Page 26

Part 13

“Shut Up & Dance”

October/November

This would be the point in the movie version of my story where they’d show a montage that illustrates what chemo is like, because no one really wants to know what chemo is like. Chemo is messy and it’s awful and it’s so effing hard to get through. There were days during those first four treatments when I didn’t think I would make it through—like when I had that massive headache the day of the first infusion—and times when I just wanted to stay in bed all day.

But there is no montage for those going through chemo. So, now I’m home after receiving my first of four infusions of the last chemo drug. This one, Taxol, is supposedly not as bad as the other two, but it is supposed to come with some severe bone and joint pain, so my doctor has given me some vitamins and supplements to help counteract the side effects. Oh, and the really fun part is that I have to wear these frozen gloves and booties the whole time it’s being infused so I don’t get peripheral neuropathy. Isn’t that just great?

“How are you feeling so far?” Abby asks as she hands me a bowl of salted popcorn for movie night.

Nate and Isaac have been coming every Friday following my infusion for a movie night to lift my spirits, especially since Roddy usually has concerts on Friday evenings and can’t be here until late. Nate brings over his collection of popcorn seasonings so everyone can experiment, but because I don’t know whether I’m going to feel nauseated or not, I stick with plain, lightly salted popcorn. But it’s still nice that I can participate.

Roddy’s mom and Camille have been dropping off food during my off weeks from chemo, when I feel more like eating. I had to tell Sabine to bring some actual food instead of just pastries, though, because I was going to gain so much weight by the time all this was over with all the steroids, the butter and the sugar. “You need the sugar to keep your strength up, chérie,” she said. But she did start bringing some savory foods as well.

“The bone pain is getting pretty bad,” I reply, shifting in my seat on the sofa. I’m in my comfiest sweats, but my body aches like I have the flu. Instead of wearing one of the fun wigs I got—an emerald green one, a funky red one and a lavender one—I’m wearing a teal chemo cap because I’m just sitting at home with friends and even my scalp hurts.

“Let me get the heating pad for you,” Isaac says, grabbing it from the end table next to him. He plugs it in and helps me get it situated. “Do you need some more Tylenol?”

“Thanks. No, I can’t have any more yet.” I punch the button on the heating pad and wait for it to heat up. Although, my bones already feel like they are on fire, so I’m not sure if the heating pad will help or hinder. “Let’s go ahead and start the movie. Hopefully the distraction will help.”

Abby presses play on 13 Going on 30 , which is a favorite of all of ours, and everything is going fine for a while, until the pain gets to be so much, I can’t stand to sit still anymore. I stand up and start marching in place while we watch the movie. Somehow, it helps a little, though my body still feels like it’s been pulled apart and sewn back together again.

Eventually, we abandon the movie because they can all tell how much pain I’m in, and Abby draws me an Epsom salt bath— another of the home remedies my doctor mentioned. The simple act of taking my clothes off is on the one hand exhausting and on the other freeing because nothing is touching my skin anymore, which also feels like it’s on fire. I get in the tub and instantly the burning goes away. However, once the water turns cold, the aching in my bones is back again.

When I go back out to the living room around nine-thirty, Nate and Isaac have gone home to let me rest, and Abby is reading her book in her chair. She puts her book down and sits up when I sit gingerly down on the sofa.

“Any better?”

“Not really. It was fine while the water was warm, but now it’s just as bad as before.” I turn the heating pad back on to see if it will help at all this time.

“I’m so sorry. Did they say how long it could last?” she asks.

I shrug. “‘Everyone is different.’ But from what I read online, it could be several days each time.”

The doorbell rings and Abby gets up to answer it. I don’t even have the energy to look over and see who it is. I do hear her say, “She feels pretty bad.”

“Hey, Clare,” I hear Roddy say as he walks into the apartment. I can’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. “I came as soon as the concert was over.”

“I’m going to go read in my room,” Abby says, picking up her book from the chair.

Roddy comes and sits down beside me. “Abby said it’s bad.” He takes my hand in his and I wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I just ache all over. They weren’t kidding when they said I’d have bone pain.”

“Is there anything I can do?” The way that he looks at me, with some amount of pity, sure, but also like he still finds me beautiful even though I’m pale, bald and in pain makes me know in my heart he’s the only one for me.

“Just being here is helping,” I reply.

“Then here is where I’ll be.” His voice is so warm, it’s like an Epsom salt bath for my heart.

* * *

Once I’ve completed my final chemo treatment, I’m at the post-chemo follow-up with my medical oncologist, Dr. Abiola. Roddy holds my hand as we wait for the doctor to join us in the exam room.

“Are you nervous? Your hand is shaking,” he says, rubbing small circles on my hand with his thumb.

“A little. I’m scared about the side effects of the hormone therapy drug she’s going to want to put me on. I mean, I’m already getting hot flashes from the premature menopause. Or should I say, ‘hot flushes’ as all the doctors feel the need to call them?” I reply, the last part my poor attempt at menopause humor. Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying at everything cancer takes away from you. I’ve never really wanted kids, and Roddy feels the same, but when they told me the chemo would likely throw me into premature menopause, I felt the loss of my “womanhood” all the same. Not enough to want to freeze my eggs or anything, but enough for some late-night tears. “But, in all seriousness, I don’t know how much more I can take.”

