by Kay, Debra
I was not awakened by the soft whisper of a handsome gentleman or the calls from my butler telling me the cappuccino and eggs Benedict were ready, but instead from my reality, the whimper of my dog who wanted to go for a walk.
I stood up. “Okay, Elky, let me put on my shoes and grab your leash.”
Elky sat down on the floor next to my bed, her tail thumping the ground. Elky watched my every move as I dressed. And she followed close at my heels when I navigated the house to the front door.
I just zipped my jacket when the telephone rang. Looking at my phone, I could tell it was my mother’s number. I couldn’t imagine why she was calling this early in the morning. And I didn’t feel like talking to her until I’d had at least two cups of coffee. What kind of civilized person calls at the crack of dawn?
Without a pang of guilt, I let the call go into voicemail. She seemed unrelenting this morning when she called again. And again. Concerned there could be a problem, I picked up.
“Hello.”
“Dixie Elizabeth, this is your mother.” As if I needed her introduction. I knew that voice. And no one else called me Dixie Elizabeth.
“And how are you, Glenda Louise?” From her huff that followed, I knew my mother was not in the mood for playful banter this morning.
“Jenny told me you still haven’t gone to that follow-up doctor’s appointment.”
You got that right, I wanted to say, but bit my lip instead.
“Mother, I don’t want to go. Enough said; case closed,” I added in frustration. I tried to remind myself of all the good things she had done over the years. In truth, she had always been there for us. My mother became pregnant with my sister, Susan, while she was still in college. My parents married in a rush wedding weeks after they found out about the baby. Reluctantly, my mother quit school. She gave up her aspiration of becoming a veterinarian to stay home. She was a devoted mother, attending to our every need.
She never acted resentful, but I knew she had bigger dreams. Fortunately, all these years later, my parents were still happily married. My father, Wayne, worked hard as an insurance agent to provide for the family. His magnetic personality drew people to him. He was quick to laugh and made everyone feel welcome. As a result, he built up quite a clientele base until he retired a few years ago.
Through the years, we were a physically active family. The YMCA became our family’s favorite destination. When not involved in gymnastics or soccer, my sister and I practically lived at the gym or swimming pool. Susan and I were lucky to have such attentive parents. They stayed busy carting us from one activity to the next. They continued to stay involved and became doting grandparents to Jenny.
My mother had always been a fixture in my life, but sometimes she could be more involved and more rigid than I would like. And now, my mother lived vicariously through my sister. Susan never married but devoted herself full-time to her love of animals. Our entire family shared that love. She opened a veterinary hospital in Florida. My mother, grateful to return to Florida where she grew up, helps her manage the office. And to my mother’s delight, she gets to spend her days surrounded by animals and fulfill her childhood dream.
And now that Jenny was grown, the pieces just fell into place for them to follow Susan to Florida. The only sad part of this story was my parents’ reluctance to come back to visit. They felt as if it would dredge up too many memories to come back to Raleigh after living most of their adult lives here. And for my father, he lived his entire life in North Carolina. They had made it abundantly clear that if I wanted to see them, then I had to travel. Although the distance between us was probably a good thing, right now. My mother would be in my house daily reminding me to go to the doctor.
“You need to go,” she insisted. And in my mind’s eye, I could see her pointing her finger when she talked. “And what’s this I heard about you seeing Blake again? You know, word gets around fast when you are doing things you shouldn’t be doing,” she said in a reprimanding voice.
I had become used to her one-sided conversations where she chose not to listen to me and continued with her opinions. Like a roller coaster taking off . . . here we go . . .
“That boy is trouble.” She said the words matter-of-factly. “He was a bad influence on you then and will be again.”
“That was more than twenty years ago.” I could hear the petulance in my voice, but I couldn’t make it stop.
“Dixie Elizabeth, don’t count on his having changed much.” She ended her sentence in a shrill tone. I bit harder on my lip; this time I noticed the metallic taste of blood.
Why was it a parent can turn your name into angry expletives and use them almost like curse words? She might as well have been saying, “Silly Shit, he won’t change.”
But he had become the furthest thing from trouble. Her words almost sounded funny to me, knowing what an admirable person he had proven to be. I mumbled, “Okay,” as I wondered who gossiped about my weekend with Blake. It was as if my mother had her eyes over my house and could see my actions.
Being careful with my response, I paused. “I have to go, Mother, but I’ll call you tomorrow.” As soon as I hung up, I felt relief.
It had taken me half a lifetime to figure out that some people bring a positive energy into one’s life, and others just suck the life right out of one’s positive energy. I guess I needed to be more understanding and realize that we can all be emotional vampires at one point or another. Not that I was implying anything about my mother; her intentions might be good, even if her delivery could use some—improvement. Understatement of the day.
While passing the mailbox after my long stroll with Elky, I realized I hadn’t checked it the day before. Sorting through the mail, I spotted a bright pink envelope with scribbled handwriting. I opened it. I pulled out a slip of yellow construction paper covered with glitter. I unfolded the paper that had been cut into the shape of an angel. On it were the words:
Please, be my snow angel. I can’t wait to make love to you in the cold mountain air. See you on Friday.
