The Whitney Chronicles

“Of course. Don’t we always?” Her color resembled the ream of copy paper on my desk—whiter than white. “What’s wrong?”

She glanced around before answering. “We’ll talk then.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Someplace private. Emilio’s, maybe. Or the steak house across the street.”

I knew immediately that something was seriously wrong. Kim never spends big money on lunch. She prefers to buy toys and clothing for Wesley with her disposable income. To suggest the dark, private booths of Emilio’s or the steak house, which has a very small lunch crowd and a very hefty price list, told me that whatever it was Kim had to say, it needed to be said in private.

We waited until one o’clock when the lunch crowd was ebbing. There were plenty of booths and Kim requested the most secluded. Initially, she’d babbled nonstop about Wesley’s latest venture. Not only has he discovered he’s a boy but he’s taken to checking every so often to make sure that his status hadn’t changed. It’s becoming embarrassing to Kim and Kurt. I told her it was only a phase, but thought to myself that there was no way I’d want to take that child out in public until he discovered something else to play with—like Tonka trucks or Matchbox cars.

She was decidedly not herself. When she talked, her voice bordered on the hysterical. Then she lapsed into deep dense silences that nothing I said would penetrate. I was beginning to feel a bit panicked myself by the time we’d ordered and we were alone in our little corner of Emilio’s.

“Okay, what’s up?”

“Something happened this morning.”

“You and Kurt?” I prepared myself to be shocked. Kim rarely complains about her husband other than that perhaps he’s too laid-back. To think of them fighting blew my mind. Kurt is as faithful to Kim as the day is long, so it couldn’t be lipstick on his collar. He’s also very meticulous, so I doubted she’d discovered that the trash hadn’t been taken out on collection day.

“No, he’d already gone to work when I found it.”

“Found what?”

“A lump in my breast.” Her voice was a strangled whisper.

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Perhaps that was fortunate, as anything I might have said would have sounded trite or placating. A cold sweat washed over me and I stammered, “A doctor…have you…”

“I’m getting a mammogram after work. They squeezed me in.”

Squeezed. My irrepressible and unruly sense of humor jumped in the driver’s seat of my brain. How appropriate to be squeezed in for that particular test. Shock and denial do strange things to one’s mind.

“I’ll see the doctor in the morning. Someone Kurt knew years ago.”

“That’s quick,” I managed to say, searching for words that would comfort Kim even though I knew there were none. She’d have to see this through and take it one day at a time.

“He said he didn’t want me to have to wait and worry over the results.”

“I didn’t know doctors worked like that anymore.”

“He’s special. Kurt knew him in high school and says he’s always been thoughtful and caring. Besides, he said it would save me a lot of stress if everything is fine, and if it isn’t—” I saw her choke back her panic “—then we should be getting into action anyway.”

Kim looked at me bravely, and then, in slow motion, I saw the bravery dissolve into something more elemental. “Oh, Whitney, what about Wesley? He’s just a baby. I want to see him grow up.”

“Wait a minute. You’ve gone from finding a lump in your breast to making Wesley grow up without a mother, and completely leaped over the fact that it might be nothing or, if it is something, that it can be treated. Wouldn’t it be better not to assume the worst?”

She scrubbed at her eyes and took a breath. At that moment the waiter appeared with our sandwiches…er…sandwich. The plan was for me to eat half the sandwich. Kim was to have the other half and the fries. Being a stress eater, I had five fries in my mouth before I remembered the arrangement.

“You’re right, of course.” She dumped ketchup on a plate between us. “You keep me sane. That’s why you have to go with me for my appointment and my mammogram.”

Huh?

“I’ve already told Betty that I’d be gone and that it was important for you to be with me. My appointment is at ten. We’ll be back at work by noon.”

“We will?”

“Betty wanted to know what it was about, but I told her that I wasn’t free to discuss it yet. Paranoid as she is, I think she believes we’re going on some sort of covert mission for Harry. I don’t want to go into it until I know something. I’m hoping tomorrow to tell her I had a false alarm.”

“What about Kurt? Don’t you want him to go with you?”

“He has class—a big test that he can’t miss. Besides, the nurse had to help him twice in my room during labor. By the time Wesley was actually born, Kurt was sitting in a chair breathing into a paper bag. Having him with me wouldn’t be much of a comfort.”

A comfort. “Kim, we’ve got to pray.”

“I haven’t stopped since I found this thing. I was in the shower. I usually do my exam on the first of the month, but somehow it just slipped by me this time….”

I’d never seen her so upset. Kim is often my strength, the one who reminds me that everything works out, that no matter how bleak things might look, God is still in control. Now it’s my turn.

I took her hands in mine and felt her fingers trembling. We prayed silently, knowing God could hear us no matter what the volume.

