her promise me that.

  She turned her body toward me and looked me straight in the eyes. “I swear to you that I will always tell you the truth, no matter what. God is my witness.”

  “Then call for me, please.” There needed to be no further discussion. The decision was made.

  Mama, like Aunt Harriet, had been amazingly strong and encouraging. Though she was torn up on the inside, on the outside she remained strong. My wonderful glass-half-full mother was supportive of my decision to go to Pelham, even though it was well over two hours away, and promised she’d come see me often. Of monumental importance was the fact that she immediately suggested Donnie stay with them in Howling Cut for a while. He wouldn’t be starting first grade until the fall, and with Geoffrey away at work all day, it seemed like the perfect solution for everyone. However, Geoffrey might be more difficult to persuade.

  I called him after supper. Mama and Daddy offered to take Donnie into town and buy him ice cream so that I’d have privacy and plenty of time to talk with Geoffrey, and as soon as they disappeared down the road, I dialed my home phone. A straight-back chair sat against the wall by the telephone table, but just as I had done when I was a teenager, I sat on the floor, with my back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of me. After only two rings, Geoffrey picked up. I suspected he’d just walked in the door from work, which made it an early night for him. The busier he got, the later he came in from work, it seemed. I didn’t mind that so much, but when it was obvious he’d had quite a bit to drink, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of business was taking place, and I sometimes asked him about it. This was Cabot, he was quick to remind me, where wining and dining clients was all part of cementing a deal and building relationships. Not like Howling Cut, where business was conducted in someone’s field, kitchen, or barn, and a deal was finalized with the passing of a mason jar of moonshine. In all honesty, I couldn’t argue his point but still, his late nights made me uneasy.

  “Are you exhausted from the wedding and all its festivities? I was going to call you in a little bit to see how everything went. What’d Prescott and his new wife think about that shivaree business?” He laughed.

  I realized that I’d wound the telephone cord tightly around my finger. It was a habit I’d had ever since I was big enough to use the phone. But I was so on edge that I’d wound it to the point of cutting off my circulation. Unwinding it, I answered Geoffrey’s question. “Everything went well. I believe a good time was had by all.” I was
trying to keep my voice light. “Uncle Prescott and Glory seemed thrilled with it all . . . well, all but the shivaree.” I couldn’t help but laugh and it felt good. More importantly, though, it was reassuring that a part of the old me was still there, buoying my strength and enabling me to move on to the dire matter at hand. “Geoffrey, something’s happened that I need to talk to you about.”

  “What? What’s happened?! Are you all right? Is it Donnie?” He sounded scared.

  “Donnie’s fine. Really. He’s fine. It’s not him. Geoffrey, I . . . I went to see a doctor in Flat Top this morning. You see, I’ve had this cough, which hasn’t gone away . . . and it’s . . .” I just had to say it. “I have tuberculosis, Geoffrey.”

  There was stunned silence for a moment, followed by an almost inaudible, “Oh, my God.” Then more silence.

  “I’m sorry, Geoffrey. I . . .” It was taking everything I had not to start crying again. I needed to be strong; for him, for me, but mainly for our son.

  “For God’s sake, Kathryn, don’t apologize! That’s ridiculous! It’s not like you wanted to get . . . How . . . how is it possible you contracted this? It’s not like it used to be, where a lot of people had it. It’s not like that anymore. How’d this happen?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been exposed to someone, somewhere, obviously. People still get it, you know. It’s just not as prevalent as it used to be. The doctor thinks this had something to do with the fact that I had scarlet fever when I was a young girl. The doctor says my immune system, and certainly my lungs, possibly even my heart, were affected. The fever left me pretty susceptible to anything that’s contagious.”

  “Kathryn, I’ll come and get you and Donnie tomorrow. Oh, my God! What about Donnie? He’s been exposed . . .”

  “It’s unlikely he’ll become sick. Most healthy people don’t actually come down with the disease, even though they’ve been exposed to it. There’s a vaccine that can be given to Donnie, too, just to be sure. We’ll have to have him screened, and you’ll need to be, as well. Everyone in the family . . .” There was only silence for several seconds. I wondered if it had just hit my husband that he could be infected, too.

  “I’ll call Ed McNally as soon as we hang up.” He was our family doctor, as well as Geoffrey’s tennis partner. “I’ll talk to him about Donnie and me being screened. And he’ll know where we should send you for the best care. You’ll go to a private facility, of course, even if it’s out of state. I’m sure Ed can get you into any of them. You’ve got to go where the highest level of care is provided.”

  “I’m not going out of state, Geoffrey. I want to stay as close to home as possible. I’ve already decided to go to Pelham. It’s close by and Aunt Harri—”

  “Pelham! Pelham, as in Pelham State Hospital? Have you lost your mind, Kathryn?”

  “No, Geoffrey, I haven’t. And I won’t be with any of the folks who have.” I halfheartedly smiled. “I’ll be in a separate housing unit and I’ll be able—”

  He cut me off again. “I absolutely forbid it. You will not go to Pelham. I’ll be damned if my wife is going to an insane asylum.”

  “This is a choice I need to make, Geoffrey.” My voice was calm, neutral. “Please, the last thing I need for you to do is fight me on this. I need every bit of strength I’ve got to fight my illness. Please, let me do what I need to do for myself without there being any arguing involved. I want to go where I have family, and Aunt Harriet’s a nurse there. I want to be where it’s easy for my family to visit. Please, let me make this decision for myself.”

  “I’m at a complete loss for words, Kathryn. When you could have the best care, the most comfortable, private care. I just don’t understand you. I just don’t know what to say other than I’m absolutely against you doing this.”

