I Never Thought I'd See You Again: A Novelists Inc. Anthology (12 page)

“I’ve got to do better,” she told her husband, David, the next morning. “I can’t go through another night like I had last night.”

“It’ll be fine,” he commented over his cup of coffee. “The doctors will do whatever they have to do, and you’ll get through it the way you get through everything else. You’re a strong woman, Mags. This isn’t going to defeat you, but you’re going to have to be patient with yourself.”

Words meant to be supportive that somehow fell flat. But it really was a singular battle, wasn’t it? One no one could know unless they’d fought it themselves.

Oh, he’d put his arms around her when she’d told him, and held her as long as she needed to be held. Then he’d asked her the timetable for whatever they were going to do after which she’d fixed dinner, read for a while - life the way it usually played out. Maybe his kiss goodnight had lingered a little longer than it usually did, though. Or maybe that’s just what she’d wanted. Maggie wasn’t sure about that, or about anything else. But when the lights went out, David was instantly asleep, as was his own normal, and she was left to linger in her abnormal, with her doubts and confusion. And now . . . “But am I strong enough?” she asked him. “Am I really strong enough to do this?”

“What makes you think you wouldn’t be?” he asked. “Nothing’s really changed, has it? You’ve got cancer, but that doesn’t change who you are.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Give it time, Mags. Like I said, it’ll work out.”

Time? What a vague concept. Certainly in any given life, the journey of time was doled out by Fate, or luck or deity, and everybody had that life calendar allotting them their life’s time. But in practical terms, it was always easier to look at the time in front of you as limitless, stretching out for an eternity. A vast unknown of hopes and dreams and possibilities. Otherwise, too many people would spend their allotment wallowing away in self-pity or hopelessness or the
why bother
attitude for the ending of that time. Prior to yesterday, she’d had that limitless time where hopes and dreams and expectations could still exist. Hers had. Now they didn’t because a roadblock had been put up on that journey and she the twenty-first centuryle and he could see it as plainly as she could see her image in the mirror.

Her mirror . . . day two, and she was afraid to take a look for fear of what she’d see looking back at her. Was her reflection still strong, or already beginning to fade? Would she look the same, or had one day changed her into someone she would no longer recognize? A contortion of what used to be prior to diagnosis?

Turning off the light in the bathroom so she wouldn’t have to face the inevitable, or the impossible, depending upon your perspective, Maggie stood in front of that mirror - ten minutes, twenty, maybe an hour - and stared at the darkness. As long as she couldn’t see the face there, maybe nothing existed differently than it had before. But if she turned on the light, she knew the image would be one of cancer because that was consuming her life right then, and she wasn’t ready to see that. Or admit it. Or deal with it. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe never.

“We’ve got to show a house in an hour,” David called through the closed door. “I’d like to leave in fifteen minutes. Think you can be ready? Or would you rather stay home?”

That’s right, she thought, as she fumbled around in the dark to find her hairbrush. Life does go on. But she still didn’t know how.

Her first trip to tour days after her diagnosis and, for Maggie, it was a wholly unsatisfying experience in the form of an hour waiting to be seen, and five minutes tops being seen. Certainly, she had no delusions of the medical profession, since she’d never watched those medical dramas on TV where doctors spent scads of time with their patients and nurses had what seemed like all day to sit around and get personally involved. She hadn’t even read a novel by Robin Cook or Michael Palmer, either, where doctors got involved to the point of intrigue or adventure, all for the sake of a diagnosis. Nope, no rose-colored glasses for her. Still, she expected some semblance of medical compassion, or if not compassion, then civility. Someone with a dire diagnosis needs that, don’t they?

But what she got was the flip side. Maybe not cold detachment as in
we really don’t care
, but in a lack of courtesy and good old-fashioned manners. As they said: Treat people the way you’d like to be treated. Karma’s only a bitch if
you
are. And what a bitch her day turned out to be.

