Page 16

Part 8

“All of the Stars”

June

“Ms. O’Donnell,” Dr. Dayal begins, “through all the biopsies, we’ve identified three areas of concern.” She starts counting on her fingers. “The first is the enlarged right axillary lymph node originally found on your mammogram. The second is an IDC—invasive ductal carcinoma—in your right breast, which explains the enlarged lymph node. The third is a DCIS—ductal carcinoma in situ—in your left breast. This means it has not spread to the lymph nodes. With me so far?”

I nod along with the diagnoses as the doctor goes through them. I’ve already seen all this through my patient portal as each biopsy was completed, but it’s the first time I’ve met with this doctor to discuss the game plan. Roddy came with me to be my support and to hold my hand. I’d also asked him to take notes, but there is a nurse here who is taking down all that the doctor is saying so that Roddy and I can focus on what she’s telling us.

Dr. Dayal is beautiful, with tawny skin and dark brown hair pulled back in a clip at the base of her neck. She’s also very slight compared to my larger frame, but something about the way she moves her hands as she speaks tells me she’s a great surgeon. Her fingers gesture with a fluidity and dexterity I do not possess.

“Good,” she continues flipping through my file. “I see that your CT scan was negative and the abdominal MRI showed nothing remarkable regarding the liver, which is great news.”

Roddy gives me a smile and squeezes my hand in reassurance. I give him a squeeze back and what I’m sure is more of a grimace than a smile. I know the doctor has to recap everything, but I’m more interested in getting to the game plan so we can get this cancer out of me.

Dr. Dayal continues going through all my previous tests, including the one where they determined that I don’t have any genetic markers for breast cancer—fantastic news. Though, that was a hard test for me to take even though it was a simple blood draw, because I could only think of my parents not being here to tell me my genetic history, and more importantly, to help me through all this. Isaac said they probably would have done the blood test anyway, but that was only minor consolation.

“Alright, I think that’s everything. Do you have any questions so far?”

I shake my head. “No, nothing yet.”

She pulls out a legal pad from behind my file and proceeds to draw a neck, shoulders, chest and breasts. With the speed at which she does this, I know she does this several times per week, if not per day. She turns the pad toward us, gesturing and drawing as she speaks. “My first thought for your treatment plan is to do a bilateral lumpectomy with axillary lymph node dissection. I’ll make an incision here”—line by the right armpit—“for the lymph nodes. Here for the tumor in the right breast”—another line on the outside of the right breast. “For the left breast, since the tumor is right behind the nipple region, my plan is to make my incision right around the areola, to hopefully hide the scar.” She draws a semicircle around the bottom of the left areola.

I try hard not to flinch as she talks so specifically about my breasts in front of my boyfriend who hasn’t even seen them yet. “Are you saying I don’t need to get a double mastectomy?” I ask, tentatively. “I was just assuming with cancer in both breasts that I’d need to have them both removed, then look at reconstruction options.”

“You have to choose the surgical option that’s right for you. However, because both of your tumors are small, and your cancer is estrogen and progesterone receptor positive—meaning you can go on hormone blockers after treatment—the least invasive option is lumpectomy. But, if you want to do a double mastectomy, we can explore that option as well.” She goes on to explain the benefits and survival rates of both for my particular case. She also explains the ins and outs of the two types of reconstruction: implants and tissue reconstruction.

“The choice is ultimately up to you. We’ve found that those for whom lumpectomy is a viable option tend to do better emotionally after treatment because of the retention of the breasts. Those who opt for mastectomy—with or without reconstruction—can still lead full lives, but studies have shown that some who undergo mastectomy can carry more emotional scars, along with the physical ones,” Dr. Dahal says. “You can take a few days to decide and give my office a call once you’ve made a decision. Then we can work on scheduling you for surgery.”

* * *

On Sunday evening, Isaac picks me up at seven so we can attend a donor event for the NC Symphony. This is the first one I’ve been to without my parents, but when Roddy invited me, I couldn’t say no. Plus, it’s time I came back to things like this because I really enjoyed them. Dad and Mom would want me to keep doing the things we once loved together, even though they can’t be here with me. Plus, I have an extra incentive to go now.

Roddy said he would have picked me up, but he needed to be there early to glad-hand some of the higher-level donors. Although, he said I was the only donor he was interested in seeing tonight. Plus, Isaac goes with me to most of the symphony concerts and wanted to meet some of the artists, so I didn’t want to take that away from him.

“How are you doing?” Isaac asks, holding the car door open for me.

I know he means well, but I’m already tired of this question. I paste on a smile, though, and tamp down the exasperation. “I’m doing fine. It’s just been a lot to take in and think about.”

