An Independent Woman (42 page)

“I'm not saying that. I'm only saying what I suspect.”

“Then I want both of you in the operating room with me. I've done a good many of these, but still I'm not an oncologist.”

“What are you thinking?” Calahan asked.

“We'll have the biopsies, and if you're right, Dr. Calahan, I'll close her up, send her home in a few days, and let her die in peace.”

“Damn it!” Sam said. “She's my mother. You want me to pronounce a death sentence.”

“Sam, Sam,” Joe said. “She's your mother and she's my sister, but she's also Barbara Lavette. I gave her my word that I would tell her the truth. She'll make the decision. Her mother died of cancer, and she's watched friends die after months of chemo. It's one of the cruelest punishments we can bestow, and perhaps it's worth it for those we save. But if it's hopeless, you must tell her that, and she'll make the decision. Barbara is a strong woman, a great woman. She's lived her life fully and with nobility. She should have the right to die well.”

It was a strange speech for Joe to make. Sam had always taken his uncle for a stolid, unemotional man; now Joe put his arm around Sam and said, “I'll be in the operating room with you.”

They had never been close, and the difference between them was enormous. Joe, at sixty-eight, was a small-town internist and pediatrician; Sam, just thirty-nine, was a brilliant surgeon, chief of surgery at a prestigious hospital, with an income of over two hundred thousand a year. He was a member of a golf club and of the Redwood Club; he bore his father's name, Cohen, proudly, refusing to be known as Samuel Lavette; and he wore three-piece suits. Even when Joe put on a suit for the first time, he looked rumpled and messy, and he had never learned to knot a tie properly.

Dr. Friedman said to Joe, very respectfully, “Doctor, make her comfortable for tonight. No food, but plenty of water. I have an operation scheduled, but I'll drop in later.”

I
N HER HOSPITAL ROOM WITH PHILIP
, Barbara said to him, “I'm not afraid anymore, darling—well, nervous, yes, and I'm still upset, rushed here out of Joe's office and put into this silly gown. I don't like hospitals. I never did. But I'm not afraid. Everyone dies. We pretend that each of us is an exception—but there are no exceptions. But I'm disappointed. I learned to love you, and I do love you very much—I think more than I ever loved anyone else, even Marcel, who was my first love.”

“I know that, baby.”

“And the truth is, I can hardly remember him. I've never lived in the past. Did it ever occur to you, Philip dear, that this present moment is all that any of us have, and this is a good moment— even here in this wretched hospital. Oh, I love you so much, and we didn't have enough time.”

“You're not going to die.”

“Don't deny it, Philip. That won't help. Do you know why Joe and Sam aren't here? Because they're somewhere arguing about what to do with me and how to cut me up and what to take out of me. Joe is a good doctor, as good as any of them, only he's no good at deception. When he examined the X rays, I knew the verdict immediately. I know my body better than any of them do, and the truth is that I've been dying for weeks, only I denied it. I didn't want to leave you, and I don't want to leave you now. That's the worst of it. I'm sure they've decided to take out those tumors and sew me up again and then subject me to that horrible chemotherapy—”

“Darling,” Philip said gently, “we don't know what they've decided. I'm sure they'll be here in a few minutes.”

“I don't want to be cut up, Philip. I never had an operation. I think that frightens me more than the cancer. You won't let them do anything I don't want, will you?”

“Of course not. You know that. But we're not physicians.”

A few minutes later Joe and Sam entered the room, along with Dr. Calahan. Barbara was still in the armchair, and Sam went to her and kissed her on the lips, something he rarely did. He introduced Dr. Calahan.

Barbara smiled and took his hand.

“I've heard a great deal about you, Mrs. Carter,” Calahan said. “For years now. It's an honor to meet you.”

“Thank you. I'm sure Dr. Lavette told you that I must have the truth about my condition. I don't want anything else, only the full truth. I do have cancer, don't I?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Hold on,” Sam said. “We haven't even had a biopsy. We don't know.”

“Sam,” Barbara said, “don't do that. You must allow Dr. Calahan to answer my questions as well as he can. Joe says he's the best oncologist in the City. I must ask questions and he must give me honest answers.”