As we escaped the dark walls of the restaurant, it was as though I’d stepped into an alternate universe. Granted, it had been dim inside Emilio’s, but it wasn’t the light that made me blink, it was the color. Everything seemed so much brighter than when we’d gone inside. A glossy golden retriever wearing a vivid blue collar and leash walked by carrying a bright red ball in his teeth. His master, a college-age man, did a little shuffling dance step to the music on his headphones. I could hear snippets of music as he passed. The sky was cerulean blue and a woman in a lime-green jacket and a black skirt almost bumped into me in the crosswalk. What was going on?

Then it hit me. Leaving Emilio’s had been like walking out of a womb and into a reality I was suddenly seeing through new eyes. I had been rudely reminded of the fragility and unpredictability of life. No matter how much planning for and dreaming about the future we did—Wesley’s high-school graduation, the size eight jeans hanging in my closet, the end of Mother’s menopause—all we had was now, and we were fools not to enjoy every moment of it: the colors, the sounds, the people.

The afternoon went slowly. I kept glancing at Kim, who had her gaze determinedly fixed on the papers on her desk. But, eventually, time has to pass. I didn’t have to look up from my desk to know when it was five o’clock. I felt the whoosh of moving air as Mitzi moved by me on her way to the door. Whoever says humans can’t travel at the speed of light has not worked with Mitzi. (It isn’t that she works fast, it’s just that she leaves fast.)

Now, I’m not all that crazy about mammograms myself, but I recently had a baseline done. My dad’s sister had breast cancer years ago and my doctor recommended it. My mother didn’t help a bit. She likened the test to lying on a cold concrete garage floor and having someone drive over the targeted area with the wheel of an automobile. My attitude was not good going in, but as it turned out, everything went fine.

To my dismay, Kim didn’t want me to leave her side. I knew she was going to be fine as soon as I saw the hot-water bottle warming the X-ray equipment. These people knew what they were doing. Fortunately, the nurse shooed me back into the hall before the actual procedure.

As I paced back and forth in front of the door, an incredibly good-looking blond man in a dark suit, crisp white shirt and, incongruously, a Popeye and Olive Oyl cartoon tie, walked up to me.

“Is something wrong? Can I help you?” He looked so genuinely concerned that I actually felt tears scratching at the backs of my eyes, the tears I’d wanted to cry for Kim and didn’t dare.

“No. My friend is having a mammogram and we’re both a little nervous, that’s all.”

“I see.” And I believe he actually did. “If either of you needs anything, just say so.”

Frantically, I searched my mind for something, anything, I needed. Of course I came up blank.

“I hope your friend’s test turns out well.” His eyes were a kind of inky yet brilliant blue, like a brand-new crayon fresh from a box of sixty-four—indigo, I think. When he smiled, gentle, pleasant lines radiated from the corners. The term “golden boy” must have been coined for this guy. But before I could think of something intelligent to say, he tipped his head and turned away.

I wondered if he was an administrator at the clinic—he was definitely a great asset to public relations. But what did I know? Most everything I know about health I’ve learned from my mother, the medical encyclopedia of misinformation.

The door opened and Kim appeared next to me. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. How was it?”

“Fine. Easy. It would have been a breeze if I could quit conjuring up worst-case scenarios.” She sighed. “I asked the technician how things looked, and she said the doctor would tell me. I wouldn’t have asked her if I wanted to wait for that. Don’t tell me she hasn’t looked at enough of those things to see what’s going on in there.”

“Think of it this way,” I soothed her, “by noon tomorrow, you will have seen the doctor and this will be over.”

“I hope so,” Kim said gloomily. It was weird, but I felt chilled all the way to my bones as she spoke, as if she knew something I didn’t.

Feeling troubled, I decided to stop at my parents’ house. My dad is always able to calm me down when I’m upset. It’s his quiet, self-effacing way, the mild-mannered exterior of a man with so much wisdom and love for me that I choke up just thinking about it.

Dad was in the yard. He’d paused with his hands resting on the top of his rake to look out at the flower garden. When he saw me drive up, his face broke into a grin. I felt better immediately.

“Hi, Daddy, how’s it going?”

For once he didn’t just say, “Fine.”

“I had to get outside for a bit. It’s a little—” he paused for just the right word “—‘twitchy’ in there.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Your mother never ceases to amaze.”

“What’s she up to now?”

“Oh, she’s looking for the money I gave her to buy herself some new clothes.”

“What do you mean, ‘looking for’?”

“She put it someplace ‘safe,’ somewhere no robber would think to look.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Apparently no one would think to look in her hiding place—including her. So far she’s been through all the drawers, three closets and half the kitchen with no luck. If she doesn’t locate it by bedtime, I may have to sleep at your house. She’s not going to stop until she finds it.”