It only took me one partially sleepless night to decide I wanted to go with the lumpectomy as my doctor suggested, so I called her office the next day to get it scheduled. They scheduled my surgery in three weeks, and I’m filled with a mixture of dread and simply wanting to get this horrible cancer out of my body.

“I’d like to say I understand, but I don’t. I can’t imagine what this is like for you,” he replies, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You know Nate and I are here for you.”

I rest my hand atop his and nod. “I do, and I appreciate it more than you know.”

“Good, because whatever you need, you just call us.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “Now, can we not focus on my diagnosis or upcoming surgery tonight? I’d really like to go and have fun.”

He sweeps his arm out in a gesture for me to get into the car. “Your wish is my command.”

I laugh at his silliness and slide in, as much as my somewhat bulky dress will allow. I only have a few fancy dresses, so I rotate them for more formal events like this. The crinoline under my black brocade dress gives just enough volume to make it harder to cram into tight spaces than less poofy ones. But I absolutely love the pink and gold pattern of the fabric and the way the seaming hugs my curves in such a way that I don’t feel as self-conscious about my size.

Isaac gets in on his side and starts the car.

“Welcome back to My Big Gay Wedding …”

“We’re your hosts, Tomathy Thomlinson…”

“And Julian Flaubert. On this week’s episode, we’ll be talking about…”

Isaac hits the power button on the sound system. “Sorry about that. Nate’s got me listening to this podcast while we plan the wedding…”

The rest of what he says is drowned out by the whooshing of blood in my ears. I know I’ve heard all this before, from the podcast starting in the car to Isaac’s explanation. However, this experience of déjà vu is short-lived, comparatively, and I’m able to hear Isaac again.

“…Is Roddy going to be there tonight?”

It takes me a moment to recover from the disorienting experience I had moments ago. Still, I manage to stammer out, “Y-es...h-he is.”

“Great. Then maybe I can talk to him for longer than the three seconds you allowed on your first date.” Isaac gives me a sideways glance.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” I caution. “But, yes, I’d be happy to more properly introduce you tonight.”

Once we arrive at the parking deck, Isaac hurries out to open my door again—ever the perfect gentleman. I take his arm, and we walk into the venue. Inside is a sea of people dressed in mostly black and white, with the occasional splash of color here and there. The invitations don’t say anything about the attire, other than “cocktail dress,” but as the symphony members normally dress in black and white, it seems the most logical choice.

Isaac and I line up for the buffet of heavy hors d’oeuvres because we both skipped dinner knowing they would have a delectable spread of goodies, including plenty of vegetarian options. The whole time we’re in line, I’m keeping an eye out for Roddy, but I haven’t spotted him yet.

“I don’t see him either,” Isaac says, sensing what I’m doing.

I shrug. “I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Probably talking with another donor.”

“It does seem odd that we haven’t seen him, though, because he should be easy to find with his height.”

We arrive at the buffet table and begin piling our plates with wonderful morsels. Isaac spots one of the high tables that’s empty nearby and goes over to claim it for us while I get some punch.

“Let me help you with that,” I hear a deep voice say from behind me.

I turn around to find Roddy there in his tuxedo, and I’m struck both by how hot he looks in the tux and by how much he looks like the man in my dreams. Goose bumps break out on my arms and a shiver runs down my spine.

Roddy must sense something is off because he says, “Clare, are you alright?”

I take a deep breath and compose myself before answering. “Yes, I was just startled is all.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he replies gently. “I’m so glad to see you. You look amazing.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to see you too.”

We stand there, staring at each other for what feels like hours, but must only be a few seconds. Roddy shakes himself out of it faster.

“Let me get you a glass of punch, then we can find Isaac.” He fills a glass and walks with me to the table.

Isaac is just finishing a bite of food as we approach. He swallows quickly and puts his hand out for Roddy. “I’m Isaac Johnson. Nice to formally meet you.”

Roddy sets down the glass and shakes Isaac’s hand. “Roddy Vaughn. The pleasure is all mine.” They release the shake and Roddy claps Isaac on the shoulder. “Oh, and I hear congratulations are in order.”

Isaac beams. “Yes. Thank you very much. Nate and I are very excited to finally be making it official.”

“Do you have a date yet?” Roddy asks.

“Even I don’t know that,” I say realizing I haven’t heard much at all since they got engaged. But, then, I’ve been a bit wrapped up in my own life to pay attention to my friends. Suddenly, I feel extremely guilty.

Isaac shakes his head. “We haven’t set a date yet. We’re waiting until—”

“Waiting for what?” I ask.

“We…uh…”

“Isaac, what is it?” All sorts of things are flooding through my mind like that they eloped without telling anyone—which Abby and I would absolutely lose our minds over—or their chosen venue isn’t available for the foreseeable future.