“But, Mother—”

“No!” Barbara said firmly. “I think we should talk alone, Dr. Calahan.”

“For God's sake, Mother, be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable.”

Sam nodded. “All right. Ask your questions. I don't know what you hope—”

Joe put his arm around Sam. “Easy, Sam. You don't win an argument with Barbara. You know that, and I wouldn't upset her.”

Calahan, uneasy at what was happening, said that after all, he was not part of the family.

Barbara apologized for Sam. “He is my son,” she said, smiling, “and he loves me and I love him. But I must get some answers.”

Calahan nodded. “I understand.”

“Are these growths malignant?”

“Knowing your family history, I would say that they are—out of my experience. As a physician, I cannot say they are, because there has been no biopsy.”

“If they are malignant, what are my chances to survive?”

“I can't answer that now.”

“Why?”

“Because as a physician, I am not permitted to.”

Dr. Friedman came into the room, and Calahan introduced him to Barbara.

“I feel terribly important,” Barbara said, smiling. “I have never been a patient in a hospital before, and here I am with my husband and four physicians in my room, and I don't even have enough chairs to ask you to sit down.”

“Mother,” Sam said, “Dr. Friedman will operate. He's a very fine surgeon, and I have full confidence in him.”

Friedman smiled uneasily. He was a small, shy man with glasses, and evidently uncomfortable with praise. “I'll do my best. It's not a difficult operation.”

“You intend to remove both growths?”

“Yes.”

“I've been asking Dr. Calahan some questions—no, it's all right, Dr. Friedman. By the way, did the blood tests show anything?”

Friedman glanced at Calahan and Sam. Then he said, “They're not totally dependable, Mrs. Garter.”

“Oh?”

“There are a number of factors.”

What a strange lot of men, Barbara thought, as hard to get straight answers from as blood from a stone.

A call came for Sam and he said to Barbara, “I'll be back, Mother.” And then he left.

Dr. Friedman said, “I'd like to examine Mrs. Carter. Would you step outside?” The three men stood in the corridor, and Dr. Calahan said to Philip, “I wish I could give you more hope, -Mr. Carter, but the liver is heavily involved. From what Dr. Friedman said, I would suspect that the cancer has metastasized widely. I'll want to look at the blood tests, as uncertain as they are.”

Philip looked at Joe, and Joe nodded. “I love Barbara. I'd do anything in the world to save her, but if what Dr. Calahan suspects is so, then there's little hope.”

“Is there
any
hope?”

“We always hope for a miracle,” Dr. Calahan said.

“Then what on earth is the procedure?”

“Dr. Friedman will open her up. While she's on the operating table, we'll do the biopsies and we'll know the extent of the damage.”

“Will he remove the tumors?” Philip asked.

“Not if the cancer has metastasized to the extent we suspect, although the decision will be Dr. Friedman's. We'll simply close her.”

“And then—how long?”

“A few weeks—perhaps a month. Chemotherapy might delay it for an extra few weeks.”

“Will there be much pain?”

“We can control the pain, but we can't control the effects of the chemotherapy. It's not a pleasant experience.”

“Which means it's thoroughly devastating, is that what you're saying?”

“More or less.”

“If it were your wife in this condition, Dr. Calahan—what would you do?”

“Mr. Carter,” he said almost pleadingly, “how can you ask me that question? These are two different women.”

“Forgive me,” Philip said. “My wife will refuse the operation. She will prefer to die quietly. She knows there is no hope.”

“Did she tell you that?” Joe demanded.

“Yes.”

“My God,” Joe exclaimed, “can't you change her mind?”

“I know her. I can't. But why should I? Why should her last days be a perfect hell? My wife is a splendid woman. Why shouldn't her last days be as painless and rewarding as the rest of her life was?”

At that point Dr. Friedman came out of Barbara's room. The three men waiting for him were silent, and he joined their silence in a long moment. Then he said, “I have to tell you this, Mr. Carter. I found two very small lumps in her left breast. There's no doubt that the cancer has metastasized. She refuses the operation. Do you want to examine her, Dr. Calahan?”

“To what end?” Dr. Calahan wondered. “Do you want me to, Mr. Carter?”

