Better Than None (7 page)

The procedure with Barb felt like it was becoming commonplace. We were
back at the hospital, answering the same questions, going though the same
routine. Over the course of the last couple months, our time together had
changed from shopping and errands to doctor’s appointments and medical
procedures. Through it all, I stood powerless as I witnessed my mother getting
weaker and more uncomfortable.

What was supposed to be outpatient surgery turned into Barb being
admitted when they found they couldn’t stent her endoscopically, and had to
resort to inserting a temporary external tube the old fashioned way—by
cutting into her abdomen. When I was able to visit her in recovery, she had a
tube draining what looked like black tar out of her stomach into a bag. She was
still out of as she lay there, mouth open in a twilight-induced haze. At each
step, I felt more and more helpless, though watching her, I thought, that was
the true definition of helplessness. She was at the mercy of this disease,
unaware of anything going on around her, and unable to change any of it.

The day seemed interminable as we waited while they found a room. When
my mom finally came to, she was still groggy but awake enough to understand
when I explained where she was and why she was being admitted. She looked down
in horror at the drain and bag.

“Oh, Stephanie!” She exclaimed, her speech still a little slurred, her
voice raspier than usual.

“I know mom, it’s just temporary. But they needed to drain the bile
immediately and they couldn’t get to it internally.”

“But, but look at it!”

“They said it’ll just be for a week or so…”

“I’m going to be in here a week?”

“No, Mom. They’re just keeping you tonight to make sure you’re ok.
You’ll be going home tomorrow.”

“With this?” She asked, horrified.

I couldn’t blame her, though I tried to soothe her worries. “We can
hide it under your clothes.”

“I can’t go out like this! You’ve got to do something! Call the doctor.
I want you to tell him this is unacceptable! I can’t go around with this,
this…”

“Mom, there isn’t anything I can do. They put this in to save your
life. Your body was poisoning itself. Your bilirubin count has already gone
down just in the couple hours since the procedure.”

“I don’t care about the damn bilirubin! How am I supposed to walk
around with a bag of bile?”

I didn’t have an answer, and even if I did, I don’t think it would have
much mattered. She was scared and upset. She wasn’t just losing her health, she
was slowly losing her dignity too.

****

That night, I went to her house to feed her cats and dog, clean the
litter boxes, walk the dog, close up her house and then came home to my own
dogs, walked them and collapsed into bed. The next morning was the exact same
routine but reversed. And even though it was Saturday, I went into the office to
catch up on work and ensure that at least that part of my life was on track
though after my previous conversation with Marty, I was feeling unsettled even
at work, my one safe haven.

Since it wasn’t a weekday, I was in a tank top, shorts and flip flops.
There was no A/C on the weekends and the office could get stifling. I was
grateful to be able to get lost in the work. As crappy as things might have
been in the rest of my life, the actual work was great. I felt I was doing some
of the best creative I’d ever done even in spite of Dave and that fiasco. Much
as I needed some time to relax and being at the office on a Saturday wasn’t
exactly ideal, I was grateful for the peace and quiet. So lost in my thoughts
and the hum of the desk fan that I jumped when Marty said my name.

“Steph?” Marty’s voice made me jump.

“Jesus!” I’d been so lost in my thoughts and the hum of the fan, my
heart beat hard against my chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I was still gun-shy after our last encounter, so I tried to remain cool
without being disrespectful.

“No worries, I just didn’t expect anyone else here on a Saturday.”

He chuckled. “Neither did I.” I shrugged and we just looked at each
other a beat too long. He looked younger in his worn t-shirt, baseball cap and
shorts. And when he smiled, that damn dimple of his softened my mood a bit.

“So how’s your mom doing? How did everything go yesterday? How are
you
holding up?”

Not even the dimple could work on me like that, though. I couldn’t go
back to this. I had to put some distance. I had already let him get too close,
and then after the Dave comment…

“We’re fine, Marty.”

He stiffened. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Please don’t take offense at this, you’ve been nothing but kind to me,
but I need boundaries. I need to keep my personal life separate from my work
life.”

Marty’s dimple was long gone as his face turned cold. “Does this have
something to do with the conversation about Dave?”

I took a deep breath. “Marty, you’re a great boss, you’re beyond
caring, but I just, I just can’t blur the lines.”

“You think I blur the lines?”

I was treading on thin ice.

“I think you’re wonderful, and comfortable being all of our boss as
well as our friend. But I need this to just be my job.”

