His Name was Ben
Paulette Mahurin
Copyright © 2014 by Paulette Mahurin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. Exception is given in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN
978-0692264690
Cover by Barbara Gottlieb
www.gottgraphix.com
Published in partnership with
Purple Distinctions Self Publishing
www.purpledistinctions.com
Ventura, CA 93004
Printed in the United States of America
His Name was Ben
Also by Paulette Mahurin
The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap
For My Hubby
Acknowledgments
We sometimes think of an author as a lonely writer banging away on the keyboard, creating characters for readers to love and hate, forming the core of the story. Yet what brings these alive on the page is never a singular task.
Thank you Ryan Cheal, Deb Wall, and Margaret Dodd, my editors. To Christoph Fischer, Lee Fullbright, Dr. William Fox, Deb Norton, Wanda Hartzenberg, Lorna Lee, and Terry Mahurin, a heartfelt debt of gratitude for your feedback, which helped give shape and direction to this narrative.
A special acknowledgment to the real Ben and Sara, who I had the privilege of working with several years ago. They shared their stories and personal feelings with me both together and separately, which was initially written by myself and published as an award-winning short story while I in college. Although this account has been fictionalized (the names of the characters and some scenes have been changed), it is based on actual events. In portraying the integrity of Ben and Sara’s relationship, I have taken the liberty to include both of their points of view. The two sides are not of equal content; Sara had more to say. Though some of the facts have been changed, their love story is authentic.
Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
Lao-tzu
Chapter One
It was just past three in the morning when Sara Phillips looked over to the clock on the nightstand. Tazzie, why can’t I sleep like you? Snuggling close to her Rottweiler, feeling the short black-and-tan hair on her cheek and the robust contour of the dog’s chest, she felt a comfort that she was not alone. She wondered how many pills from a nearly full bottle of Ativan in the bathroom would be needed to take her life.
Tazzie, in a deep snoring slumber, twitched a paw into Sara’s face as if to say Stop that kind of thinking. Sara wasn’t that bad off, not yet, but should things continue along as they had, Tazzie’s gesture would not deter her; nothing would.
The hours passed, and somewhere in there Sara had drifted off, as her phone woke her just after eight. Who’s calling at this time in the morning? She jerked up to hear the message on the answering machine.
Listening to her voice, recorded several years ago, full of life and cheer, was opposite to how she felt now. You’ve reached Sara. I’d love to talk to you but if I haven’t picked up, I’m not home and will get back to you. Please leave a message, and have a great day. “Sara, it’s Dr. Zimmerman…”
She grabbed the phone. “I’m here.” Filtering her calls was a necessity, to avoid attrition from the well-wishing callers who further drained her depleted energy.
“We’ve got good news.”
The liveliness in his voice took her breath away. “Really?”
“You’ve been accepted into a study.” The doctor explained some of the specifics to her. “It looks good, Sara. Can you come over to my office now and we’ll go over the details and get you started?”
The heart-pounding news sent her trembling, believing that somehow it was a trick, and at the other end of the joke she’d once again be betrayed by the facts. It wasn’t Zimmerman she doubted, as he’d always been up-front with her. Rather, it was her experience as a nurse practitioner and what she’d seen that caused the mistrust. She didn’t want to drop into fanciful thinking that miracles happen out of nowhere. Not to her, they didn’t. But she’d seen things change on a dime with new drugs coming out; she’d seen cures come out of the blue. What’s that about? Still shaking, replaying the uncharacteristic enthusiasm in Zimmerman’s tone, she knew she must take the chance. “Okay,” her voice shuddered, “I’ll get ready and be there right away.”
The shock waves from the conversation decreased as Sara dressed. She thought about the hell she’d been through with Zimmerman guiding her along on the rollercoaster ride her life had become, trying desperately to find something to grab hold of to check the cancer ravaging her body. Since her first oncology appointment with him, once healed from her double mastectomy, she liked him. The look in his eyes, the difficulty he communicated through when there was bad news, and the amount of time he took, allowing her to cry and let her honest feelings out, all told there was integrity and authenticity to this man. Of late she had plunged into a silent darkness that dared to show no light at the end—not until this phone call. It’s a very promising study. He exuded a certainty, a welcome change from the disappointments.
Sara let Taz outside and grabbed her sunglasses and keys. Fumbling with the car door, she dropped her purse. Slow down. The musty dog odor, sunbaked into the car seat, made her squeamish and she opened the windows to air out the stench. An adjustment to the rearview mirror reflected a gaunt face. Punching on the CD player Leonard Cohen’s voice sounded, “I’m Your Man,” as she stared a few more seconds. “Not enough makeup on my eyes.” She smiled at the blush of pink on her cheeks and laughed at the fact she cared about how she looked when it had been so long since she wore even lip gloss. A few deep respirations released the nausea in her belly.
