Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale (30 page)

“So, the
results of your tests came back negative. You’re still in the clear,” Dr.
Downer says, as she leads me to the examination bed and asks me to take off my
top. She begins to examine my wounds and feel around my remaining lymph nodes.

“Good, because
I wanted to talk to you about where we go from here. I want to have the other
breast off and have two implants.”

“You don’t need
to do that, Sophie. The rate of survival now you're being treated is well into
the ninetieth percentile.”

I'm not about
to be talked out of this now I’ve made up my mind. “I know that and this is
nothing to do with survival rates. This is more to do with my sanity. Firstly,
if I have two implants, they’ll match and secondly, I can’t handle the stress
of the ultrasounds and mammograms every six months. When they showed me the images
of a new cyst this morning, I was practically hysterical. I’ve only just
stopped shaking. I can’t deal with cancer again.”

“Both valid
points.” She tells me to put my top on and goes to sit at her desk. By the time
I get back, she has a sheath of sheets on the table between us.

“So you’re
serious about the bi-lateral mastectomy?”

“Deadly.”

She gives a
hint of a smile. “Okay. I’ll get the forms filled in and give Jared a call.
Usually I remove the breast and he comes in last and does the cosmetic
reconstruction part.”

“Sounds fair.”

I leave Dr.
Downer’s office feeling relieved and somewhat happy. I know some people would
say I’m being alarmist and over reacting but this is the right course of action
for me. That time in pathology only served to confirm it.

*****

I get back to
the shop to find Lani supervising the men who are attaching the new sign over
the verandah and door of the shop. She’s using a series of hand signals that would
almost be construed as rude in other circumstances but the men seem to
understand what she’s on about.

“How’s that for
cool?” she asks, pointing up to the sign that the men are now securing in
place.

“Please tell
her it's fabulous,” one of the men yells down the ladder. “She’s had us up here
for over half an hour. My arms are beginning to wilt.”

“Fabulous,” I
say to Lani. I mean it, though. The new sign and logo are fabulous. And once
we’ve given the interior a spruce up to match, it’ll be perfect.

“Thanks boys,”
Lani says. “I’m going inside now. Can I offer you a cold beverage when you
finish?”

“A cuppa’d be
great, love,” the first guy says. “Unless you’ve got a beer in the fridge.”

Lani snorts at
the idea and we walk into the shop together.

“I’ve picked a
few paint colours,” she says, as we go out the back to put on the kettle. “See
what you think. I’ve finalised the menu for the finger food with Angela and the
drinks are being delivered the day before. Angela suggested we pay Carly to
come for the night. She’d make a great cocktail waitress and it’ll leave us
time to mingle.”

I wander to
where Lani has a selection of paint swatches strewn across the table, along
with fabric choices for the sofa and soft furnishings. Everything is cream and
gold and tones the colour of weak black tea. They’re beautiful and I tell her
so. Just what I’d envisioned.

“The painting
party’s organised for Saturday afternoon and Sunday. I figure we can get it
done in that time,” I say, keen to show her I’ve been doing something too,
because it looks as if she's done the lot while I’ve been hobnobbing around
doctors’ rooms. The change since I asked Lani to be my business partner is
unbelievable. It’s like she was waiting for an opportunity to show me she’s not
a ditz, that she’s going to be a really good business woman. “Rory wants to
come and help too, though I think he may be more of a hindrance. I might see if
Hugh Farmer will take him for the day. He hasn’t had a play date with Harris
for a while and Angela will be here with us.”

We stand for a
bit longer, finalising plans and settling on the colours for the interior. Then
the doorbell rings and I go out onto the floor, my head swirling with ideas and
enthusiasm.

Later in the
afternoon, as we’re doing a spot of re-organising and thinking about how the
new displays for the window are going to look, Rory comes bounding in the door
with Angela and her two. She’s kindly offered to collect him from school until
the launch. That way I can work an extra hour or so and help Lani get
everything ready.

Rory drags his
bag in the door behind him, leaving it in the pathway of potential customers.
It’s bulging with heaven knows what. Hurdling over it, he runs up to me waving
a certificate.

“Mum, Mum!
Guess what happened?”

“You got signed
to play for the Eagles?” I joke.

“Don’t be
silly. I’m not old enough to play for the Eagles. I won a prize.
 
A super, big, prize and I had my photo
taken for the newspaper.”

I sit on the
sofa under the window and pat the space beside me. “Now, that’s a story I’d
like to hear. Tell me more.”

“You know that
walkathon? The Breast Cancer one?”

I certainly do.
It’s been like a noose around my neck trying to collect sponsorships. Plus, Rory’s
been hounding everyone we know to sponsor him, right down to the postman. Even
the grumpy man in the fresh produce shop wasn’t spared.

“Yes?”

“I got the most
in the whole of Western Australia. This lady came to school to give me this
certificate. We had a special assembly and everything.” He hands the award over
proudly.

“Wow. Well
done, Mr. Rory.” I stare at the amount on the certificate. He raised that much?
“I’m so proud of you.”

“The lady gave
me so much prizes, I can hardly carry my bag.”

“So many prizes.”

“Yeah. That. Oscar
threw a fit when he didn’t win.”

“You mean
Melinda's Oscar?”

“Yeah. And he
said my prizes were stupid and he didn’t want them anyway.”

Typical. Like
mother, like son.

“But I said it
wasn’t about the prizes, it was about helping ladies with Breast Cancer. That’s
right, isn’t it, Mum?”

My child is a
saint. He’s had so much happening in his little life lately and yet he manages
to think of other people. I pull him to me and give him the biggest hug I can.
I smooth his soft wavy hair. “That’s right honey. And I think the money you raised
will help lots of ladies.”

“Mum?” he says,
lifting his face from the spot on my chest.