The doctor rushed in, the tails of his white lab coat flapping behind him - well maybe not literally. But at the time, that’s what it seemed like to Maggie. So, on the coattails of his flapping coattails, he was followed by his barrage of staff - med students, residents, a couple of nurses, and a harried-looking scribe of some sort who did nothing but write. No one made eye contact with her, she noticed. They didn’t smile, or nod, or even acknowledge her presence in the room. What they did, though, was surround her on all sides, this mirthless band of medical-makers, each and every one of them appraising her like she was truly some kind of specimen under a microscope.

“Hello,” Maggie said, not sure who would turn out to be the appointed spokesperson for the entourage.

“Good morning, Maggie,” the doctor said to h for a few minutesd faser, even though his attention was focused entirely on her chart, not on her.

He was reading it for the first time, she assumed. Becoming acquainted on the fly with his new patient. So much for personal interaction when everything he needed was on the written page.

“And how are you doing this morning?” he continued, still avoiding all eye contact with her.

How was she doing? Let’s see. Cancer diagnosis a few days ago, left up in the air since. How would anyone be doing under the circumstances? “You tell me, Doctor? You’ve got the chart, so how am I doing?”

“Well, according to what I’m reading, you have cancer.”

Is this what her three-thousand dollar initial consultation was getting her? Drollery in the face of her adversity? “I assume so, since I’m here, seeing you.” Although he wasn’t seeing her yet.

Belay that. He actually looked at her. Raised his head up and looked over the tops of his glasses at her. “Well then, since that seems to be the case, let’s send you for some more tests and see exactly what’s going on.”

“What I had wasn’t enough?”

“Those were preliminary tests, just to get an idea of where you are right now.”

Where she was? It seemed to Maggie she was sitting on an exam table in a doctor’s office, being stared at by a half-dozen strangers, none of whom were examining her. “So what else do I need?” And why hadn’t it all been ordered before so she could just get to the main event and skip all this preliminary stuff. After all, she had cancer-a foreign invader in her body. She wanted it out.
Out, damned cancer! out, I say! One; two: why, then, ’tis time to do ’t.

His attention snapped right back to the chart. “Um . . . CAT scan, a little more blood work . . . that should be good enough for starters, since you’ve already had an ultrasound and a biopsy.”

“Good enough?” she asked him. Did he actually say good enough in conjunction with her diagnosis? Well, she didn’t want good enough. By virtue of the fact that she was now fighting for her life, good enough in any capacity was nowhere near good enough. She wanted what every cancer patient wanted-the best. Better than the best. Something to top even the best of the best.

He nodded. “The tests you’ve already had are conclusive, but not conclusive enough. So what I’m prescribing will be good enough to give me the rest of what I want to see.”

“Which is exactly what?”

He actually had to think about that question for a minute before he answered. “Your cancer.”

Ah, the drollery, again.

“And how it’s progressed.”

“You mean it’s progressed since Friday? Does it really grow that fast?”

“No, your cancer isn’t growing that fast. But I just need a better look at it in order to determine what I’m going to find when I remove it. The best case scenario for the best outcome is that I’m forewarned about as much as possible before I go in. You know, no always wondered if therTo fas surprises.”

That did make sense, finally. But how about he not call it
her
cancer, Maggie wanted to scream at him.
The
cancer would be fine. That rat bastard cancer would be even better. Or the cancer growing inside your body. By calling it
her
cancer gave Maggie an ownership of something she didn’t want. After all, who, in their right mind, wanted to claim any part of cancer? “Do you know what kind of cancer we’re dealing with, yet?”

“Not yet. But we know it’s there . . . according to the biopsy. Could be one of several things, though. All depends.”

“On what?

“On what we’ll sort it out in surgery, and that could be any number of variables. We’re just at the beginning of this, Maggie. Pretty much as in the dark about it as you are right now. So I’ll have my staff call down and get those tests scheduled for you in a little while. Then I’ll have my nurse give you a call when we know something. Until then, don’t worry.” He actually looked at her again. “We’ll take good care of you.”

Don’t worry
? Is that really what the oncologist was telling her? It crossed Maggie’s mind that if he was going through the same thing, or if it was his wife, or someone he loved, he’d probably resent the hell out of the oncologist telling him not to worry.
Don’t worry -du-du, um-du-du, um-du-du-du. Be happy -du-du, um-du-du, um-du-du-du
. Really? “How long will it be until you know something?”