Hugs,
Blake
(Your warm protector from the cold snowflakes . . . I know I got a little carried away with that one. The forecast calls for snow in the mountains!)
I tucked my new treasure under my arm and walked Elky into the house. After hanging the leash in the garage, I tacked the angel onto the cork board over my computer. Just as I was admiring his handiwork, the doorbell rang.
Peering through the glass, I felt relieved to see Jane. I opened the door, greeted her, and motioned her inside.
“Hi. I saw you out walking earlier. Jenny just called me and said to remind you to make a doctor’s appointment.” She blasted her words with her usual exuberance.
“Oh, no,” I screamed out abruptly, startling her.
“What is it, my outfit?” she asked. “You’re right. Ruffles never looked good on me. I’ll go home, change, and come back,” she said flippantly.
“No, your tennis skirt is cute. It’s just that you are the third person in the past two days to confront me about that doctor’s appointment,” I said, feeling my cheerful mood fading. “You know that occasionally I see a therapist to help get me through this divorce. My rule is one doctor is plenty.”
“I hear you,” she said.
“Why are you looking at me with disappointed eyes?” I asked.
“I’m just concerned about you.”
“I’m fine. Seeing my therapist has been more than enough doctor visits for me. And thank goodness for her. A couple times during this past year, I thought I might be losing it.” I took a gulping breath. “If overcoming mental anguish makes you stronger, than I should be freaking Wonder Woman by now. And you know, one day I thought I had superpowers, but the therapist lady took them away from me.”
Jane wiped her eyes and laughed wholeheartedly. “You’re so funny. Lila, you’re the strongest person I know. And it’s visible to everyone else how tough you really are.”
But deep down
I was beginning to question my strength.
Finally, she choked out the words, “I know you too well. You were only crazy to stay married to Peter for all of those years. He never did appreciate all that you did for him.”
“I agree.” I sighed. “And I pay my therapist to agree with me, as well. And you know what, Jane? Joking about the madness of it all makes it easier. My world has been topsy-turvy for a year, but I’m slowly coming to terms with my new reality.”
In an unrelenting tone, she asked, “Well, when are you going to make that doctor’s appointment?” She blurted out a reprimand before I could reply. “You need to make that appointment.”
“Okay. I will,” I managed to say before she continued.
“I’m going to take you if you don’t take yourself. Don’t stay so busy hanging out with your hot ex—Blake—that you forget to take care of yourself.” She said her good-byes and left, vowing to check on whether I held true to my words.
It couldn’t have been twenty minutes after Jane left that Jenny called. There was a silence on the other end of the line for a second before I heard Jenny speak.
“I made your follow-up appointment for tomorrow morning. Don’t tell me you’re too busy this time,” she warned in a harsh tone. “It doesn’t matter if you tear up more of those reminder notes because I’m coming to pick you up regardless. I don’t have any classes in the morning, so I’m taking you to the appointment.”
“That’s nice of you, Jenny, but don’t I get a vote? And who is the mother here?” I teased.
“Well, Mom, how would you vote?” she asked.
“You win.” I conceded.
“Good. I’ll be there at nine a.m. to pick you up,” Jenny reaffirmed in a calming tone.
“See you in the morning, sweetheart.” I could hardly finish that last word as the chill of fear gripped me by the throat. I struggled to hang up the telephone. Darn these nervous hands.
I wished I could distract myself playing in the sand with Blake. Just thinking about us gave me strength. Right now, I needed that because I was crumpling on the inside. I felt like something was taking over my body.
Jenny, always true to her word, pulled her Chevrolet Malibu into my driveway at nine a.m., sharp. She was a darker-haired, perkier version of me and perhaps far more worldly, thanks to church missionary trips. She had spent weeks in Haiti and Kenya helping those in need. Plus, she was quick to volunteer her time within our own community. She devoted hours teaching special needs children how to read, swim, and play soccer. But her true passion was music. For years she had played the flute. Even with all of her outside activities, she maintained nearly perfect grades.
After looking at Jenny seated behind the steering wheel, I pulled down my sun visor and glanced in the tiny mirror. We shared the same light complexion. But her eyes were more blue than green, whereas mine tended to appear more green than blue. And when I looked at her, I often thought we were almost identical. Although, when we looked in the mirror together, or I saw a photo of the two of us, I got a reality slap. Instantly, I realized the effects of age and sunlight on my skin. It was as if each trip to the beach left an indentation in my face. And now, years later, my face was a patchwork quilt of fine lines.
We nervously chatted on the short drive to Dr. Young’s office and tried to act nonchalant about the purpose of this appointment. Soon after our arrival, the nurse called me back to the examining room and permitted Jenny to accompany me. Once inside the room, I sat fidgeting in my seat, anxiously attempting to read the latest People magazine.
After a lengthy wait in the minuscule, cold room, the doctor greeted us and carefully closed the door behind him. The concerned look on his face shook me. While I shifted on the edge of my seat, my pulse raced so fast I could hardly stand it.