He squeezes my hand and wraps his other hand around it. “I know. Or rather, I don’t know, but I know that this has been rough on you. But we have to trust that all your doctors know what they’re doing to keep you from getting cancer again. As I’ve said before, you are so strong, and you will make it through this.”

I nod, just as the doctor comes in. “Hi, Clare, how are you feeling today?”

We go through all the pleasantries and the oh-so-enjoyable breast exam—during which Roddy leaves the room even though he’s seen them a few times by now, but I appreciate the privacy—then Dr. Abiola gets down to the crux of today’s appointment.

“Your labs are still consistent with early onset menopause, though that could still be caused by the chemotherapy at this point. In that case, I’d recommend starting you on Tamoxifen for at least eighteen months. If you’re still in menopause at that point, we’ll reevaluate. How does that sound?”

“What are the side effects of Tamoxifen?” I ask.

“The most common side effects are those already associated with menopause like hot flushes, night sweats, mood swings, and insomnia.”

I wink at Roddy when Dr. Abiola says ‘hot flushes’ instead of what every woman on the planet calls them: hot flashes.

Dr. Abiola looks from Roddy to me and back again, as if she’s not sure if she should be sharing the rest of the information with him present. I nod for her to continue. “Other common side effects are vaginal dryness and/or discharge, loss of sex drive, joint pain, fluid retention, and weight gain.”

“Dr. Abiola, will Clare get all of these symptoms? And, if so, are there things she can do to minimize them?” Roddy asks.

Dr. Abiola looks at Roddy when she answers. “No, most likely she won’t experience all of these symptoms, but they are the most common. And, to answer your second question, yes, there are things we can do to mitigate any symptoms that do occur.” She turns back to me and says, “Clare, I’ll send you some information through your patient portal with the full list of side effects along with supplements you can take and options to help with side effects, such as Vitamin E for hot flushes and lubrication for intercourse.”

My cheeks feel hot all of a sudden, and I’m not sure if it’s a hot flash or the fact that my doctor is talking about needing lube for sex right in front of my boyfriend. I don’t dare look at Roddy because I will either start giggling like a teenager or I will cry. The mood swings are no joke.

“If you’re okay with everything we’ve discussed, and you don’t have any other questions, I’ll go ahead and send in a prescription for the Tamoxifen so you can start on that right away. If you have any major side effects or come up with any other questions, you can either reach me through the portal or call the nurses’ line for emergencies.”

Although I know I’ll have more questions about this medication I know virtually nothing about, I nod my assent and the appointment is over. While I do like Dr. Abiola most of the time, my appointments are usually only about fifteen minutes long and it always feels like I’m being rushed through them. She does seem to know what she’s talking about, but her bedside manner could use some refreshing. I’ve had better appointments with her nurse practitioners and PAs than I have with her. I guess that’s why we have Dr. Google now, so we can look up medications and symptoms to be petrified of because our doctors won’t spend more time with us.

Roddy drives me home but doesn’t immediately come in when we get there.

“I’ll be up in a second. I just need to send a quick text,” he says.

I take the elevator up and trudge into the apartment feeling a bit deflated, if I’m honest. While chemo is over and I knew that was going to be the worst part, I still can’t quite see the light at the end of the cancer tunnel knowing the hormone therapy starts as soon as I take that first pill, and radiation starts in a few short weeks. I hope someday I can look back at this as just a blip—or chapter, as Abby called it—in my long life, but right now it seems interminable.

I put my jacket and purse in my room, then come back into the living room when I hear Roddy come in. He’s holding an enormous rectangular box with a big pink bow on it, and I can’t imagine what it could be.

“This is for you,” he says, setting the box down on the kitchen table.

“But, why?” I ask and immediately feel stupid. “Sorry, what I meant to say was, thank you, what’s the occasion?”

He laughs heartily. “I wanted to get you something to celebrate being finished with chemo. And there’s another reason, but you’ll have to open it to find out.”

I pull off the bow and lift up the box lid. Underneath the lid is a ton of crisp, white tissue paper, and I gingerly lift each sheet. I steal a glance up at Roddy and he looks like he’s dying with anticipation. Finally, I pull back the last sheet of tissue to reveal beautiful emerald-green fabric. I gasp as I pull out a gorgeous dress in delicate satin.

“Oh, Roddy.”

“Do you like it?”

Tears fill my eyes as I look up at him. “I don’t like it. I love it!” I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him passionately.

We pull apart and he says, “Go try it on. I want to make sure it fits.”

I practically run into my bedroom and try it on. It fits perfectly and I look fabulous. Plus, the green really goes well with the red wig.

Roddy comes into the bedroom when I tell him I’m ready, and he simply stares at me from the doorway as I preen in the mirror. “It looks even better than I thought it would. Camille did such a great job with it.”

I stop twirling and my mouth drops open. “Camille…made this?”

“Yes. Sorry, did I not mention that?”

