by Jim Cangany
I glanced at Annie, and then at the doctor, and finally down at my notes. Now or never, dude. I took a deep breath.
"Based on what you know, what are Annie's odds?"
Dr. Furman straightened her collar. "That's a question I often get from men. You want a number, something concrete. I get that. You need to understand that everyone responds to treatment differently, and while it's impossible to predict the future, at the end of treatment, Ms. Wilson will either be cured or she won't. But if I had to give you a percentage on a successful treatment, I would say sixty percent."
The blood in my veins froze. Sixty percent.
That meant Annie's odds of survival were better than half. But... It also meant a forty percent chance of her not surviving. My head began to swim.
We'd just sent out the wedding save-the-date notices, for crying out loud. Annie and I were supposed to ride off into the sunset together. Mom and Dad were both gone. I couldn't lose her, too. Stop it. Be her rock. Focus on the sixty. I swallowed and looked into Annie's eyes.
"That's better than half. The odds are in our favor. Time to get to it?"
Her eyes were a little watery, but she sat up straight and nodded again.
"Time to get to it."
Four
Annie poured over my notes on the drive home, adding a few things here and there, putting question marks next to words she couldn't read. She reached toward the heater and wiggled it a couple of times before turning the knob up full blast.
"Does this thing ever warm up?"
The control freak in her was coming to the fore. While she couldn't control those malevolent cells inside her, I could tell she was determined to control everything else. I'd told myself I was going to be the strong one, but the guts and determination she was showing had me in awe, even if the insult to the car stung a little.
We hadn't been home more than an hour when my phone rang. It was Julia. When I told Annie who was on the line for her, her cheeks turned a little pink.
"Sorry hon, I put your number on the forms. Didn't want to take the chance of mine getting out."
She spent the next thirty minutes or so taking more notes, and alternating between saying "Yes" and "I don't know." When she disconnected, she tossed the phone to me and let out a long breath.
"This cancer treatment thing's going to be a full-time job. With all the tests and procedures they want to put me through, I have to be at the hospital practically every other day over the next two weeks. I need to call Randi and get her take on the doctors Julia gave me.
"I want pizza. I'll buy if you fly, yes?"
By the time I got back with Annie's favorite—mushrooms, bell peppers and sun dried tomatoes—she was lying on the couch with her eyes closed. Her nose twitched when she evidently caught a whiff of the aroma emanating from the cardboard box in my hands.
"Mm, Bazbeaux's. Excellent."
Piece by piece, we made the pie disappear, Annie using a knife and fork, me using my hands and a stack of napkins.
"So how was the call with Julia?" I said, while wiping my hands after my second piece.
"Good. It helps knowing I'll be working with someone who's been there. I'm so overwhelmed right now, but she helped me break things down into manageable chunks. She's going to keep in touch to answer any questions I may have and help me with issues that come up."
"I thought that's what Miranda was going to do."
"I can work with Julia when I'm unclear about hospital protocol and similar things. I'll go to Randi for advice, like why should I do this genetic testing Julia recommends, and just what the hell is this MUGA scan I'm having on Monday."
I'd barely finished cleaning up after dinner when Annie moved to the spare bedroom and got on the phone with Miranda. They were still talking when I went to bed a couple of hours later.
Miranda had convinced Annie the genetic counseling was critical, so on Friday morning we found ourselves in an office at the Breast Center. As near as I could figure, the genetic testing was needed to help determine the likelihood of the cancer returning as well as a potential link to ovarian cancer.
Good God, as if one cancer wasn't enough to think about.
It turned out the Genetic Counselor, a tiny gal named Sue, was another breast cancer survivor. She explained that the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes are part of a class of genes called tumor suppressors. A blood test could determine whether or not there was a mutation in either of them. We needed to know if mutations were present, because in addition to ovarian cancer, a positive test would indicate that Annie was at a higher risk for other cancers including pancreatic and melanoma.
Oh yeah, and if she was positive there was an increased chance to pass the gene on if we had kids. No pressure.
Annie and Sue spent a good deal of time going over Annie's family history to see if there was any history of breast cancer. It was during this meeting I found out Annie had an aunt on her dad's side of the family who'd been treated for breast cancer when Annie was young.
"I want the test," Annie finally said, with her decision-is-made nod. "Information is power, and I feel so powerless right now. At least this will give me control over something."
We left the counseling session and went directly to the hospital where Annie had blood drawn for the genetic test. After that, she underwent a full-body PET scan that Julia had scheduled for her. The scan took a head-to-toe picture of her to look for any signs of cancer beyond what had already been found.
When the PET scan was finished, Annie dropped into the chair next to me and put her head on my shoulder. "I am so ready for a drink or five."
Her phone buzzed before I could respond. She looked at it and typed in a few key strokes. "We're having dinner at Randi and Ryan's. She wants an update, and promised me fried plantains in return. We can pick up a bottle on the way."
When we arrived, Miranda gave me a hug and a smile. She greeted Annie with what seemed like a special code they used when speaking to each other. I got the sense from the way Ryan kept looking at the floor and merely offered to take our coats that he didn't know what to say, so he'd chosen not to say anything.