  “Then don’t say anything other than that you’ll be there for me, even if ‘there’ is not somewhere you’d choose.”

  But at that moment, Geoffrey couldn’t say anything. At first, I could barely make out what it was that I was hearing. It sounded like a cross between choking and gasping for air. But then the sound increased, and I suddenly realized that my husband, whose behavior was always controlled and correct, had reached a breaking point that everyone has, no matter how restrained one’s behavior may usually be. For the first time since I’d met the chivalrous, handsome blond-haired man on a winter’s night at the Woolworth’s five and dime in Durham, I heard something that I never thought I would: I heard my husband crying.

  It took a few moments for him to regain his normal composure, and until he did, I talked softy to him, reassuring him that I would—we would—get through this terrible time as a family, and be stronger and closer because of it. Though I didn’t tell Geoffrey, I’d never felt closer to him than I did at that moment, sitting in the hallway of my childhood home, listening to him cry. He was letting me in, all the way. And though I knew that Geoffrey possessed a deeply hidden sensitivity, it was only on the rarest of occasions that he’d let me, much less anyone else, see that vulnerable side of him. It seemed to scare him to do so, and I wondered if he was afraid that it could be used against him in some way.

  I didn’t know why, but I had my suspicions that it grew out of his father’s great demands and expectations of him; and those included the career path Geoffrey was expected to follow and his comportment as he did. What I did know, though, was that the vulnerable side of him was beautiful in its softness, and it was one of the reasons that I’d fallen in love with him. When Geoffrey was able to talk again, we did so using gentle and supportive words that buoyed both of our spirits. I was grateful we could share some time like that. We both needed reassuring, and we talked on for awhile, even when everyone got back from town. Mama wouldn’t let Donnie interrupt me, but immediately took him upstairs for a bath then Daddy read him to sleep. My son didn’t mind; he adored his grandparents, and though this was the first time that he’d spent any length of time with them, a deep bond had quickly formed.

  I’d often thought it was a shame that my parents weren’t the ones who lived in Cabot. Donnie’s relationship with Geoffrey’s parents was not a close one. They were too formal and prickly for a little boy to cozy up to. With so many hearts breaking in just one day’s time, it did my spirits good to see how agreeable Donnie was in allowing Mama and Daddy to do those things for him that I normally did. He felt secure with my parents, and I could certainly understand why. There had not been a day of my childhood, or my adulthood, for that matter, when I did not feel absolutely safe, well cared for, and deeply loved by them. Now, considering the fact that there were many unknowns lying ahead for all of us, I was never more grateful that these two amazing people were my parents, and my son’s grandparents.

  Fortunately, Geoffrey listened patiently to my feelings and misgivings about taking Donnie back to Cabot at that time, and saw the logic in his staying in Howling Cut through the summer. I hoped and prayed, however, that I would recover long before the summer ended and that we would all be in our respective homes when the autumn winds blew, picking up the pieces of our lives from where they had been so abruptly interrupted in the early spring.

  The morning after I was diagnosed, I took Donnie to my favorite swimming hole. The weather was barely warm enough for even the bravest of souls, but I’d learned as a kid that no matter how frigid the water was, if you stretched out on the giant sun-warmed boulder that we jumped off, you could warm up in no time. As a matter of fact, it was quite exhilarating to go from one temperature extreme to the other.

  I told Donnie about being sick after we’d been swimming for just a short while. My stamina wouldn’t allow for more than a few minutes of splashing around, and I’d stayed in the shallower water, just in case I had trouble catching my breath, or was overcome with another round of rib-breaking coughing. As we sunbathed on the rock, snacking on graham crackers and drinking from a mason jar of lemonade, I watched my son while he crammed a whole cracker in his mouth then started to pull another from the pack in prepa
ration for the next mouthful. “Slow down, darlin’,” I said, laughing. “There’s no reason to choke ’em down.” Then, “Donnie, I need to talk to you about something important.” That got his attention, and the cracker he was after was quickly forgotten.

  “What?” he inquired, spitting a few cracker crumbs out with the word. His brows knitted together in their usual way when he was looking perplexed or meditative, or angry, but at the moment, he was looking at me real hard, as if he was steeling himself for something big.

  “Donnie, honey, I’m not feeling very good these days. I’m pretty sick.” There. It was said. I’d lain awake half the night trying to figure out the best way of telling him and had finally come to the conclusion that I trusted myself enough to know how, when the moment came.

  “The doctor didn’t make your cold go away? I heard you coughing.” His brows remained pinched, worried.

  “No, it’s not a cold, darlin’. It’s something else with a real long name that’s hard to say. The doctor wants me to see some other doctors who can help me more than he can. I have to go where they are, and stay for a little while. Remember when we went to Asheville to see that play, The Nutcracker, at Christmas?” He nodded. “Well, I have to go to a place that’s not too far from there.”

  “Will you see a play?”

  I laughed. His five-year-old world was very small, compartmentalized. “No, honey, I’m not going to the theater, just to a hospital that takes care of people who are sick, like I am.”

  “Oh.” He looked away as he digested this and I knew that suddenly the awfulness of my going away was sinking in. The word “hospital” had done it. “How long will you stay?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m hoping it won’t be too long. And you’ll come to see me.” I gave him a moment. Then, “Donnie, how’d you like to stay with Grandma and Papa for a little while, for the summer, until school starts in the fall? Daddy will come to see you, and Grandma and Papa will make sure you’re okay and having fun. You know Daddy works all day, honey, and I’d have to get a nanny for you. I think you’d have more fun at Grandma’s, don’t you?”