“And when I ask you how you’re doing or how your mom is, that makes you
uncomfortable? Because that’s the last thing I want, Steph. I want to be here
for you, not push you away.” 

“Why?”

He paused and took a deep breath before he answered. I’d never witnessed
Marty be anything but truthful, so whatever he was about to say, he was
obviously worried as to how I’d take it.

“Because you seem so fragile. Like you’re holding everything together
with a tiny piece of tape and one strong wind will blow everything that you’ve
been trying so hard to keep together, that one gust will blow it all apart.”

Once again, the tears welled up. I wish they hadn’t, but I was so
emotionally raw from everything over the last month that he wasn’t wrong. It
was like this was the wind he was talking about. I couldn’t blink back the
tears, they just started rolling down my cheeks as I stared at him and silently
started crying. In front of my boss. Great. Fucking great.

 He just stood there as my shoulders shook and I cried. For the second
time in as many weeks, I had a man pitying me. First, Dr. Rosenberg and now
Marty. Two men who couldn’t have been more different. But obviously there was
something about me that was a pity magnate. Wonderful.

When I finally stopped crying I blew my nose and wiped my eyes, sure
that I looked as bad as I felt. I looked up at him with what I’m sure were
bloodshot eyes and blotchy skin and spoke as simply as I could.

“I have a lot of work to get done before I pick my mom up from the
hospital, Marty. So, if it’s all the same to you…”

He just nodded and walked out leaving me to wonder how I could screw
things up any worse.

When we stepped off the elevator for Barb’s second round of chemo, I
was shaken again at the sheer number of people. Different day, different batch
of people, same fucking disease. And the same combination of sadness,
compassion, pain and misery. I wondered how anyone could work here when every
day they were surrounded by impending death, and reminded of that when some
patients eventually stopped coming. By the looks of things, their places were
likely filled all too quickly.

As we waited, Barb picked up a copy of People magazine, one of their
“Where are they now?” issues. She absent-mindedly flipped through until
something caught her eye and she chuckled. “Steph, honey, isn’t this…”

It was over 20 years later, and I still got a twinge of nausea at
seeing the photo of the guy I lost my virginity to. Gunnar Rockford, identical
twin of Garth, son of folk legend Roy, grandson of 50s TV icons Walter and
Ruth, and, for anyone who was a teenage girl during the late 80s, they’d
probably know him as one half of the boy band,
Rockford
. I guess it was
fitting that I’d happen upon that picture with my mom.

It’s hard to believe that one singular event decades prior that was
only minutes long could change and form one’s entire life. But when I think
back to being 16 and losing my virginity, it was such a defining moment in so
many ways for me and for my relationship with Barb.

It wasn’t that the actual experience was so memorable, though
ironically I did remember so many little details. In fact, while I couldn’t
really recall the act at all, everything else was still crystal clear. From
Boston
that was playing on record player, (this was in the 80s, back when people still
had vinyl records, before they were retro) to what I was wearing: grey cotton
Esprit pants tucked into short white boots and a white cotton t-shirt bloused
over my pants, with a wide white belt. I could still hear his shock when I
answered, “No, I’m not on the pill.” Again, it was a time before the
omnipresence of safe-sex. I recall him telling me that my classmate Diana Davis
gave really good head, though I can’t remember exactly what this was apropos
of. Perhaps it was because I had never done that either.  I wondered why
he was reaching up into his bookshelf, until he pulled out a book to retrieve
the condom that was tucked inside. And I remember how much it hurt and how
quickly it was over.

Afterwards, sitting in the backseat of my friend Jenny’s boyfriend’s
car, I had no idea what the wetness was that I felt between my legs. When I got
home and saw all the blood, I thought that something had gone horribly,
horribly wrong. Of course, nothing physically had gone wrong, though nothing
really went right, as far as I was concerned. But emotionally, it indeed was
horrible, and wrong, at least for my fragile ego and still-forming sense of
self.