Annie stuck out her bottom lip when she handed her coat over. "Don't I get a hug from you, too? I need all the hugs I can get these days."
"Oh well, yeah, sure." Ryan's cheeks had turned fire engine red by the time he wrapped an arm around Annie. "Sorry, I just didn't know... Let me go stash these."
He turned, but Annie placed her hand on his wrist before he could escape. "It's okay Ryan. You can say it. I have cancer. But I'm not going to die. Unless Randi lied to me about the plantains, that is."
Miranda snorted. "How dare you impugn my character? I'd lie about a lot of things, but never about plantains."
That broke the awkwardness, brought a smile to Ryan's face and pulled a laugh from me. As was always the case with a Miranda-prepared meal, dinner was amazing. The Caribbean flair was a welcome escape from sub-freezing February weather outside. Ryan and I cleaned up while Annie followed Miranda into her home office and closed the door.
When we were finished in the kitchen, Ryan pulled a couple of beers from the fridge. We wound our way to the living room and found a college basketball game to watch. During a TV timeout, Ryan cleared his throat.
"So, Annie has cancer, huh?"
"Yeah." I took a drink. "They call it bi-lateral invasive ductile carcinoma."
"What's that mean?"
"Hell, I don't know—"
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry." Ryan put up a hand like he was surrendering.
"No, it's okay man. I'm still trying to figure out the terminology. It seems like every time we turn around there's another test she needs to take before we can do anything. It's been constant react mode."
"My grandma had breast cancer when I was ten. Mom totally freaked out. It was bad around the house for a while, since my mom's always been a panicker. You should have seen her the morning of our wedding." He chuckled. "Grandma made it through, but I don't know many of t
he details."
"You were a kid. You were probably busy playing ball."
"Actually, busy with Legos. I was always building something with those blocks. Grandma said I was born to be an architect."
"So how old was she, when she, you know..."
Ryan scratched his head. "Don't know exactly. Early sixties, I think."
"Annie's in her early thirties." The implication hung in the air between us, unsaid but understood.
"How about another beer? Second half ought to be starting in a minute." Ryan was out of his seat and headed for the kitchen before I had a chance to say yes.
We kept the conversation focused on the ball game until Miranda and Annie joined us. Annie's eyes were red and a little puffy, so I knew there'd been some tears shed behind that door. I didn't press, just took her hand in mine when she sat next to me on the couch. When the game ended, Annie bumped my arm with her shoulder. It was time to go.
On the way home, she told me her pow-wow with Miranda had been fruitful. Miranda had confirmed our positive feelings about Dr. Furman. Within the medical community, she was regarded as both highly skilled and very compassionate.
Among the names of the hematology oncologists the Navigator had given Annie, a Dr. Mary Hill had landed on the top of the list. Dr. Hill was in her mid-thirties, which Annie said was important to her. She thought someone that age would be able to relate to the challenges she was facing in having breast cancer at such a young age.
The last member of the medical team Annie had decided on, whom we wouldn't meet for a number of months, if at all, was the radiation oncologist, Dr. Margaret Francis. Miranda's mom had worked with Dr. Francis and had apparently insisted that Annie work with her. Of course, the hope was that the cancer had been caught before it had spread to the lymph nodes. If that was the case, radiation wouldn't be needed.
I sent a silent appeal to Mom and Dad that we'd caught it in time.
"So that's who my team of doctors will be. At some point, I'll need to meet with a plastic surgeon to handle the reconstruction, but I'll think about that another time. On Monday, I'll call Julia so she can get an appointment with Dr. Hill set up. All that's left is the MUGA scan on Monday and then I get the port put in next Wednesday."
"Is that all?" The sarcastic tone of my question struck me as funny for some reason, and I chuckled. "I'm sorry. How are you holding up?"
"I'm all right, for now at least. Sitting down with Randi was a huge help. She helped me process a lot of the information from this week. Having her in my corner's huge. Not as huge as having you there, though. I couldn't do this without you, you know."
"Sure you could."
When I didn't say more, she nudged my shoulder. "How are you doing with all this?"
How was I doing? I was scared to death. Annie was my North Star, my guiding light. I was the luckiest guy in the world for having met and fallen in love with her on that cross-country train ride. Against all the odds, she'd fallen in love with me, too. The thought of her in pain shattered me to the very foundation of my being.
The past couple of nights, I'd woken up soaked in sweat from the same nightmare. I was in a dark suit, standing over a grave—her grave—in a driving rain. I couldn't bear the thought of her being sick, much less losing her. I'd have sold my soul in a heartbeat to be able to trade places with her.
But I couldn't tell her that. The last thing I wanted was her worrying about me. I'd promised myself I'd be her shoulder to lean on. I'd never show weakness. I sure as hell wasn't going to break that promise now.
"I'm okay. Getting up to speed on all this medical lingo's a challenge." I redirected the conversation away from me. "I hope you realize that if one of the docs prescribes you EPO, you'll have to sit out any triathlons that do blood testing, at least until it's out of your system."
Annie snorted. "Oh lord, you would think of something like that. You are such a dork."
"Yeah, but I'm your dork."
