Not To Us (8 page)
Authors: Katherine Owen
“Oh, we’ll
see
,” I say.
≈≈
The surrealist connotations that my life has taken do not escape me. On Friday, with just a local anesthetic, Dr. Josh Liston and Michael re-open the scarred incision at my left breast and take a look at the margins and explore my lymph nodes. I give in to the fear of it all, unable to take my mind off of things. My life circumstances parade before me. I’m pregnant. I haven’t even begun to deal with that fact yet. The myriad of tests that Michael ordered show that this baby is fine
—
no genetic abnormalities have shown up, yet. This baby is due to be born in early July. I’m divorced from Robert. I’ve lost the friendship with Carrie in all of this. I’m in love with Michael.
I look over at him now. His eyes are this intense cerulean blue mirroring mine at a cosmic level. His golden brows furrow as he concentrates on the process of looking for any and all cancer in my body. He looks over at me, sensing me watching him, and I know he smiles at me behind his surgical mask.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say in my most magical voice, the one I normally reserve for my children’s bumps and bruises.
The fear in his eyes extinguishes just a little bit and I know he so wants to believe me. I want to believe me, too. Josh looks over at both of us. I see the light come into his brown eyes and know he smiles behind his mask, too.
“How are you doing, Ellie?”
“I’m okay,” I say.
“You’re officially the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” Josh says with a laugh. His sincerity causes my eyes to fill with tears, my throats gets tight, and all I can do is smile in answer.
I’m in recovery after a two-hour surgery where the margins of my lumpectomy have been reviewed, surgically incised, and are now being tested and analyzed. The tissue samples taken have been rushed to the lab and even more blood work has been done and taken there. I’ve been moved to the head of the line because my doctors wished it so. I do feel, as if I have been summarily run over by a fast moving train. In reviewing the procedure that just transpired in my mind, I conclude I’m beyond brave, too. The nurse comes in, waving paperwork that requires my signature concurring she’s carefully reviewed my at-home care.
“What day is it?”
“It’s January 22nd,” the nurse says back to me. I stop signing my name.
“It can’t be.”
“It is Mrs. Bradford.” With a strangled cry, I finish my signature and write the date.
“It’s my daughter’s sixth birthday,” I say to the alarmed nurse.
“Oh.”
“I forgot.”
“Ooooooooohhhh,” she responds.
No words can describe this onslaught of failure. Failure.
Mommy failure
. It’s Emily’s birthday. She’s six-years-old today and I’ve missed it.
I start to cry. I barely said hello to her this morning. I was cranky because I couldn’t have any coffee or anything to eat and Michael was a little late in picking me up to go to the hospital, so we had to rush to catch the ferry to Seattle. Elaina and Nick took care of getting Emily to school. I remember talking to the two of them as we hurried out the door. But Mathew? I can’t even recall really seeing my middle son this morning, let alone remember what he was wearing.
And Emily? The birthday girl? Whose outfit for
her birthday
day is always paramount; this big event we plan for. I don’t even know what she wore to school today for her big day. I don’t even remember kissing her goodbye.
Failure
. It settles in.
For her sixth birthday, Emily wants a castle cake
—
white, pink and purple with four spires and flags and fairies.
I vaguely recall committing to all of this for her over a month ago. She wants pink and white balloons,
everywhere
. Her description of how the house should look. And anything, but pizza, could be served. Just a castle party, that’s all. Here I am in the middle of the day,
her day
, only now remembering that my only daughter was born six years ago today in this very hospital.
Granted, I could use the excuse that my cancer may be back. That it may have, in fact, never have been gone. But, it isn’t my day; it’s Emily’s day. Perhaps, I could somehow blame this all on Robert and Carrie, too. They should have remembered. I am, after all, fighting breast cancer, but, I’m Emily’s mother. I should have remembered more than anyone else.
I grab my cell phone and call the Red Balloon Company and beg them to help me. I tell them I need thirty balloons
—
ten white, ten light pink and ten dark pink; and I need them in an hour.
Next, I call the Town & Country Market on Bainbridge. I tell the baker my dilemma. This is a crisis,” I say. “She’s turning six, but going on twenty. What can you do for me?”
We come up with a plan. They’ll stack two sheet cakes together, add four ice cream cones for spires, and decorate with purple, pink and white icing. Dorothy, in the bakery, takes pity on me, when I tell her I’m calling from Swedish Hospital recovering from an outpatient procedure. Somehow, I start telling her that this is my second surgery related to breast cancer.
She promises to have the cake done in an hour and a half which should be just about perfect.
“I need fairies, flags, candles and ice cream, too,” I say.
She promises to have everything ready as she hands me off to the delicatessen, where I order a family size tray of lasagna and a large ready-made green salad and two loaves of garlic bread. Everything will be ready. All I’ll have to do is re-heat it. I resort to the
I’m in the recovery room
story, but I’m already being assured that Dorothy is already over at the deli filling them in.
By the time Dr. Michael Shaw enters the room; I am halfway dressed in my jeans and shoes, trying to remove my hospital gown.
“Ellie, what are you doing?” Michael has this alarmed look when he sees me.
“It’s Emily’s
birthday
, Michael. I forgot. We all forgot. So, this day just stopped being about me.”
“Ellie…”
“Michael, can you have them give me another dose of local anesthetic? I’ve got a lot to do and I’ve got to get out of here.”
He gives me a long steady look and then he smiles. “I guess there’s no arguing with you…and, since I drove you here, I guess we’re leaving,” he says more to himself than to me. “Would you like to know how the surgery turned out?”
