Perfect (37 page)

you to Cheryl, your anesthesiologist.

She’ll give you a local at the IV

site, so you shouldn’t feel the needle,

which can be a bit uncomfortable.

I expect an orderly to be my driver.

But Dr. Kane does the steering herself.

Here we are. Get in the chair and I’ll be

back when you’re asleep. See you after.

No table for this operation. It’s a state-

of-the-art recliner. I climb up into it. Wait.

Unlike The Nurse

The anesthesiologist is built like a praying

mantis—tall, slender, and strong-armed.

Hello, Kendra. I’m Cheryl.
She comes

over, shakes my hand.
I want you to…

She looks at me. Looks at my chart.

I thought you’d be shorter. Weight,

one hundred nine pounds. Says here

you’re five foot ten. That can’t be right.

“That’s right. I know, I’ve still got

a few pounds to drop. But I’ll get there.”

Her eyes hold concern.
Honey, you

do not need to drop an ounce.

She rolls back the baggy sleeves, checks

out my arms. Ditto the hem of the gown,

running her fingers along my legs.

Then she studies the backs of my hands.

My wrists. The inside curves of my elbows.

She tsks.
Hang tight. I’ll be right back.

Sweat pops out on my forehead in hot

little beads. I don’t think I like the direction

that just went. It’s a long several minutes

before Cheryl returns, towing Dr. Kane.

She stomps over to me.
Would you please

take a look at this?
You have to have

noticed!
Cheryl pulls at the hospital gown.

You’re a doctor, for Christ’s sake.

Dr. Kane bristles.
What are you talking a—

But when she sees my shoulders, she gasps.

Suddenly, exposed, I’m freezing.

I start to shiver. My entire body shakes.

Get her a blanket, Cheryl. Kendra, are

you eating at all? You are skin and bones.

Shame And Anger

Collide inside me, roil together.

“Of course I eat. I need to be thin,

though. Xavier says I’m almost there,

too. The big contracts are coming.”

Cheryl wraps a thermal blanket

around my shoulders. Blessed warmth.

Whoever this Xavier fellow is,
she says,

you’d better quit listening to him.

Dr. Kane butts in.
Kendra, I know

you want to model. But what’s going

on here isn’t about modeling. You are

seriously emaciated. If you keep this up,

you’re at risk for anemia, arrhythmia,

and osteopenia. And have you had

a period lately? Unfortunately, we will

have to postpone the rhinoplasty.…

“No! Why? Look, I promise to eat,

okay?” Why are they on me like this?

Honey, there’s no way I will administer

anesthesia to you,
says Cheryl.
You must

be at a healthy weight or there could

be serious consequences.…

“Are you saying if some skinny person

needed an operation to save his life

you wouldn’t administer anesthesia

until he plumped up first? That’s stupid.”

She looks at me with gentle eyes.

A rhinoplasty isn’t necessary

to save your life. But maybe coming

in for one today did. I hope so.

Save My Life?

What is she talking about? I’m fine.

Okay, maybe I haven’t had a period

in a few months. It did scare me

for a while, right after Conner and I…

But the pregnancy tests were

negative. And anyway, what’s so

bad about skipping a few monthly

bloodlettings? “Look. I’m really okay.”

Dr. Kane shakes her head.
Get dressed.

Then we can discuss how to proceed.

Cheryl, when she’s ready, please

bring her back to my office. Kendra,

can I get you something? Some cocoa,

maybe? It might warm you up.

It’s a test. “Sure. Hot chocolate would

be great.” Three hundred calories great.

Cheryl Escorts Me

To Dr. Kane’s office, where the good

doctor is in deep conversation with Mom.

Wonderful. Come in for a nose job.

Walk out with a confirmed eating disorder.

Sit down, please.
Dr. Kane hands me

a steaming Styrofoam cup.
Enjoy.

Chocolate. God. I haven’t tasted it

in months. One sip, I’m totally buzzed.

Mom keeps checking me out.
Kendra,

Dr. Kane is extremely worried about you.

She is recommending inpatient treatment.

I told her we can handle it at home. Am I right?

Good old Mom. “Of course. I tried

to tell her I’m fine.” To prove it, I take

a long, loud slurp of cocoa. I hope it

doesn’t make me sick. “Can we go now?”

Sean

Sick

To your stomach—gas churning

in an empty well. That’s

how

it feels with her gone. Sick

in the head, much too

much

cerebral carnage. Brain cells

shredded and nothing

you

can do to put them back

together again. Nothing you

can

do to stop bleeding anger,

and even if you could, you don’t

want

to because anger feels better

than the pain of losing

someone.

Been Asking Around

About Conner. Not sure why

I feel the need to know, but

seeing him at the movies

made me wonder what

the hell is up with him.

He looked healthy enough,

as fit as I’ve ever seen him,

in fact. And considering

he was always an ace running

back, that’s saying a lot.

Nobody seems to know

much for certain, but Bobby

Duvall had an opinion.

I think he tried to off himself.

He’s probably been under

lock and key, you know?

Conner Sykes, loose in

the head? Yep, that makes

sense. But even if it’s true,

why should I give a shit?

I Guess I Don’t

Unless it means Cara shares