Close to thirty minutes later she pulled into the large medical center parking lot. Noticing Mercedes and BMWs in spots reserved for doctors while Hondas and Fords filled patients slots, So typical, she shook her head. Up at the third-floor suite the waiting room was already full of patients. “Dr. Zimmerman told me to just come in.”
“Hi Sara, yes,” the receptionist smiled, “he’s expecting you.”
Zimmerman rose from his leather swivel chair. “This is very good news,” and pulled out a seat for her. “Come, sit here.”
Although she didn’t like taking up his time when she knew how busy he was, one look at his relaxed face and the dike burst.
Reaching for a box of tissues, “It’s okay to,” he handed her one, “let it out.”
Zimmerman had been a lifeline for Sara, right up to the last bout of chemo that created more adverse reactions than it benefited. Too many of her questions were addressed with shaking his head and apologizing that he had no answers other than to continue more of the same, which had become intolerable for her.
“Do you genuinely think it’ll help me?” This time was different—she didn’t fear his response—it felt right in her bones, pained from the cancer spread.
“The results are remarkable. We’re seeing full remissions in advanced cases.”
On the phone he had mentioned that the side effects were minimal. Still, it seemed too good to be true and she needed reassurance that she wouldn’t be putting herself through more bouts of vomiting, diarrhea, and fatigue. “What are the side effects?”
“Mild flu-like symptoms.” His deep brown eyes shone with conviction as he said, “And some nausea but it’s slight. I’m convinced it’
s the right thing for you to do.”
A snarl of emotions tainted with skepticism pounded her. But the way he spoke and looked at her showed a confidence that put her at ease. Although treatment failures in the past were discouraging, she was never let down because of a false promise from Zimmerman. Desperately wanting to relax into this unexpected turn of events, she knew her decision was made the minute she saw him. “Okay,” she dried her eyes and blew her nose. “How long will I be on it before I start to see results?” A sharp pain in her right hip yanked her attention into her body. Wincing, she added, “If they’re going to happen.”
“Some of the subjects are noticing changes in a couple of weeks with follow-up scans at four, eight, and twelve weeks showing marked reduction in tumor size. There’s a lot of favorable data. It’s in the final phase before FDA approval. It’s perfect timing for you since it’s been well tested.”
Her airway expanded. “What do I need to do to get started?” He held out a packet of papers. “Fill these out and we’ll fax them over to UCLA. They’re expecting the paperwork today. Once they okay it, you can start.” She looked down at the forms, her slender arm firm.
“Today?”
“Yes,” he smiled.
The lights overhead flickered when a handsome man, dressed in ivy-league clothes, opened the door. Noticing a loose screw on the switch plate, he told the receptionist, “Looks like someone needs to tighten that up.”
Sara was instantly drawn to him. Curious, she tried to hear what he said, but withdrew into herself when he turned around holding a clipboard and headed toward the empty chair beside her. Does he see how thin I am? She concentrated on her wasted appearance. For Sara, the loss of her looks, what she felt was her sensuality, was a loss of self-worth. It surprised her that it even mattered how she looked to him, but it did as his eyes made contact with hers. He’s so good-looking. Am I nuts? I’m a cancer patient and he probably is also. Aware of him settling into the chair, she tensed. This is ridiculous. Shriveling into her skin, the heat of his body made her flush as she fumbled with a magazine, trying to think of something to say to him. “Your first visit?”
He stopped writing, but didn’t take his eyes off the form. “Yes.”
Seeing his distress, she couldn’t help wanting to engage him. “He’s a great doctor.”
“Um-hum.” He carried on writing.
Glancing over at him, she noticed his curly hair and straight nose, how it scrunched up pulling his eyes together when he was thinking. So cute. She strained to see his name was Ben. Two seats over, whispers drew her focus away. “I wonder why he’s here,” said an elderly woman. “He doesn’t look ill to me.”
Christ, folks, I can hear you! It’s true though, he doesn’t look ill but he’s filling out a patient intake form. Sara’s heart sped up as she peeked back and caught sight of his phone number and that he was fifty-two, five years older than she. I can’t believe I’m doing this. She stood and made her way to the reception desk, “Can I use your restroom?”
Returning to her seat, with his number tucked into her purse, she was glad he didn’t look up at her. Feeling awkward because of what she had just done, she watched him reach for a newspaper.
He fussed with the pages, obviously not reading anything.
Sara felt the familiar, agitated energy he exuded and blurted out, “I really like Zimmerman.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean to be nosy but I thought… well, it looks like your first visit here and,” she took a hard swallow, “I could have used someone to talk to my initial…”
Turning toward her, “I appreciate you making the effort but…” That’s when he actually took a look at her and saw how attractive she was, underweight but very pretty with short hair, large hazel eyes, and a small nose surrounded with freckles—an earthy appearance that appealed to him.
