My Favorite Midlife Crisis (22 page)

I hugged her, then held her hand while she rattled on nervously, “I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t believe you rounded up someone to see me. God, I can’t even talk my mouth is so dry. I want a cigarette. I haven’t smoked for fifteen years and I would kill for a Salem. That’s how crazy I feel. Logically, I know it’s probably nothing; 80 percent of lumps are benign, right? It’s not like this torture is something brand-new.” Kat had moderate fibrocystic disease. “I’ve been carrying around these two bags of jelly beans since I was thirteen and I’ve felt lumps before, but this is different. This feels like a piece of peanut brittle, but with one peanut in the center and no sharp edges.”

I didn’t like the sound of it, but I was saved from having to dissemble by Renee Carson flashing us her broadest smile.

“Hi, Dr. Berke. You’re looking good. You can come in now, Mrs. Greenfield.” Renee read her face and added tenderly, “It’s okay, baby. We’ve kept the machine warm for you.”

“Oh, God, I hate this.”

We all hate it. For whom the bell tolls and each year you figure you’ve run out of time and it’s about to toll for you. During my own mammograms, I’m bathed in agita, just another terrified woman. The precious MD, all the education, counts for nothing when it’s your breasts in the vise. And I say the same prayer every year: “Forgive me for everything and protect me against wildly multiplying cells in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen.” I can’t remember the last time I attended church except as a wedding guest, but I always promise that if I get through this mammogram with a passing grade, I’ll start again. I never keep the promise.

I sent Kat off with another promise, one a friend could make but a physician couldn’t. “Whatever it is, we’ll take care of it. You’ll be fine.”

Fifteen minutes later, she shambled back to the cubby, teeth chattering, ties undone. “Oh, sweet Jesus, I’m glad that’s over. She’s a nice lady, that Renee. She says you operated on her years ago. She thinks you hung the moon. She says it shouldn’t take long. Dr. Abramovitz doesn’t have anyone ahead of me.”

Renee drew back the curtain. “I hate to do this to you, but we need to reshoot. Now I don’t want you to jump to any conclusions, sweetheart. This makes us all crazy, so I know what you’re thinking, but I just want to position you a little differently. Here, let me help you with your gown.”

As Kat slid by her, Renee widened her eyes at me.

***

The film of Kat’s breast looked dicey and Abe Sukkar persuaded her to let him do a core needle biopsy that same afternoon. At four thirty, he delivered Kat back to me gulping breaths, but by the time we reached the hospital garage, her brain had already made its initial adjustment to the shock of dreadful possibility. Such a pliable organ, the brain. You’d think it would explode with some of the thoughts it has to process. But no, it just reconfigures its cells and moves on. Unless it goes nuts.

“We won’t know until the lab work comes back. For now, it’s inconclusive. Dr. Sukkar’s words. Which means it could be...” She couldn’t go on.

“It means what Abe said. Until the pathologist examines the cells under a microscope, it’s just a questionable mass.”

“Mass. That reminds me. I want to go to Mass on Sunday. Time to up the bidding in my bargaining with God.” Kat twisted an ironic smile. “The agnostic in the foxhole. I’m such a cliché.” She inhaled tremulously. “Four days of not knowing. It’s like some medieval torture. By Tuesday, I’ll be a total wreck.”

“It’s going to be a long weekend. Can Summer stay with you?”

“Summer’s in New York with Tim, visiting his parents. I’m not going to screw up her outing.”

“Lee?”

“No, not Lee. That’s over. I haven’t seen him in a week. We…all right
I
decided this was better for everyone concerned. Before it got too serious. Don’t look at me like that.”

“He’s a great guy, Kat.”

“There are other great guys. Let’s just hope I’m around to enjoy them.”

“Oh, Kat, you will be.”

When we got to her car, she insisted on driving herself home. I didn’t argue because medically she was in shape to drive and emotionally it wasn’t a bad idea. Steering through rush hour traffic was an acceptable metaphor for what she was going to be doing over the next few days. Let her have the illusion, at least, of control.

