"Not bad,” Tom replied. Tom had gone through most of his life in a state of chronic nasal congestion, the severity of which varied from time to time but which was usually mild enough to be tolerable, which he had always attributed to some sort of allergy but whose exact cause he had never really investigated fully, instead choosing to treat it himself with over-the-counter nasal sprays. Truthfully, he had barely noticed the symptoms lately. He tried to remember the last time he had used any spray. “Did I appear particularly congested to you when you examined me the other day?"
"You're always a bit congested,” confirmed Dr. Michael, nodding. “You have chronic allergies, Thomas. You should use Claritin when you need it; that's over-the-counter now, so you don't need a prescription."
"I use nasal spray, also,” Tom added.
"Which you should not do,” countered Dr. Michael. “Those sprays give you temporary relief, but over time they damage the lining of your nasal passages, resulting in even more congestion, or what they call the rebound effect. I've explained this to you before, haven't I?"
"A few times, I think,” said Tom, smiling. He was still in a state of jubilation over Carole, and was rather unconcerned about any of his own comparatively modest health issue. He did take note of the fact, however, that the elixir had apparently not completely eradicated it, at least according to Dr. Michael. Perhaps everything really was just a coincidence after all. Instinctively, he looked at Carole, and, as their eyes met, he knew that these were her thoughts as well.
"Well, I suppose that's about everything,” said Dr. Michael. “Do either of you have any questions?"
Of course we do, thought Tom, “No, Dr. Michael."
"Carole?"
"No."
"Now, if there should be any change in your condition, which I'm not anticipating, you be sure to contact me, or another doctor.” He paused. “So, are you two planning to stay here? In New York, I mean?"
"Yes, we are,” Tom answered. “We're still on our extended vacation in Massachusetts, but we came down here to look at houses, and to see you, of course."
"You're not going back to Florida?"
"We might spend some time there in the winters, but not all the time, no. We're definitely moving back here."
"Well, I hope that works out for you,” said Dr. Michael pleasantly. “Do you know where you will be?"
"We've narrowed it down to two, I think,” said Carole, looking to Tom for confirmation.
Tom nodded. “Two very nice houses, one right here—well, near here, in Manhasset—and one over in New Jersey, near some of Carole's relatives. Either one would be fine; they're both pretty good size, plenty of room, and in good areas."
"It sounds like you're thinking about starting a family yourself, Thomas."
"That would be great,” Tom answered with alacrity. He and Carole both grinned.
"It's something we both really want,” Carole added.
"Do you think we should be having any problem with that?” Tom asked.
Dr. Michael shrugged. “Have you been having any problem? How long have you been trying?"
"A couple years now, actually,” said Carole. “So far, no luck, obviously. My doctor in Florida told me before Tom and I got married that Iwas able to have children, but he did say that some of my medication might interfere with my fertility."
"That's possible, I suppose,” said Dr. Michael, “but that shouldn't be a factor now, since I see no reason for you to be on anything now."
"Nothing at all, Doctor?"
"What for?” he replied matter-of-factly. “I would say, though,” he continued, raising his voice slightly for emphasis, “that if you twoare thinking about starting a family, I wouldn't waste much more time.” He smiled. “I mean,” he clarified, seriously but gently, “given both your ages."
"In that case,” said Tom, suggestively arching one eyebrow, “I think we should definitely get to work right away. As soon as possible, in fact."
"Go home, Thomas,” said Dr. Michael, mock-dismissively. He paused. “Oh, one other thing, Carole; I did want to ask you: have you been seeing a gynecologist?"
"Actually, I haven't seen one for a few years, now."
"Well you should see one once a year, you know, given your history.” He picked up her file began flipping through it. “It's been five years now since the operation..."
"Right before I met you, Tom,” said Carole.
Tom nodded. “You're talking about that tumor, on your ovary."
"...and it was benign, wasn't it?” Dr. Michael asked rhetorically, locating the pathology report. He scanned it quickly and nodded. “And you've had no problems since then?"
"Not that I'm aware of,” said Carole with mild trepidation.
"Well, there is nothing to be aware of,” said Dr. Michael reassuringly, looking through her file. “I see that you have been having regular pap smears, and they have all come back normal."
"Yes, my regular doctor in Florida did that for me. That's why I seldom saw a gynecologist while I was there."
"Well, then, I can do the same, for you ... or you can see someone else if you would prefer."
"Do you have someone you can recommend?” asked Carole.
"Actually, yes. My associate, Dr. Roberts, has a sub-specialty in that area."
''I never met him,” said Tom.
"Her,” Dr. Michael corrected. “Kathleen Roberts. She's been with me for about a year now. If you have any questions or concerns about your fertility, she might be a good person to start with."
"Well, I guess I'll make an appointment to see her then, while I'm still down here."