“What would the operation entail?” Philip asked Dr. Friedman.

Friedman shook his head. “Removal of both breasts as well as the abdominal opening. No, I agree with her. There's no point in operating. And you're right about the liver, Dr. Calahan—at least, so it seems to me.”

Calahan nodded, and Joe said, “Take her home, Philip. I'll give you some prescriptions for the pain. If she's hungry, let her eat—something simple—eggs, toast, and coffee. I'll go with you if you wish.”

“No, I'd rather be alone with her.”

Dr. Calahan gave Philip his card. “You may want a nurse later on. Just call me and I'll arrange it.”

“I'll talk to Sam,” Joe said. “He'll want to see her later.”

T
HAT NIGHT, CURLED UP NEXT TO PHILIP
in bed, Barbara whispered, “We lost, dear man. We played a hard game, but we lost.”

“Nothing is lost. You will always have me, and I'll always have you. We've bonded. Death can't separate us.”

“Don't let them take me back to the hospital, Philip. I want to be here with you. You won't leave me, will you?”

“Not even for a day or an hour.”

“Philip, Philip, you must do the shopping and the cooking. Don't worry, I'll tell you exactly what to do. The eggs were delicious.”

“You hardly touched them.”

“I thought I was hungry, and then I couldn't eat. I'm so tired, so sleepy. What a long, awful day. At this rate, I don't know how I'll get up and down the stairs. I'm such a big, bony woman. You can't carry me.”

“I certainly can.”

She had taken a sleeping pill, and now it began to have its effect. She dozed off in Philip's arms and then awoke with a start. “Philip, is that you?” she murmured. “Am I alive or dead?” He kissed her, and she slept. She slept until noontime the following day, and meanwhile, at nine o'clock in the morning, Eloise and Sally arrived. Eloise, having had a long talk with Joe, carried a suitcase, a chicken, and assorted vegetables. She and Sally, learning that Barbara still slept, sat with Philip in the kitchen and drank the coffee he had prepared.

“Is it true what Joe told me, that Barbara is dying?” Sally began to cry. Her eyes were red from previous weeping, and Eloise told her firmly that tears would not help the situation.

“In the first place, if any of us start, Barbara will catch it. You know how she is about tears. So go into the bathroom, Sally, and use some cold water and dry your eyes.” Sally did so obediently.

Eloise repeated Sally's question to Philip.

“Not in that sense,” Philip said. “She won't die today or tomorrow. But she hasn't too much time. Evidently the cancer has metastasized very quickly. It may be weeks or a month.”

“Joe says she won't take chemotherapy or allow them to operate. Is that wise?”

“It's her decision—and I think that as much as doctors hate to give up, they sort of agree with her. Evidently chemotherapy is pretty awful. Barbara is a strong-willed woman, and she wants to go in peace.”

“I brought the suitcase because I hope you will allow me to stay for a while. Barbara and I are very close.”

“I know that. But I've been speaking to my assistant at the church. She understands, and I intend to be with Barbara until the end, whenever that is.”

“Of course. I wouldn't expect anything else of you. But I know how simply both of you live, and someone has to cook and someone has to help her wash, and if I didn't do it, you'd have to have a nurse. I won't infringe on your privacy, but I've helped other people who've passed away, and I know how demanding it is. I can be helpful.”

“I know you can, and it's very kind of you. We have two guest rooms, so there's plenty of space. Also, I expect a good many visitors, and you could take a great load off my shoulders. There are times when I want to be alone and do my own kind of prayer, and if you are with Barbara, that will help. Joe says that she will probably become somewhat disoriented.”

Sally, who had dried her tears, said that she would be driving back to Napa after Barbara awakened. “But wouldn't it be better if you brought her down to Highgate?” Sally asked. “Joe would only be a few miles away, and if you needed a nurse, I've had years of experience. She loves Highgate.”

“I know she does.”

“I would be very grateful,” Eloise said, “and so would Adam. We have a big bedroom and bath in the old house. We never use it. And the family is there in the Valley. It would be a place where we could use a wheelchair—and everyone down there loves her. Freddie and Judith were absolutely stricken, and he'll be here this afternoon.”