“It will do me good. I’ll put on QSR, blast out the Golden Oldies, and pretend I’m sixteen again. When life was simple and you didn’t have crap like this to worry about.” Her history. Not mine.

“Well, take it easy. I’m going to stop at home for a few things and then I hope you have fresh sheets on the guest room bed because I’m staying with you this weekend,” I said.

“No. Really. It’s okay, you don’t need to. I’ll be sleeping most of the time anyway.”

“Maybe. But when you wake up and need a shoulder to cry on or you have any questions, I want to be there.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t protest further. “I really got lucky when I drew you in the dorm lottery, lo those many years ago. Don’t think I don’t know it.” She squeezed my hand.

“Yeah, I could have been Brenda Cofee with the b.o. or Susie Lemberg who dried her diaphragm on the radiator, remember?”

That teased a smile. “I mean it. You and Fleur, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That reminds me, I should call Fleur. If it’s okay with you.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I guess. Sure. She’ll be royally pissed if she’s out of the loop.”

“Knowing Fleur, she’ll probably want to stay over, too.”

“Hey, we’re keeping a vigil here, not having a pajama party.” But she looked pleased. Then in a quick turn into her subconscious, she said, “I don’t care about the breast, you know. They can take it. They can take both of them. I’ve never fixated on my breasts anyway. Italians are ass people. A nice round ass, now there’s a real symbol of womanhood. I’d fight like hell against an assectomy, but they can have my boobs. I just don’t want to die. Not that way. I watched my sister die of breast cancer and I don’t want to go down that road.” She shivered.

“That was fifteen years ago. There are all kinds of new roads to go down that don’t end in the place your sister did.”

She slid behind the wheel of the trusty old Volvo she’d owned for a decade. I crouched by the open door. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just scared shitless. I feel like such a coward. I’m trying not to catastrophize. That’s what Ethan used to say I did. Always expect the worst. Well, maybe he can serve as my intermediary with God. Head death off at the pass.”

“Ahh, Kat.”

“You’re right, you’re right. For once, I’m going to visualize a happy ending. The biopsy comes back negative, no bad cells. It could come back negative, right, Gwyn? It could be nothing, couldn’t it?”

I gave her the only right answer. “It certainly could be nothing.” The “could” was the truth. But it was the “nothing” that became the weekend’s mantra.

Chapter 24

Nature sent Kat a mockingly beautiful weekend to anguish through. The October sun shone, the temperature soared, and the warmth turned up the souvenir scent of summer flowers and the misplaced loamy aroma of spring. Stretched out in a patio chair, she spent the daylight hours overlooking her garden as the wind chimes tinkled and endless cups of chamomile tea cooled on the tray table next to her. Fleur and I observed a respectful silence and checked on her every few hours.

On Saturday, Harry Galligan tracked me down on my cell phone. He knew it was last minute but did I have any interest in catching a movie that night?

“Ah, Harry, what a nice idea,” I said, “but I’m staying over with a friend for the weekend. She had a medical scare and now she’s waiting for some test results. It’s tough marking time by yourself. I’m here to lend moral support.”

“You’re doing the right thing.” Pause. “The person with the medical problem, it’s not that lady we met in your lobby, is it?”

I had to jog my memory. “Oh, Fleur. No, no. As a matter of fact, Fleur’s staying over too. No, it’s a different friend. Her name is Katherine, Kat.”

“Well, tell Kat I’ll be thinking good thoughts.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Better yet, how about I come over later and bring you gals some Chinese food? You have to eat. And I’m sure no one’s in the mood to cook.”

“Wants to bring dinner,” I mouthed to Fleur who nodded an enthusiastic yes.

“That’s very kind of you, Harry, but I think this is a no-man’s land for a couple of days.”

“Ah, female problems. I understand. Maybe we can reschedule.”

“Right.”

After I hung up, Fleur said, “Wasn’t that nice of him to think of bringing food? He’s such a sweet man. And you’re trading him in for a limey you’ve meet twice who lives two hundred miles away.” She tapped her forehead. “Sharp, very sharp.”

“Who’s trading? Am I trading? It’s much too early to trade,” I said.