"Whatever is most convenient for you. There's no urgency, of course."
Tom stood up. “Well, Dr. Michael, I was very happy to be able to see you again, and for Carole to have been able to see you.
Dr. Michael stood up and shook hands with Tom. “It was good to see you again too, Thomas."
Carole stood up and extended her hand to Dr. Michael. “It's been very nice to meet you. I'm happy that we'll be able to have you as our doctor, when we need one."
Dr. Michael took her hand and smiled. “It was very nice to meet you. Hopefully you won't need to see me very often."
"Dr. Michael is the best,” said Tom with genuine appreciation.
"Thank you, Thomas. I try. I'm just happy to have been able to give you two some good news."
* * * *
From the time that they left Dr. Michael's office and walked around the block to where Tom had parked his Cadillac, Tom and Carole said very little to each other, both of them still absorbing and quietly reflecting on what Dr. Michael had said to them, surely among the very best news that they had received in the entire time that they had been married. It was still early in the afternoon on this typically hot and humid mid-August day in New York. Now, after having spent almost all of the past few days either seeing doctors or taking medical tests, or looking at houses, they felt they deserved to have a little fun, and had made reservations for later this evening at a very nice restaurant in the City.
Before going out they wanted to change clothes, which they would do at the Port Washington home a few miles east and north of here of Gene Daniel, Tom's oldest friend, who'd put them up the past few days after they'd spent a week in New Jersey with Carole's sister. But it was too early, and they had a few hours to kill. Even without asking Carole what she wanted to do or where she wanted to go, however, Tom knew that there was one thing that they both felt compelled to do, and he knew just the place to go. He drove around the block and made a right turn onto Little Neck Parkway, then made a left onto Northern Boulevard, driving about a quarter of a mile before turning onto the street of St. Thaddeus’ Church.
St. Thaddeus’ had been Tom's parish for almost all of his life, from the time he was born up until he had left New York for Florida six years ago. From the outside it was probably one of the least prepossessing Catholic churches Tom had ever seen, being housed entirely in a little extension built onto
the rear portion of a brick building that was basically just an elementary school. Only the stained glass windows which had been added fairly recently, about a year or two before Tom had moved away, and the stone steps and arched entrance to the back of the building gave any indication that this was, in fact, a church.
"I just thought that I'd go in for a minute and say a prayer, maybe light a candle,” said Tom as he parked his car in front of the entrance to the church.
"That's a good idea,” said Carole quietly. “I think that I will, too.” They got out of the car and walked up the steps. Tom held the door open for Carole, and the two of them entered the church.
St. Thaddeus’ may not have been particularly impressive from the outside, but it was a nice enough church on the inside. Just as Tom remembered, it was very clean and well-maintained, befitting what was still its fairly affluent congregation. Tom noticed that the ceiling and the space above and behind the altar had been recently painted, as it always had been every other year in the days when he had been coming here. It was not an overly-large church; there were about twenty-five rows of wooden pews divided in half by a center aisle, as well as a small number of seats in the balcony, which housed the organ. The organist was up there now, practicing; every few seconds he began to play the opening notes of Beethoven's “Ode to Joy.” Tom and Carole looked at each other but said nothing, the knowing look in their eyes wordlessly communicating their mutual recognition of the appropriateness of this particular piece at this moment. They both dipped their fingers into the font containing Holy Water located near the entrance and blessed themselves. Then they walked down the center aisle, both genuflecting in front of the altar when they reached it. Tom then led Carole to the right hand side of the front of the church, along which there were numerous stands containing banks of votive candles, each devoted to a different popular saint, statues of which were situated in little recessed alcoves built into the wall. Tom finally stopped at the familiar statute of the man dressed in a robe, carrying a club, with a flame emanating from his forehead: St. Thaddeus, also known as St. Jude.
It seemed somewhat ironic to Tom that St. Thaddeus, whose intercession Catholics universally invoked when facing total desperation, or when their cause seemed utterly hopeless, was the patron of this, his old parish. For in all the years that he had been coming here, Tom, filled with the brimming confidence of youth, had never truly considered himself to be in that position. After he had left New York and this parish, however, he had found himself asking for the aid of St. Thaddeus on many, many occasions, and, while his prayers may have always been answered, to be sure, the answer had seldom been exactly what Tom had in mind. Lately, of course, the single most prominent subject of his desperate entreaties had been his wife's health. For as much as he loved Carole—which he knew he would, forever, no matter what her physical condition—the truth was that he'd always prayed for her to be cured someday, somehow. He longed for her—for them both, really—to have a life that was “normal,” without living under the constant specter of her disease, which had so cruelly and prematurely begun to rob her of her of her vigor, her beauty, her very youth, forcing her to face her mortality so many years before she rightly should have. He knew that Carole had sorely yearned for this also, even more so than he. God never burdens us with more than we can handle, she was fond of saying, but he knew that she still begged Him often to relieve her of this particular burden. If, as seemed to be the case, this had in fact been done, certainly some acknowledgement of this marvelous favor must be given.