"Yes you are, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
* * * *
Despite the fact that neither of us had nine to five type jobs, it seemed like we were busier than ever the following week. Amidst the MUGA scan, the port procedure and a barrage of test results, we resigned ourselves to the fact that Annie's career was going to be put on hold for a while. Since she'd never replaced the personal assistant she'd fired just before we'd started the concert tour, I'd become her de facto assistant.
While she and her agent Ira dealt with the loss of a film role she'd been interested in, I kept her manager, Samantha, updated on test results. A handful of magazines had contacted Samantha with requests for interviews and she couldn't understand why Annie wasn't interested in any of them.
Things got hot between Samantha and me during a phone call one day while Annie was out for a walk. "Annie's just not ready to talk about this publicly. She needs more time."
"Dammit E.J., how much more? If we keep ignoring these requests, we'll lose the ability to control the message." Things went downhill from there until Annie's return forced a compromise.
"Her first chemo treatment's tomorrow. I'll get her to write a statement after that. That's the best I can offer you."
I ended the call, convinced the low point of the week had been hit. Annie had lost a film role because she couldn't meet the production schedule. I'd pissed off her manager, who was also a friend. The procedure to put her port in had gone flawlessly, but Annie still hurt like hell from it.
The cold, gray weather was a perfect match for my black mood.
It turned out that I was wrong about the low point being my argument with Samantha. After dinner that night, Annie growled and tossed the copy of Fighting for Our Future she'd received from the Young Survival Coalition on the floor. "This is pointless. Maybe I should just forget about treatment and run away to a tropical island and live on the beach while I let the disease take its course."
I turned off the college basketball game I'd been watching and took a minute to work on a response. This wasn't like her. She was many things—film star, recording artist, astute businessperson.
But she wasn't a quitter.
"Annie, listen to me. I know this is hard. But quitting is not an option. You have too much yet to give to this world to wave the white flag. We'll get you better and then pick up where you left off. Right now, you have to be brave, even if you don't want to be. You're my North Star—"
"Oh Lord, don't give me any of that North Star crap. You know what I am? I'm one in eight, twelve percent. That's what the literature says. I'm nothing more than a freaking statistic." She picked the book back up and threw it across the room. It bounced off a wall with a thud and landed face up, as if it was mocking us.
Annie slumped on the couch, head in her hands.
Tears escaped from eyes that she'd squeezed shut.
I sat next to her and placed my hand on her shuddering back. "You're not one in eight. You're one in a million. And we'll get through this. Together."
She reached out and took my hand in hers, gripping it tightly. It was wet from the tears. "I've never been this scared in my life." Another shudder went through her.
Using a light touch, I stroked her back. "So this is more scary than my driving in Europe during the tour?"
She sniffed and glanced at me through watery eyes. "Nice try." Her hand went to the star-shaped pendant on the necklace she was wearing. I'd given her the necklace to show how I truly saw her as my North Star, my guiding light. "Do you remember Christmas morning, when you gave me this?"
"I'll never forget it."
She swallowed and sniffed again, while tears streamed down her face. Her anguish left me feeling worthless. I wanted to strike out at something—a wall, a window, anything I could put my fist through. But I couldn't do that. I needed to be the harbor to shelter Annie from the storm raging inside her.
"I remember after I opened the box, you made me stand up so you could put it on me. And then you took it in your hands, and stepped behind me. Yo
u draped it around my neck." She snickered a little. "And you couldn't get the clasp to work. But on the third, no fourth try, you got it. You let go and wrapped your arms around me." She was gazing at the star in her hand.
"Then you kissed me on the neck and whispered 'Merry Christmas, Annie. I love you.'" She took my hand in hers.
It was ice cold.
"Did I ever tell you how I'd felt at that moment?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. I should have, so I'll tell you now. At that moment, I felt like a princess in a fairy tale, a princess with her Prince Charming, on the verge of her happily ever after." She leaned her head against my shoulder. I put my arm around her and held her tight.
"I want my happily ever after, E.J. I thought for sure when we got back together at the start of the tour, I was going to have it. All my dreams were coming true. And now with this." She punched the couch with her free hand. "I'm afraid I'm never going to get it."
Her fear and anger were like a rapid-fire one-two punch to the gut. I pulled her onto my lap and rocked her like I was rocking a small child.
"We'll make it Annie. You and me, together. We'll get you there."
She turned her tear-streaked face up to mine. "You promise?"
I stroked her cheek with my thumb and brought our foreheads together. "I promise. And I can't go back on a promise to my Guiding Light, can I?"
She lifted her head and looked at me, into me, way down in the depths of my soul. Her beautiful brown eyes were cloudy and puffy from the tears, but I sensed a touch of hope in there, too. "I love you, E.J."
"I love you too, Annie." I took her into my arms and held her as close as her injured body would allow, while I sent up a prayer for strength.
For the two of us. Because I was pretty sure we'd both need it.
Five
I opened the car door and took Annie's gloved hand as she got out. The steam from our breath intermingled as we turned to face the two-story, brick building. It was adorned with a pale blue Cancer Care logo. I got the sense the logo was supposed to evoke feelings of hope and confidence.