It was a one-night stand during spring break my junior year in high
school and I barely knew him. He and Chase, Jenny’s boyfriend, were good
friends. We had all spent the day together at Chase’s house just hanging out.
At some point, we ended up in the Jacuzzi and started fooling around. I can’t
remember why, but we all left Chase’s to go to Gunnar’s to watch a movie.
Mid-way through, he and I went into his bedroom. And the rest, as they say…

I certainly didn’t know what I was doing, but I at least thought I knew
why
I was doing it. I was positive that all of my friends had already
had sex and that I was the last one. I just wanted to get it over with.
Afterwards, I found out that none of them actually had, and I was the first. I
also learned how much they looked down on me after I admitted what I had done.
Funny, I didn’t think ill of them when I thought they had lost their virginity.
Seeing how vicious girls could be to each other was just one more way that this
one night so many years ago had the power to change and form so many things
since. I so desperately wanted to talk with someone about it that when my mom
opened the door, I couldn’t help but run through. After I poured my heart out,
she proceeded to take the next hour and a half to tell me about the guy at work
who she was fucking, and how much of a dick he and the boss (who apparently
also knew of the affair) were to her after the brief fling ended. I remember
her telling me about what a small penis he had, calling him ‘pencil-dick Pete’.
And I remember wondering if my dad could hear our conversation over the din of
the TV in the family room.

I already knew that she and my dad didn’t have a great relationship,
and perhaps that’s why I wasn’t shocked about her affair. In fact, I don’t ever
remember thinking anything other than,
well, I guess we’re finished talking
about me...

 I never got close to anyone after that first experience in high
school. I felt so abandoned and betrayed by people I thought were my friends,
the only person who didn’t abandon me was my mother. And once she’d shared
about her affairs, of which there were many, it became a recurring topic of
conversation between us. While I knew talking about her love life helped her
and helped us get closer and closer, it also taught me how pathetic some women
could be when it came to the men, and the choices they made in their lives, and
I vowed to never be vulnerable or needy or desperate like she was.

I was too young to know what I was doing, but after that first
experience and having Barb as a role model, I never let myself be vulnerable
again. I thought I was using sex as a weapon, screwing strangers before they
could hurt me, but by my late 20s I hadn’t protected myself at all. I’d simply
built walls.

She often felt guilty and worried that it was because we were so close
that I didn’t have a relationship with my father, or anyone my own age. She did
take a lot of my time and focus, but it took two to tango, and while she could
have been more of a mother in my younger years rather than a friend, that just
wasn’t how things shook out. We were partners. We had gone through and
experienced so much together, I couldn’t fathom her not being there. I knew of
course that eventually she wouldn’t be, but she was still so young and vibrant.
She was still so much a part my life.

So while it was easy to romanticize the past, to remember events or
people through rose-colored glasses, with the news that my mother had a likely
fatal disease, I briefly wondered if I was making our relationship out to be
better than it was, because the thought of not having my mom around was
unimaginable. But the truth was that, while it wasn’t a perfect relationship,
she really was my best friend and had been since I was a teenager.

I looked at the picture of Gunnar. He’d had some bad plastic surgery,
made worse since his identical twin hadn’t had any. Before I could read the
brief article, our name was called, snapping me back to reality. Back to what
was important.

****

I had been so preoccupied taking care of my mom, her animals, and my
job that I hadn’t had any time to worry about seeing Dr. Rosenberg at Barb’s
next chemo appointment. Marty had given me my space at the office, stopping by
to say hi or talk about work, but nothing more than that, and I found myself
missing his company. In the early mornings, instead of bringing me coffee and a
pastry and chatting, he simply poked his head in, wished me a good morning, and
then went into his office.
What do you expect, Steph? Not everyone’s a
glutton for punishment like you.
Like so many other things, I knew I had no
one to blame other than myself. So I put on a brave face each day and set out
to face whatever fresh hell would be thrown at me next.

After Barb’s weight and vitals were taken, and once we were settled
into our respective chairs, she turned to me with a stern expression.

“I don’t care what he says, you be nice to Dr. Rosenberg this time. Do
you understand me?”

“I promise, mom. I’ll be good.”

“Good. Now, can you tell I have this awful bag under my dress?”

Typical Barb, which given everything, I was happy she was still in there.
“No, ma. It’s all pinned up. No one can see.”

I looked over and saw the same woman from the previous week’s session.
Once again, she was all alone and once again, I felt for her. Poor thing.

“I like your blouse. It really brings out your eyes.” She said softly
to me.

“Thank you!” I wanted to say more, I wanted to say what I was feeling
‘You’re sitting there with an IV plugged into the port in your chest, you have
no hair, and yet you’re able to give a compliment. That takes grace, and
strength, and I so admire it.’ Of course, I didn’t say any of those things. I
just smiled at her and then refocused my attention on my mom who was busy
talking with the nurse.