“Only if it’s good news,” I say with a dismissive wave.
It’s awkward, but I attempt to take off the hospital gown, but soon realize I need Michael’s help in even attempting to put on the sports bra my chest is all bandaged up. I give him my best, we-are-leaving-don’t-argue-with-me look.
With reluctance, he begins helping me with the sports bra hooks in the front, but takes his time redoing the ace bandage hooks around my bandages which cover the incisions. I give him an impatient exasperated look.
“It’s good news,” Michael says with a smile, tracing my jaw line. “The margins are perfect. The lymph nodes are clear.” He kisses me and I willingly succumb to his ministrations for a few precious moments. “We’ll need to talk about the radiation and chemo with Josh,” he says with a stern doctor-knows-best tone.
“Next week,” I say with a sigh. “I promise. I’ll be willing to talk all about it. But right now, Michael, this day,
today,
is only about Emily.” I give him my biggest smile, stroke his face, and kiss him one last time.
“Okay,” he says, looking bemused. “It’s Em’s day.”
“Yeah, team!” I say with a laugh.
≈ ≈ ≈
Emily’s Day
T
he employees of Town & Country Market have outdone themselves for me. I have just become their most loyal shopper, vowing to go out of my way by two miles, so that I never have to shop at Safeway on the Island again. Michael’s car is loaded up with balloons; a magical, pink, and purple castle cake; vanilla ice cream with chocolate swirls, lasagne, bread, and salad. We couldn’t fit another thing in it, even if we wanted to. We have a half hour to get this stuff into the house before Emily arrives home from an after-school play date.
I’m busy trying to wrap Emily’s gifts
—
a humongous Dream Barbie castle with a new Barbie
—
that we spent all of five minutes buying in downtown Seattle. The task is difficult because my left side is bandaged around my arm and rib cage. I secretly believe that this is some conspiracy on Michael’s part. When Elaina and Nick walk in the door, Elaina volunteers to finish wrapping Emily’s gift for me.
Michael, Nick, and Mathew put out the white linen table cloth on the dining room table and stage the cake in the middle of it. Balloons hang throughout the downstairs. Elaina lights candles everywhere as the afternoon. I climb the stairs to change into a nice pair of crème colored wool pants and light pink sweater.
Michael comes in and asks if I need help. I try to smile.
The truth is I’m exhausted and I haven’t quite figured out how I’m going to dress myself with the newly bandaged arrangement that the nurses put together, when they gave me that final shot of local anesthetic.
I try to step out of my jeans with an awkward show of balance, but Michael is already there helping me. He holds me steady as I step into the wool slacks. He undoes the ace bandage that holds my arm to my chest. He carefully takes off my t-shirt and pulls the pink sweater over my head and starts to re-secure the ace bandage.
“Can’t we just leave it off for tonight for the party?”
“
No
. I wanted you to stay overnight at the hospital. Be happy with the ace bandage,” he says in a slightly threatening, with a not-much-of-a-bedside-manner tone. “How are you feeling? On a scale of one to ten with the pain
—
with ten being severe, how do you feel?”
I haven’t really thought about the pain. I’ve lived with it for a while, now. “It’s okay.”
“Number?” Michael holds on to me, waiting for an answer.
“Two. It’s not that bad.” He nods, satisfied, and puts his arm around my right side and kisses my forehead. “You are a fantastic woman, you know that; right, Ellie?”
I shake my head. “I forgot her birthday.” The tears come right away. It’s already been a very long day.
“Emily won’t even care when she walks into this house and sees what you’ve done.” Michael leans down and kisses me. I feel his love and warmth in that kiss and I kiss him back. I cannot fully explain what kissing him does to me. It is like a startling promise, kissing Michael. I think it is because I feel we instinctively fit together and he never reminds me of Robert. He is just Michael. Has always been Michael; and we just fit.
“Thank you.”
“Ellen Kay,” he says, stroking my face with his exquisite surgical hands. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper back.
“Tomorrow,” he says with hesitation, then gives me this intense look. “You’re mine for the entire day. I’ve already got Elaina and Nick watching Emily and Mathew. You’re
mine
for the day.”
“Michael…no surprises,” I say. He puts his fingers to my lips, effectively silencing my protest.
“Trust me. This surprise you’ll love.” He gently takes me in his arms again and holds me to him.
“You make it impossible to say
no
,” I complain, kissing his hand.
“Do I?” His feigned surprise makes me laugh.
“How good are you with putting on make-up?” I ask.
“Not so good. I think, I’ll draw the line here and send Elaina up.”
≈≈
Elaina has finished retouching my make-up for me and even brushed my hair. I probably could have done all of this myself, but I’m exhausted from being at the hospital so early and the stress of the surgery, too. I give her a wan smile and stare at her beautiful face and amazing green eyes so much like her mother’s, while she applies the last touches of foundation to my face.
“Thanks for doing this,” I say. Elaina rewards me with a big smile; it reminds me of Carrie. I have this overwhelming sense of loss because I really do miss Carrie.
“Ellie,” she says slowly and gives me an uncertain look. “How did everything go today?”
This intense look comes across her face. It dawns on me how much of a strain my health concerns have put on all those around me.
“It went well. I’m going to be fine.”
Her eyes fill with tears as she lets out a sigh. I reach for her with my right hand and touch her face, catching a stray tear.
“Really.
Truly
. I’m going to be fine. Your dad believes this too, you know.”
Elaina nods. The tears still trail down her face. “I love you, Ellie.” She puts her arms around me and I try to hug her back, though the ace bandage makes this nearly impossible.