“Look how excited she got,” Kat said, winking at Fleur. “The woman is most definitely trading.”

***

That night, Kat downed three-quarters of a bottle of wine all by herself. By ten we were all quite squiffed and very giggly.

Fleur entertained us by reviewing her latest e-men.

“I’ve been online a lot with the Whiz, who’s an aerospace engineer, and with Rocketman, who’s not. Rocketman has a problem with premature ejaculation, hence the name. Stop that cackling, the two of you! There are worse afflictions and at least he’s honest about it upfront.”

The hysterical eruption that burst from Kat probably had more to do with her own situation than Fleur’s inadvertent pun. All her emotions were very close to the skin. Fleur was providing a fine diversion. For a while, anyway, the patient’s mind was teased from thoughts of doom.

“Seriously,” Kat choked back her laughter, “I admire you for putting yourself out there with all these men. In your place, I couldn’t do it.”

“Aren’t you lucky you’re not in my place, then,” Fleur answered. She didn’t know Kat had broken up with Lee. But now Kat gave us the details. She’d told him their relationship was getting too serious too fast and they ought to take a hiatus to cool things down. To his credit, Lee hadn’t given up without a fight. He argued against a separation. They could slow down for a while. See each other every other week. No, she insisted, she needed time and space.

“He said he cared about me and he thought I felt the same way. He felt we had a future. He was so surprised. And hurt.” Kat’s eyes clouded with the memory.

“Sure. He’s crazy about you. And you’re just crazy. I can’t believe you gave up your wonderful Lee. And for what? To satisfy your daughter’s outrageous demands. When did you have your backbone surgically removed?” Fleur asked, then looked shocked because the word “surgical” bounced us back into the frightening present. The loss of Lee, painful as it was, paled in comparison to losing a breast or your life.

Kat got there even before we did. “I’m comfortable with that decision. Especially now. Lee is young. He has his life ahead of him. Let him spend it with a healthy woman.”

Fleur sprung to her feet. “That’s ridiculous. Jesus! You’re going to be fine. Right, Gwyn? She’s going to be fine.” She folded a slightly resistant Kat into her arms. “I am such an idiot. I didn’t mean to upset you. You have enough to deal with. Shit. You’re a surgeon, Gwyn. Why don’t you sew up my mouth?”

***

Tuesday morning passed with no lab results for Kat. That afternoon, I attended a baby shower for one of our nurses in the boardroom at which Mindy, Seymour’s new hire, made her debut. Brunette, fluffy, cusp of thirty, legs like a thoroughbred colt. She licked frosting from her fingers with scientific concentration. Another one with a prehensile tongue. Speaking of which, Bethany bobbed in for a minute to grab cake and shot a troubled glance at Seymour. He declined to register her entrance with as much as a blink, continuing his conversation with Neil and Ken Dempsey in a testosterone pocket near the window. But as he left, he touched my shoulder and rasped, gangster-like, out of the side of his mouth, “A word?”

We ducked into the empty snack room. He spoke quickly, as if we were about to be arrested by the thought police.

“Bethany came to me the other day with some cockamamie story that you think that she and I are…
grmph
…having some kind of inappropriate relationship.”

I let him sweat. It was a pleasure to see his forehead glaze over like a petit four.

“Let me assure you, there is nothing untoward happening between us.”

I snorted, but daintily. “Well, you might want to tell that to Bethany. She seems to think there is. Actually, she’s under the impression that you two are in love.”

Which elicited a cartoon smile. Wiggly at the edges. Like when Woody Woodpecker is about to go
splat
!

“Love?” he repeated. “She can’t be serious. Now that proves we’re talking about an unstable person. I’m no psychiatrist, but this is clearly a case of wishful thinking combined with vivid imagination. You need to consider the source.”

I dearly wanted to smack him. “Sources, Seymour. Me among them. I suppose I hallucinated her foot creeping into your crotch under the boardroom table. Look, what you do on your own turf is your own business. When you bring it into the office, it becomes mine.”
And Neil’s
was the unspoken threat.