When I looked up again, she smiled again. “You’re new here. Last week
was your first time?”

I let out a single laugh. “Yeah, we just joined the club.” She laughed
too, an honest to goodness laugh, her smile lighting up her sad face.

“Joined? Or were drafted?” She joked. Both my mom and I nodded with
understanding.

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly voluntary.”

“I’m not sure who in their right mind would sign up for this
willingly.” As she said this, all of our smiles faded.

“A masochist.” Came a voice from behind us, making me jump slightly.
I’m not sure what I expected, but Dr. Rosenberg’s expression was unreadable at
first. Perhaps part resignation, part anger, part… I don’t know. I hated the
effect that just his voice had on my body, but just hearing him made me tingle
as my heart rate sped up.
In the damn oncologist’s office? Nice, Steph. Real
nice.
He glanced at Sherri, but she immediately looked down and pretended
to bury herself in her book, making him roll his eyes and shake his head
slightly before he returned his attention to my mom.

“How are you feeling, Barb?”

As my mom looked up at him, I could see just how much this disease and
treatment had already taken from her… and it was only the second week of chemo.
Gone was her flirtatious coy self. It was as if she realized that no amount of
flirting could change any of this.

“I’ve felt better, doctor.”

He nodded, and put his hands in his pockets as he turned and looked
like he wanted to say something to Sherri but she refused to look up. When he
turned back to me the intensity in his gaze both frightened and turned me on. All
it took was a few words out of his mouth for that to change.

“Doctor, I have a question about my mother’s drain.”

“Have you talked with the doctor who put it in?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Whatever he said probably still stands.”

God I hated how dismissive this man could be. Dismissive and utterly
cold.

“I understand that, but being that you’re her oncologist, and we’re
here, I thought…” I looked at my mom and then back at Dr. Rosenberg and knew
this was only going to upset her. “Never mind.”

How on earth could I have been turned on by this prick?

He clenched his jaw as he stared at me. His penchant for eye contact
was beyond unnerving. I held his gaze, unwilling and unable to look away.

“Stephanie, can I have a word with you in my office?”

I froze, then looked at my mother, my promise to her still fresh in
both of our minds. I was a big girl. I could go talk with the good doctor like
an adult. I kissed my mom’s forehead as I got up and followed the doctor down
one of the football field sized hallways to his office. He didn’t wear a lab
coat, so I watched the cheeks of his nicely shaped ass all the way. With what
I’d been feeling lately, I allowed myself this little treat. His office was
buried at the end, away from the treatment rooms, facing the ocean. As
incongruous as it was, there was a feeling of serenity in there and I was
grateful for the view as it allowed me to look somewhere other than at him.

Unlike facing Dave at the shoot a few weeks earlier, I didn’t feel
disgust or regret or embarrassment. After the little exchange we’d just had,
all I felt was anger. At him for being so cold and at myself for somehow liking
this man. When I heard the door close, I turned to him and exploded.

“What is wrong with you?! Do you have any feelings whatsoever? Do you
have any idea what it’s like to be on this side of the table? Is your time so
God damned precious that you couldn’t even humor me and give me one of the many
non-answers that seem to be commonplace from most of the doctors we see?!”

“Are you finished?” he asked impassively as he leaned against his desk,
his arms crossed confidently over his chest.

“Finished? You’re the one who asked me to your office! And now you want
to rush me out of here? Jesus, seriously, what is wrong with you!?”

“I doubt we have enough time to try to answer that.” He deadpanned and
I did a double take. This man seemed to be Sybil incarnate. Cold.
Self-deprecating. Oddly caring at select times. Scarily reflective. Sad.
Unfortunately, I softened. I hated that I did, but there was something about
him that was so broken, even after him being such a jerk, I couldn’t stay mad
at someone who wasn’t being mean in that exact moment.

Exasperated, but now calmer if not resigned, I said, “If you could just
take a step in our shoes, see this disease from our perspective.”

“I can… my wife…” he looked down at his shoes.

“You’re married?!” I may have been many things, but a home-wrecker? No.
Not after growing up with someone who made cheating part of her marriage.

“No.” he paused and I was relieved until he corrected himself. “Yes,
technically, but no, not really, not anymore.”

“You either are or you aren’t.”

“I’m in the middle of a divorce. We’ve been separated and living apart
for almost a year.”

“And your wife has cancer?!”

He smiled tightly. “Your opinion of me is just going from bad to worse,
eh?”