Isaac sighs heavily. “We’re waiting until your treatment plan is settled so we can pick a time when you’ll be feeling up to it.”

Tears well up in my eyes and I throw my arms around Isaac’s neck. He whispers in my ear, “We said we weren’t going to talk about it anymore tonight, so I was trying not to say anything.”

“I appreciate that. And I appreciate you postponing the wedding for me too. But you don’t have to do that. I’ll be happy for you two no matter how I’m feeling physically.” I step back and see his cheeks are streaked with tears as well. I use my napkin to dab my eyes, and Isaac pulls out a handkerchief to wipe his face.

Isaac shakes his head resolutely. “No, we want both of our Best Women feeling their best because this is going to be the celebration of the year. No, check that. The century!” He pumps his hands up in the air in a “raise the roof” gesture. All three of us laugh.

Roddy leans conspiratorially over to Isaac and asks, “I’d hate to miss out on the party of the century. What do I need to do to get an invite to this wedding?”

“Keep treating our girl here right, and I’m sure she’ll bring you as her plus one,” Isaac replies.

“Deal.” Roddy winks at me, then he and Isaac shake hands for the second time this evening.

We continue chatting while Isaac and I enjoy our food, until one of the members of the philanthropy department, Rebecca Wilson, gets up to make a speech.

“Good evening, everyone. I hope you are all enjoying the wonderful food, drinks and time to share with your North Carolina Symphony.” She spreads her hands wide to encompass the whole gathering. “I wanted to take this moment to thank you all for your generous contributions over the years. Your support helps us bring great music not only to you and other patrons like yourselves, but out into the community at large through our unsurpassed education programs…”

Everyone listens while she continues thanking the donors of each level that are afforded the opportunity to attend this event, the symphony musicians for coming out, and so on and so forth. The speech itself isn’t particularly remarkable, but I have another feeling that I’ve heard it before. And not just the fact that I’ve been to these events before and there’s always a speech.

Rebecca concludes by introducing the quintet of musicians who will be performing tonight’s musical selection. “…and Roddy Vaughn, performing the first movement of Schubert’s String Quintet in C major.”

“That’s my cue,” Roddy says, giving me a kiss on the cheek before dashing off to get on the stage with the others.

Isaac leans over and whispers, “Did you know he was playing tonight?”

I shake my head. I didn’t know but I’m absolutely thrilled to hear him perform. This is the first time hearing him since I had the panic attack at the symphony. Plus, I’ll be able to hear him even better in a quintet than when playing with the whole orchestra.

I grab Isaac’s hand as I practically run toward the small stage at the front of the room. “C’mon. I want to be at the front for this.”

“Hey…I wasn’t finished with my punch,” he whines but follows me anyway.

We get as close to the front as possible—apparently some others had the same idea, although I doubt these older folks just started dating one of the performers—and I make sure I can see Roddy perfectly as they tune their instruments. He looks so at one with his cello, like it is an extension of him. He catches my eye right before they begin and gives me a smile. I am falling for this man hook, line and sinker.

The musicians start to play, and I’m mesmerized. Not only by watching Roddy, but with all of it. The piece is beautiful. First, the violin has the melody, then one of the cellos takes over—Roddy!—then it goes back to the violins, but all the instruments are integral in such a small group. I’m watching them all sway and move with the music, digging in with their bows on the faster, louder parts, and ebbing away as the notes get softer.

Out of nowhere, my vision blurs and I nearly stumble even though I’m standing still. It’s almost like I’m looking through those glasses that overlay something on top of the real world. What are they called? Oh yeah, augmented reality glasses. The quintet looks the same, but I’m seeing random people standing practically on top of Isaac and me…only they’re not really here. It’s bewildering, to say the least. I take a look around and see all the people standing in a slightly different place from where they are in my reality. Not only that, but I see Isaac and me standing back at a table looking at something on Isaac’s phone while the musicians play.

Just as suddenly as they appeared, the glasses fall away and everything is “normal” again. My breath hitches, but I pull my focus on Roddy and the beautiful music, and manage to stave off another panic attack.

My mind is drawn back to the day I met Roddy—that overwhelming feeling he was the one in the dreams, and how I chased him in the rain. Then, I remember the phone call from the day before that, the endless testing, and my upcoming surgery. I could die, pops into my thoughts, uninvited. I try shaking it off and going back to the music, but the intrusive thoughts just keep coming. I’m never going to be the same. I might have to do chemo. I might lose my hair. Will Roddy, or anyone, want me anymore?

Suddenly, I feel a warm hand grab mine. I look over at Isaac and I can feel the tears, unbidden, on my cheeks for the second time. He releases my hand and puts his arm around my shoulder, drawing me close into him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers.

I lean my head on my friend’s shoulder and hope that he’s right.