“What if it’s lost forever?”

I’m almost positive he shuddered.

“Tough week?” I asked with all the sympathy I could muster, which was plenty. “Has Mom been moody?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Snappish?”

“Like a turtle.”

“Unfocused?”

“Have you been eavesdropping on us, Whitney?”

“No, but I do read women’s magazines. There isn’t one in existence that isn’t discussing the topic. You know how it was for Grandma when she was in what she euphemistically called ‘The Change.’” There had been apocryphal stories about that time whispered around the family for years.

I rubbed his shoulders and was surprised at how small he felt. When I was a little girl, he was a giant…and now he’s just a man.

Dad and I were walking arm in arm toward the house when Mother burst through the front door waving a wet Baggie full of money.

“I found it! Oh, Frank, aren’t you glad?” She was panting a little, and her hair looked as if it had been electrified, but it occurred to me how attractive my mom is. If she hadn’t been my mother, I would have marveled at how young she looks. As it is, I take her for granted much too often.

“Why is it in a Baggie? And why is it wet?”

“You know I wanted to put it where no one would think to look for it. It was a stroke of genius, really. I bagged it up and put it inside the toilet tank. It’s been there all along. All I have to do is dry it out a little, and I can go shopping….”

“You put it in the toilet?” my dad said.

“Not the bowl, Frank, the tank. No one would think to look there!”

“Including you, Mom.”

“I’m good, aren’t I?”

We followed Mom to the house and watched her dry her money with a hair dryer. As we talked, I told them my news. They were very upset about Kim as well, but Mom tried to accentuate the positive.

“This is a disease that can be caught in time now,” she assured me. “Why, there must be a dozen or more women at church who have had breast cancer and are doing marvelously today.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it less scary. And, of course, Kim thinks of Wesley.”

“I’ll notify our prayer chains at church and bring it up at Bible study,” Mom promised. “The couples’ group is meeting at the Bakersfields’ tonight.”

Dad perked up. “Really? Isn’t she the one who makes peach pie?”

“Yes, dear, and she said she was having a light supper beforehand, so don’t start snacking now.”

Dad’s face relaxed considerably. I wasn’t sure if his improved mood was the result of Mom’s finding the money or the thought of pie on the horizon, but I was happy for him either way.

October 17

Kim’s clinic isn’t far from the office. It sits near a man-made pond, and the lawns are manicured to perfection. I’ve heard a great plastic surgeon has offices here. She won’t admit it, but I think Mitzi has already started getting things lifted and tucked. I know for sure that Betty has. No one’s eyebrows should ride that high on a person’s forehead. If she were bald, she could just let them grow and comb them backward for hair. And Betty has this continually surprised look that makes her look like a wide-eyed kid at the circus.

I was so busy looking at the artwork on the walls (original, I think) and the cherry-wood furnishings that looked a thousand percent better than anything in my living room, that it took me a moment to realize Kim’s name had been called. She took my sleeve in her hand and tugged frantically.

“Kim, I can’t go in with you!”

“I’m not going if you don’t,” she said, and she meant it. “Listen, Whitney, I can’t do this alone.”

“Kurt should be with you.”

“If this is serious, he’ll get plenty of chances.”

If the tables were turned, I’d want someone there with me. Someone other than my mother, I think. Unless I could get her to quit reading medical books. If a side effect of a medication is shortness of breath or growing hair on one’s chest, Mom’s sure she has it. She pores over health magazines and reads medical thrillers voraciously. Being healthy as the proverbial horse, I’ve been such a disappointment to her—not an appendix scar or a root canal or even a mild case of acid reflux.

And she’s nothing compared to my grandmother, who grieved for months when Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey went off the air. (Never saw ’em, never had to—anyone over fifty can give you the lowdown, especially in my family.) She ultimately came out of her depression long enough to find other medical shows on TV—now we all know enough never to call her during E.R.

“Okay,” I said. “Although I don’t know that I’ll be much help.”

“Just your being with me is all the help I need,” Kim assured me. “That and prayer.”

“I can handle that.”

The doctor’s office was as warm and inviting as the waiting room. Dr. Chase Andrews, Internal Medicine, said the sign on the door. Inside, there were huge banks of cherry-wood cabinets to hide those unsightly files and models of human organs that came apart like puzzle pieces for demonstration purposes. There were no body charts on the walls delineating the veins, arteries, bones and muscles either. Nice as this place was, I decided Kim’s doctor probably used a PowerPoint presentation on a big-screen TV if a patient needed to be educated. And there was classical music coming from hidden speakers. How much did this guy charge, anyway? Kim said he was the best. Maybe he was giving her a deal, having been a friend of Kurt’s and all.