“Shouldn’t be too long. I know this isn’t easy for you. Waiting is never easy. But just be patient with us. We’ll get everything done we need to.”

Don’t worry, be patient! Now that just made things better. Tell me, Doc. Have you ever met anyone who’s just been diagnosed with cancer who doesn’t worry?

“So, anyway, first things first. Let me go get those tests going, then we’ll take it from there.” Then they all trooped out. Every last one of the stoic, white-coated herd. Just like that, the whole lot of them filed out of the exam room, but the doctor did stop directly under the exit sign and say, “Nice meeting you, Maggie. If you have any questions, call the office.”

The impersonal office? Questions? He hadn’t given her enough information to formulate any questions around. In fact, the sum total of what he’d told her could have been done in a text message or a Twitter Tweet hashtag cancer. Honestly, he hadn’t even looked at her. Hadn’t asked her to disrobe and get herself ready to be invaded, not that she liked getting naked for doctors. But she could have had the Liberty Bell tattooed all over her butt, with the Statue of Liberty on her belly and the great American bald eagle on her breasts and he wouldn’t have known because all he’d examined was her chart. The hell of this whole matter turned out to be how she wasn’t sure the man she was going to trust to save her life would recognize her if he bumped into her in the hall outside his very own exam room two minutes from now.

“I do have one question, Doctor Campbell,” she said. Actually there were dozens of questions, but he seemed mildly surprised that she would postpone his going.

“Yes?” he asked. “What’s that?” always wondered if therTo fas

“What kind of timeline are we talking about here? I know I’ll need surgery, so when will that happen? Then what happens after that?”

“My scheduling department will call you about that once we have a look at those tests.”

“A couple of days? One week, Doctor? Two weeks?” She persisted even though she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be getting an answer.

And, she was right. “Soon. Just . . . ”

Be patient. Or happy. Don’t worry.

“Relax.” Du-du, um-du-du, um-du-du-du.

One week ticked off the clock, life as normal. Almost. Then two weeks, then three. And Maggie finally braved that phone call - the one they’d promised her that she’d yet to receive. Only to be told . . . nothing. We’ll call you back. So, another day, then another, and another spent waiting.

“Come on, Maggie. It’s not like you to sit back and wait.” That from her best friend, Sally, a congenial, if not impatient sort. “Normally, you’d be out there kicking ass for that information, so what gives?”

“They’ll call me when they know something,” Maggie insisted. Deep down, she knew they should have called her already. Or returned the phone call she’d made several days prior.

Then on to another day, and even another one. Finally into the fourth week. “I’m trying to find out what the results of my tests were, and when I’ll be scheduled for surgery,” she asked the
office
. After all, she’d had cancer going on to five weeks, now.

“Doctor’s not available, but I’ll have his nurse get right back to you.” Yeh, right. Another week, then moving on into the sixth week.

“For God’s sake, Mags. Get a grip. He’s a fuck-up and he’s going to kill you if you’re not careful. Do you really want him being your doctor?” That from her husband.

Well, maybe he was a fuck-up after all, because six weeks post-diagnosis was an awful long time to wait, only to be put off time and time again. But damn, she didn’t want to start through the whole thing all over.
Let’s start at the very begi
n
ning. A very good place to start.
Except her beginning wasn’t a good place to start and she didn’t want to go back there because she’d all but wiped it out of her mind. If the doctor didn’t think this was urgent enough to return a call over, then it wasn’t urgent. Huge denial thing going on there. Maybe it wasn’t even cancer at all. Huger denial.

But denial was where Maggie was not only lingering these days, it’s where she wanted to live. Not going forward, not going backwards. No, she wanted to stand in one place with her feet planted firmly on the ground and see her life the way she wanted it to be. As in, without cancer. So if he didn’t call, she got to put it off a while longer.

That was a good thing, was for a few minutesd fasn’t it?

“Call someone else, Mags,” her husband kept pleading. “Or I will.”