“No, you didn’t. I can’t believe she made this, and without measuring me or anything.”

“Well, we might have had a little help with that from Abby,” Roddy says sheepishly. “Abby measured some of your favorite clothes for Camille so she could figure out proportions that way.”

The tears are coming again. “Oh, you guys are just the best.” Then, I remember something else he said when he gave it to me. “Wait, what was the other reason you gave this to me?”

He walks over to me, takes my hand and spins me in a slow twirl like we’re dancing. “Well, I was thinking you could wear it to Nate and Isaac’s engagement party this weekend. This way, you have something to wear that really shows off your beauty.”

I don’t try to stop the tears this time. And I say the words that have been on my heart since practically the day I met him. “I love you, Roddy.”

He wipes the tears from my cheeks and kisses me tenderly. “And I love you, Clare.”

* * *

Nate and Isaac’s engagement party at their favorite restaurant, Caffé Luna, is more wonderful than Abby and I could have hoped. To be honest, she did most of the planning, but I did help a little with the video montage and picking out some of the music. She told me when I kept offering to help more, “You focus on beating cancer, and I’ll plan the party. Don’t worry, I got this.” And she did.

Everyone seems to be enjoying the wonderful Italian food, and I’m thrilled that I finally feel well enough to stuff myself with carbs. Though my stamina isn’t back to where it was before and probably won’t be for a while after I finish radiation, I am getting back into doing some of the slow dancing workouts with Gina B., and I hope to do at least a little dancing with Roddy tonight. He did have his sister make me this spectacularly twirly dress after all, I need to showcase it to its full potential.

“How are you doing, Clare?” Nate’s sister, Sophia, asks from beside me during dinner.

“I’m doing well. So glad to have the whole chemo mess behind me,” I reply. I’ve learned that these are the types of replies people can handle when they ask how you’re doing during or after cancer treatment. They might seem like they really want to know, but more often than not, they are just asking to let you know that they care, but don’t want to know the gory details.

“That’s great to hear,” she says. “Nate said some of the side effects were pretty awful, like the bone pain during the last several cycles. I hope you don’t mind, but he’s been keeping me updated. I would have contacted you more directly, but I didn’t want to bother you because I’m sure you’ve had tons of people bugging you for updates.”

I underestimated Sophia, and I feel a little guilty because I should have known she would be keeping up with my situation through Nate. “I don’t mind at all. And, I wouldn’t have minded if you’d reached out more.”

“Hey, let’s get lunch the next time I’m in town. I’d love to catch up”—she leans in closer and whispers—“especially to hear more about this gorgeous man you’re seeing.” She winks.

I can’t help the school-girl giggle that escapes my lips. I know Roddy is engaged in conversation with Isaac’s mom about music, which they could both talk about all day, so I doubt he’s heard, but I steal a glance back anyway just in case. He is none the wiser, so I turn back to Sophia. “Sure. Text me when you’re going to be here, and we’ll set it up. I’d love to know more about how things are going with Adam too.”

“Oh, he’s not…I mean, we’re not…” She looks completely flustered.

I hold up my hands. “Sorry. I just thought…”

“Totally fine,” she says. “We’re just good friends, and he’s friends with Nate, so that’s why he’s my plus one.”

“Clare,” Roddy says from my other side. “Would you like to dance?”

I turn in my chair, and he’s standing with his hand outstretched toward me. Over the din of people talking, I hear the opening lines of Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect” playing. I’ve always loved this song, and I cannot think of a more…perfect…song to dance to with Roddy.

Nate and Isaac are already dancing, along with a few other couples, and we join them on the dance floor. Roddy puts his arms around my waist, and I put my hands on his shoulders. We sway and turn slowly in time with the music. And I cannot help myself, but I sing along with Ed Sheeran. But when I get to the part where Ed sings about carrying children, I do choke up and can’t sing the next chorus. Even though Roddy and I are both on the same page about not having kids, the fact remains that it’s something I will never experience, and it was taken from me, whether I wanted it or not.

Roddy leans down and kisses my forehead. Then he starts to sing along with the second chorus in his slightly off-key baritone. This bolsters me to start singing again as well and we finish the song together. He squeezes me tight before we make room on the dance floor for couples wanting to party down to “Get Down on It” and “Electric Slide.”

When the next slow song comes on, “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden, Roddy and I rejoin the fray. Nate and Isaac are still out there, wrapped up in each other’s arms. As we’re dancing this time, I have another of those visions of another me and she’s dancing with someone else. It even looks like they’re at a completely different venue. Maybe…the art museum? They turn and now I can see that Other Me is dancing with Abby ! That’s an interesting turn of events. But it makes sense considering that night at the symphony when Abby’s face appeared to exchange with Roddy’s before I had the panic attack. Now, Abby’s waving at me or, more likely, someone else at the party.

The more I’ve thought about what I saw the night of the massive chemo headache, the more I’ve realized I’ve been having feelings of this Other Me for a while now. It doesn’t make much sense, but the only explanation I can come up with is that it’s another timeline intersecting with this one. I never thought I believed in other universes or timelines, but maybe they are real. It’s just not fair that Other Me doesn’t have cancer.