With his gaze still on her, “Sometimes it helps to talk to another patient, a stranger,” she smiled. “I don’t know… I mean, why not?”
Shifting gears, he asked her, “How’s it going for you?”
“Today’s a good day.”
The light in her eyes and lilt as she spoke sat well with him. “That’s great.”
A nurse opened the door to the back area. “Mr. Gottlieb,” she waited, “Ben Gottlieb?”
As he shuffled to get up, Sara said, “Good luck in there.”
Looking back at her, his eyes held sorrow. “Thanks. I need it.”
There was something about his voice that spread through her body like food, energizing her. God, he’s gorgeous. She wondered about him, what his story was, and hoped he would be finished before she had to leave.
Sara’s initial treatment went smoothly. She was done and on her way home in a couple of hours. The midafternoon sun glared from the bumper of the car in front of hers. Switching lanes to avoid the blinding light, she noticed the orange wildflowers blooming along the highway. She was glad to say goodbye to the unusually cold winter and smiled as she drove past blossoms and leaves filling the empty branches of trees. Approaching her street, she thought of phoning her best friend Ellen to bring her up to speed.
The two women had been friends for the better part of the last twenty-five years, when they met during their senior year in nursing school, and afterwards landed jobs working in the same emergency room. They had been through divorces, tragedies, joys, vacations, and checking off bucket-list items together, but at no time did they ever envision that one of them would have cancer at an early age.
“So, how’d it go?” asked Ellen.
“It went well, better than expected. But…” Doubt resurfaced that maybe she was deluding herself. Sara tried to push it aside, to no avail.
“What?”
“I hope I’m not fooling myself, but the few other patients there did look good.”
“You don’t need to entertain any skepticism without reason. I doubt that Zimmerman would have built up your hopes on something that wasn’t promising. He gave you facts, not a lot of exalted hot air. Right?”
“Yes.”
“I can understand your caution. However, this time I think you’re safe to hope for the best. With what you’ve been through, how could it get worse than that?”
“Good point,” Sara rested her legs on the coffee table by the couch. “But what if…”
“Let’s just see what happens. Today was unanticipated. Breakthroughs and miracles do occur. Hold that thought.”
“Yeah,” Sara repositioned a pillow behind her back, “you’re right. I need to stay positive. How you doing?”
“Tired.” Ellen continued, “Some bad stuff came in last night…but you don’t need to hear about that. This will perk you up—Kincaid asked Jolie out last night. That guy,” she laughed, “can’t keep his pants on. Predictable!” Creating levity, Ellen kept Sara up on the emergency room gossip while she was on sick leave.
“I almost forgot. Oh, man, I did something stupid. I can’t believe I did it.”
“What?”
“There was this guy…” Sara squirmed, “I’m embarrassed to say…”
“What’d you do?”
“This good-looking guy came into Zimmerman’s office and sat next to me. Amazing blue eyes, great thin body, the preppie look I like. First visit.”
“How’d you know that?”
“I’m getting there. He was filling out an intake form.”
“And?”
Sara bumbled, “I glanced over and read what he wrote.”
“What’s wrong with that? You’re human and,” Ellen cleared her throat, “hey, if he was that good looking…”
Tazzie hopped up next to Sara, circled, and plopped down. “I noticed his phone number…”
“And?”
“I went to the bathroom and wrote it down. It’s in my purse.”
“I knew it! He was that good looking!” Ellen was cathartic for Sara, who in the past obsessed over guys and her sex-driven need for them, which had dried up since her diagno
sis. “This is the first mention of a man since you took ill. It’s a good sign.”
“Seriously, El, my first day on the study and I can’t stop thinking of this guy. What’s wrong with me? And to violate his boundary like that.”
“What’d you do that was so wrong? And that you did it, that you’re even interested, is terrific!”
“What? You’re playing with me, right? You’re just playing.”
“No, I’m dead serious. You’ve been out of it for so long. Surgery, chemo, radiation, one cave-in after another, and suddenly your whole life changed. Not only did you get into a study that can save your life, you met a guy. I love it!”
“I wouldn’t exactly say,” Sara’s voice cracked, “I met a guy.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Very little.”
“And?”
“He’s a patient, for Christ’s sake. And I’m getting all excited over him. I barely started a study. I don’t even know if it’ll work and I’m preoccupied with wanting to be attractive to this guy.”
Ellen laughed.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“It’s healthy.” Ellen continued laughing.
Sara listened to the bubbling relief pouring out of Ellen, the lightness in her voice, and realized how ridiculous she was being. After what she’d been through, it was absurd that she felt her moral compass was out of whack because of a stranger she sat next to that she’d probably never see again.
You going to phone him?”
“No! Are you kidding?”
“What are you going to do with his number?”
“Throw it out,” she rubbed Tazzie’s head, “as soon as we get off the phone.”
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