“Yes?”

“When are you
getting your new boobie? Did the doctor tell you?”

“Soon. Why?”

“That fake one
feels so weird. It’s like cuddling my bike helmet.”

Out of the
mouths of babes.

Chapter 31

“I have a present for you.” Lani hands me a brown paper-wrapped parcel
tied with a huge raffia string ribbon.

It’s the night
of the launch. The shop looks glam. We’ve painted the walls an antique cream
colour and the old shelving and furniture has been revamped with crisp white
paint. Two junk shop chandeliers, kindly wired in by Lani’s dad who’s an
electrician, are sparkling overhead adding to the glow of the fairy lights
we’ve entwined in the hop vines along the picture rails. A pair of vintage
linen curtains — artfully re-invented and washed by Lani — swag the
window framing the display of treasures. Even the old glass counter-cum-display
case fits perfectly with the theme.

I look down at
the package Lani’s placed in my hands. A stab of remorse, that I didn’t have
the forethought to organise something similar for my new partner, pinches at my
insides. “You didn’t need to do this. I didn’t buy you a ‘Happy Opening’ gift.”

“It’s not
exactly an opening gift. It’s a bit of fun.”

“Oh.”

Confused, I
pull the bow and let the string fall on the counter. The brown paper unwraps
easily as Lani hasn’t used tape and inside I find a stack of magazines. Now,
I’m more bemused. It’s certainly not a ‘Happy Opening’ gift.

I pull out the
copies of
Playboy
and
Sports Illustrated
. The covers are
emblazoned with photos of scantily clad women. I can understand why men might
find these things attractive but surely Lani didn’t envisage them as light
hospital reading for my next round of surgery? She’s not that mad. “What are
these for?”

“Research.”

I must look
confused because she continues before I can answer.

“So you can
look at the breasts these girls have and get some ideas for your own new
puppies. I’ve marked a few pages that look particularly natural.”

And indeed she
has. A number of bright orange sticky notes are protruding from the sides of
the magazines. One page, which must be of particular interest, has a double
sticky note allocation with arrows pointing into the magazine. I flick to the
first marked page. A naked girl lays draped along some type of animal rug,
possibly polar bear? She has a sultry look and the biggest set of knockers I’ve
seen in my life. Even Donna Wilde — the girl I went to school with who
had a breast reduction in Year Twelve because she was a Double F cup —
wasn’t as big as this girl.

“You think that
looks natural?” I ask, attempting to hide my shock at what Lani thinks is
natural.

Lani titters.
“Of course not. She looks like she has airbags glued to her chest. I marked
that one as an example of bad implants. It was only a laugh.”

“Thank heavens.
I thought you were advocating I look like that. How do those women buy tops to
fit anyway? Is there some sort of online store for women with massive fake
boobs?”

“More than
likely. I can Google it if you like.”

“Hmm. Maybe
later.”

At that moment,
the doorbell tinkles and a woman appears. She’s carrying an unusual floral
arrangement that’s as wide as the doorframe and almost as tall. The background
of the bouquet is darkened twigs of cherry tree covered in hundreds of delicate
white blossoms in full bloom. They’re a perfect foil for the display of white Narcissus
that fills the rest of the massive crystal vase. It’s over the top and gaudy,
yet strangely beautiful in an oriental sort of way. I’ve never seen anything
like it.

I shove the
magazines in my handbag and put on a smile. “Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m looking
for Sophie Molloy.”

“That’s me.”

The woman
places the flowers on the counter. The arrangement is huge, dwarfing both the
register and Lani, who’s standing beside it looking slightly gobsmacked.

“Did you make
this?” Lani asks the delivery girl. She begins to search the blooms for a card
while I sign for the flowers. “God, if only I could make flower arrangements
like this. It’s amazeballs. I wonder who it’s from?”

“We can probably
rule out Brendan,” I quip. Since the quiz night, he’s been more disgruntled than
ever. He’s been on my case day and night, making it as hard as he can for me to
get on with my life. Lani thinks it’s because he’s jealous of my new
‘boyfriend’ and I tend to agree. At least, now, the house has been sold, so as
soon as Rory and I pack our stuff and move to the cute cottage I found for us,
I’ll never have to listen to his rants again.

After the
delivery girl leaves, Lani hands me the envelope she’s discovered, spiked into
the green florist foam. I peel back the flap and slide out the card. It’s not
girlie florist writing. This writing was done by a man. A man with a rather
untidy hand.

Sophie,

The Chinese believe cherry blossoms are a symbol
of new beginnings and that the narcissus bestows good luck and a flourishing of
careers and creativity.

Wishing you the best on your grand re-opening
tonight.

Jared Hanson

I’m flabbergasted.
He’s clearly given this a great deal of consideration. I’m afraid if I start pondering
what that means, I’ll read things into it that aren’t there.

“Who’s it
from?” Lani asks.

“Jared Hanson.”
I hand her the card.

A slow ‘wow’
passes over Lani’s lips. “He really does like you. That whole fake boyfriend
thing was just a ruse to hold your hand.”

“
Nooo
!” This can’t be happening. If I’m
going to have a boyfriend I want it to be one I can actually touch, not someone
I have to fantasise about when I’m alone in my bed. I did enough of that when I
was fifteen.

“Maybe this is
his way of letting you know he’s around, you know, like for later on, when he’s
not your doctor?”

I consider this
idea. “Or maybe he’s one of those thoughtful people who send flowers for every
occasion. We are acquaintances. It’s probably only a friendship thing.”

Lani and I
stand staring at the enormous bouquet, maybe hoping an answer will fly out of
the foliage. Part of me doesn’t want to believe Jared likes me as more than a
friend but another part is hoping that this means what I think it does, because
the feelings I have for him now are definitely not doctor-patient related.