Regardless of my anxiety, I studied him briefly. I thought he was handsome in an intellectual way. He might even be an entertaining guy after he’d had a couple drinks to loosen him up, but his “dateability” level was not the reason for my office visit.
He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. He shook his head. “This is very difficult for me,” he said, frowning. His medical training did not mask the emotions in his voice.
Tension filled the room. I took a deep breath and held steady for the tornado-force words about to hit me.
Nothing in my life prepared me for what I heard next. Dr. Young looked down at the floor. “There is no easy way to tell you this news.” And then he began speaking in technical terms, but only one word registered with me.
Cancer!
The word cancer reverberated like shock waves through my body and across the small, sterile office. And then silence.
Before Dr. Young continued speaking in his medical-school-trained, flat, matter-of-fact tone, his steady gaze fixed on me. I could read the concern in his eyes, which sent my stomach into panic knots. I knew there was more. Much more.
The cancer was advanced pancreatic cancer, stage III to be exact. It did not appear to have metastasized or moved to the other major organs of my body. And that was the good news. But there was no hiding the dire reality of my situation.
“There’s more,” he explained. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but the cancer has become inoperable because it has invaded the major blood vessels immediately surrounding the pancreas. It can’t safely be removed by surgery. We should try chemotherapy to help kill the cancer cells, but really we are limited in our ability to treat this aggressive cancer.”
I listened with my eyes squeezed tightly and my lips pursed together. I wanted this discussion to end. Then I fell back in my seat feeling faint, letting out a moan.
I fought the urge to throw up. Despite my best efforts to remain strong, I began trembling. A jolt shot through my senses like I had been doused with icy water. I had a primal urge to run away—far away. Run. Run. I wanted and needed to flee the cancer and any other demon that haunted me. I just wanted some peace, even if it were temporary.
Dr. Young handed me a stack of papers. “Here are some pamphlets that should be helpful. Of course, you have the option to refuse treatment. But if you want to try to buy yourself some time, we should start treatment soon. I know this is a lot to process, but unfortunately, you have to make this choice pretty quickly.”
Jenny wiped the tears that spilled from her eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, reached over, and squeezed my hand. She gazed glassy-eyed at the doctor and in a trembling voice asked, “Are you sure about the results?”
“Yes. I will show you how the tumor looks on your imaging scan.”
He illuminated the screen and pointed to the outline of the tumor. I had just been introduced to my enemy lurking within, and my eyes were magnetized to the shape that the doctor pointed toward—an unwanted intruder in my body. And in my life . . .
It suddenly made sense, all of it. The recurring stabbing pains and my breathlessness had not been products of my imagination. But I didn’t find the reality to be a relief. Now I knew the truth, even though I had been hiding from it.
Jenny sniffed. “What about radiation?”
Dr. Young shook his head. “I don’t consider radiation an option because of the location of the cancer. There are clinical trials with new types of treatments, but they may produce unexpected side effects. The materials I gave you will discuss those options in greater detail.”
All of this technical information seemed almost too daunting for one person to handle alone; I felt grateful for Jenny by my side while I tried to absorb the facts.
“I don’t have a solid, viable treatment plan to halt the growing cancer. I wish I did. But we should try chemotherapy. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s worth trying, in my opinion,” he said.
How could all of this be true? My frustration dissipated quickly and turned into utter sorrow. Overall, I had lived a charmed life. I considered myself lucky—until today. Now I felt like I was getting all of that missed bad luck paid to me at once. Times two.
In the fore
front of my thoughts was my struggle to fight the cancer growing inside me; in the back of my mind was my concern about how this disease would impact my newly rekindled relationship with Blake.
The doctor looked at me with compassion, although he had probably seen it all before—often. Nonetheless, this must be the most difficult part of his job. Especially in a situation like mine where modern medicine had not yet found the answers to the disease that ravaged my body. I could tell from his concerned expression that this was a frustrating position to be in as a doctor who had devoted his career to treating patients, to give them minimal options for a cure.
“Can we try surgery?” I asked in a weak voice. I could barely get the words out.
“No. If we caught the cancer earlier, that might have been an option.”
The sad reality hit me. There was no easy solution. I closed my eyes tightly as if to make the words less painful.
Reluctantly, he continued. “If you decline to be treated, you will need to look into hospice care, as soon as possible. They are an amazing group of people and will be helpful for you in the following months. The literature I gave you should be informative about what to expect.”
I sat wide-eyed, listening to my prognosis. I was under siege, and the enemy within was a sharpshooter.
Sadly, there weren’t many medical options to deliberate over. I did know that, as a result of the uncertainty of success, I opted to forgo the clinical trials. I did not want to suffer in what might be my few remaining months of good health.
Thank goodness for Jenny, but I wished the rest of my family lived closer—at least in my area code would be nice. My parents were older, refused to travel, and lived miles away. Susan couldn’t leave the veterinary hospital. I didn’t really have any other close relatives to fall back on in tough times. Suddenly, I felt very isolated.
And I wondered what was going to happen next. I didn’t want the pain that came on in waves—but fully receded—to settle into my body. I already felt tired. Was this feeling going to consume me in the days to come?