Tom reached into his pocket and stuffed a couple of folded bills into the donation slot built into the stand containing the candles. Tom was happy to see that St. Thaddeus still used real candles, unlike the churches he had attended in Florida, which had all switched over to those electric lamps instead. He took one of the long wooden sticks and, placing the end of it in the burning flame of an already lit candle, lit one of his own in the uppermost row, just beneath the base of the statue of St. Thaddeus. He then handed the stick to Carole, who lit the candle just to the right of his and then snuffed out the flaming stick in the sand on the shelf that was below the bank of candles. She and Tom knelt down in front of the bank of candles and prayed silently for a few moments, each of them in their own way offering their most sincere and heartfelt expressions of gratitude to the saints and to God. Finally, they blessed themselves and rose to their feet.
"I have an awful lot to be thankful for,” Carole whispered to Tom as they got up. “I've really been blessed.” Tears were beginning to moisten her beautiful brown eyes.
"Yes,” Tom whispered back in agreement. “I have too.” He paused, struggling to contain his emotions. “And the greatest one is you—just being with you.You aremy greatest blessing.” Tom's eyes also began to tear up. Carole instinctively put her arm around Tom's shoulders and pulled him close to her, hugging him tightly as they walked together down the center aisle towards the doors of the church.
An elderly little man with snow-white hair and a rather stern appearance had quietly entered the church and began rearranging the missals and hymn books that were in the receptacles built into the backs of each pew, making sure that there were one of each for each place and that they were all facing the right way. Tom recognized him immediately, as he did Tom, and the two of them nodded in silent acknowledgement of one another as Tom and Carole passed by.
"Who was that?” asked Carole once she and Tom had exited the church.
"That was Mr. Durlowski, the sexton. I think he's the one who built this church."
"Really?"
Tom chuckled. “No, of course not. It's just that he's been here so long, from before I was born, even, it seems like he's been here forever.” Tom shook his head. “He's another one who never changes."
"No?"
"No, he was an old man when I first came here a little boy. Actually, I would have thought he would have been retired by now. He must be close to a hundred."
"Are you serious?"
"Well maybe not quite a hundred,” Tom conceded. “I suppose that everyone seems old to you when you're that young. Plus, you know, he had the white hair, kind of a mean face. All the children were frightened of him."
"Was he mean?"
"No, actually, he was a very nice fellow."
"As they say, appearances can be deceiving."
"That's true,” said Tom as he and Carole reached the car. Tom walked over to the passenger side and opened the door, holding it open for his wife. “Yours isn't though, Natasha. You're every bit as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside."
"No, I'm not,” said Carole quietly, as she slid into the car. She looked up at her husband. “But you are.
"No, I'm not,” said Tom. “But you are. You're the most beautiful person I've ever known, and you always will be.” He bent over and gently kissed her.
"You're the most beautiful person I've ever known.” She gazed lovingly into his brown eyes. “And you always will be."
Tom smiled. “I guess we kind of like each other. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"
"Okay."
Tom walked around to the driver's side and got in. Before he could start the car Carole put her hand on his shoulder.
"What is it, Hon?"
Carole paused; she drew a deep breath, exhaling audibly. “Tom,” she finally asked her husband quietly, “what do you think really happened?"
Tom's face creased into a comforting smile. “I think that you've been cured,” he answered firmly. He enveloped her hands in his, patting hers gently. “I think that you're going to be all right."
"Do you really think so?” Her brown eyes met his imploringly.
"Well, you heard what Dr. Michael said. Look, if you want another opinion—or ten other opinions, for that matter—well, that's fine with me, but I have no reason to doubt him.” He looked at his wife intently. “You don't feel sick, do you?"
"No, of course not, I feel fine, and I have for weeks now; you know
that. But you heard what he said about the tea. If that's not what caused this, then what did?"
"Do you know what a very smart girl once told me? It doesn't matter!” He grinned broadly. “She was right, you know, wasn't she?"
Carole nodded in recognition. “Do you think it's possible that neither one of us is ever going to get sick now, not for the next hundred years?"
"I don't know. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. Right now, though, I honestly don't care."
"Really?” asked Carole, puzzled.
"Really. Don't get me wrong: I don't want you to be sick, and I don't want to be sick myself, either. But the main thing is that I love you, and no matter what happens, as long as I'm with you, well, everything else is just a bonus."
Carole gazed at him in wonderment and shook her head slowly. “You really do adore me, don't you?"
TFRoot - The Elixer Page 12