Kim perched on the edge of her seat, lifted her heels and began that annoying little bounce that nervous people often do. I walked behind her to massage the knots from her shoulders. I couldn’t think of a thing to say. “Everything will be all right” was not necessarily true and we both knew it.

Kim and I have a deal—no prevarication. We trust each other for complete honesty, the truth and nothing but the truth. What a liberating concept that is! I know there’s at least one person on the planet who will tell me if I have a streak of bed-head running down the back of my scalp or bad breath. After all, how can you fix things you don’t know about?

The door whispered open so quietly that I didn’t realize at first that the doctor had entered the room. It wasn’t until I saw him from the corner of my eye that I knew we were no longer alone.

Dr. Andrews stretched out his hand to Kim. “Hello, Mrs. Easton, I’m Chase Andrews. I’m glad we finally get to meet. Your husband is a great guy.”

“He says the same about you,” Kim ventured, her shoulders relaxing.

When he turned to me, I felt my legs turn into Gummi Bears. It was the dazzling man from the hall yesterday. This was Kim’s doctor? I felt immediately better. Just looking at him could probably cure a dozen diseases. His sandy hair was shot with gold, and as I looked down at the floor to break his mesmerizing gaze, I noticed that in his finely crafted leather slip-ons, he wore Mickey Mouse socks.

The doctor moved to a cabinet to the left of his desk and opened a set of double doors that revealed a backlit display. From the top of his desk, he took an envelope containing Kim’s films and clamped them to the screen. Not her most attractive angle, I thought wildly. I was losing my mind. Maybe I’d feel better without it.

“This is your right breast and this is your left,” Dr. Dreamboat said. “As you notice, there is a considerable difference in the tissue between the two. If you’ll look right here…” He used his pen as a pointer and circled a spot on the X ray that looked alarmingly out of place. Before he said another word, I knew Kim was in trouble. Dr. Andrews’s words jumbled together as I focused my full attention on the spot to which he was pointing.

“…rather large…doesn’t appear to be a cyst…biopsy will tell us for sure…think it should be done right away…tomorrow…any questions?”

Questions? All I had was questions! I looked at Kim. She had a stunned look on her face and was curling her shoulders forward into a fetal position.

Dr. Andrews moved around the burnished cherry desk and angled one hip against it until he was half sitting, half standing in front of her. His posture was relaxed and somehow comforting. He gave off waves of “I am competent. I’ll help you. You’re safe with me.”

I wondered how he did it. He must have learned it somewhere other than medical school, because if it could be taught, it would be a required class. The muscles in my own shoulders relaxed when I saw Kim shift in her chair.

“Do you think it’s…?”

“It could be,” he answered, without her having to say the word, “but it looks well contained, which is a good sign.” He looked at Kim with so much compassion and understanding that I felt tears forming in my own eyes.

“Maybe we should wait and see….” Kim grasped at straws.

“We could,” he agreed pleasantly, “but the reality is, it’s here. Why not take care of it? Get on with whatever we need to do and be done with it. You have a life to live—why waste time worrying about something we can do something about right now?”

I saw Kim lift her chin and square her shoulders.

You have a life to live…. She did. She knew it, I knew it and the doctor knew it. This was a hurdle she had to move past, but Dr. Andrews was the man to help her.

I looked at him and knew immediately that he’d chosen his words with intention. He was confident that he could do what needed to be done. His competence and assurance enveloped both of us and radiated optimism and peace right into our cells.

While he and Kim were going over the details of the next step, I called Betty and told her that I’d be late and Kim wouldn’t be coming in today. Then I called Kurt and left a message suggesting he meet us.

It was after two o’clock by the time I got back to the office, and it was like walking into a tree full of vultures, hunched with anticipation, sharp eyes scanning my face for clues, hungry for every detail. Mitzi, of course, was the most vulture-like of the batch. Bryan hung back to see if whatever I had to say would be of interest to him or if he’d have to disappear into the men’s room until it blew over.

Betty jumped to her feet when I walked in, but I held up a hand. “I’ll be back in a minute, I have to see Harry.”

He was, as usual, riveted to his computer screen. There were pencils behind both ears and one even stuck into his Chia Pet “do.” He’d rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie and filled the candy dish by his mouse with Hot Tamales. That meant Harry was doing some serious work—he never ate Hot Tamales unless the project was really important. There were usually jelly beans in the dish, unless he’d had an easy day and had dug into his enormous stash of dried-up Peeps left over from Easter. I can’t explain why he loved those sugary, pastel-colored marshmallow chicks, but he did. He sent me out to gather up all I could find right after the holiday and made them last most of a year. I guess that was how we’d come up with the terminology for the tranquil days when Harry was out of the office—that was “a Peep kind of day.”

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