Page 28

Part 14

“Padam Padam”

January

I was sitting in an apartment and the doorbell rang. I looked around and realized I was sitting in Ross’ apartment from Friends —not the first one he was in, but the former apartment of Ugly Naked Guy. I noticed the walls are the nice blue color, instead of the brown Ross painted it after he moved in. My mind felt sort of hazy and I couldn’t remember what I was getting ready to do. Answer the door. I opened the door to reveal a delivery man holding a rather large rectangular white box.

“Can you sign here, please?” he said, holding out a clipboard.

I signed and he handed me the package. I closed the door and walked over to the coffee table to put the box down. Grabbing some scissors out of the end table drawer, I cut the tape on the box and opened it. Inside was something wrapped up in tons of white tissue paper—and not the kind you buy at Target, but the really fancy acid-free kind. On top of all the tissue paper was an envelope. I opened the envelope and read a handwritten note that said:

I thought you could wear this on our date tonight.

Love,

I could not read the single initial written below “Love.” I puzzled over this for a moment, then set the note aside and started peeling away the tissue. Tears sprang to my eyes as I realized it was a dress. And, not just any dress, but an exact human-sized replica of the dress from a Peaches and Cream Barbie—only my favorite Barbie and favorite Barbie dress of all time. Delicate spaghetti straps, a shimmery white bodice and yards upon yards of peach chiffon for the skirt, with just a single ruffle at the bottom. The tears were mixed with joyous laughter as I twirled through the apartment holding the dress close. I finally stopped twirling and went to my room to try the dress on. It fit perfectly and looked even more amazing than I’d ever dreamed.

I reluctantly took the dress off and hung it up on the back of my bedroom door so it wouldn’t get wrinkled or damaged before our date. The phone rang and it was “him”—the guy who was in love with me who sent the dress—but, I couldn’t make out what he was saying, because it sounded like the teacher on the Charlie Brown cartoons. I could tell it was him by how my heart beat faster hearing the sound of his voice on the phone.

* * *

All the radiation from my treatments must be going to my head. I’ve never had a dream about the faceless man where “the thing” has already happened. Or maybe it was the chemo that scrambled the dreams. Who knows? Either way, it was still a beautiful dream that I did not want to wake up from at six-thirty in the morning to go to yet another radiation treatment.

Roddy and my friends have been taking turns driving me because these treatments are literally every single weekday, and while the treatment itself doesn’t take that long, I know the drives to the cancer center and back every day are taking their toll on everyone. I know they are on me. But my friends are amazing and patient, and not one of them has suggested that I get over myself and get my damn driver’s license again. However, I have decided once I’m finished with treatment and feeling better, I am going to learn to drive again. It’s time.

Today, Roddy slept over—which might explain the dream—and is going to drive me to my treatment, then we’ll go get breakfast and he’ll drop me off at physical therapy after. The physical therapy is a preventative measure my radiation oncologist recommended to help me reduce the risk of lymphedema, something I really don’t want to get and something I’ll be at risk for the rest of my life. Yay. The therapist walks me through various ways I can break down the scar tissue from the surgery and radiation, perform self-massage if I feel any tingling or swelling, and wrapping techniques if I do experience lymphedema in my arm.

When I get out of bed, I see Roddy is in the bathroom scooping Shelley’s litter box. I needed someone to do this for me when I was going through chemo, but my doctor said I should be okay to take the task over again now that chemo is finished.

“I can do that,” I say, walking up behind him and giving him a pat on the back. “But thanks.”

“I know, but I don’t mind.” He puts the scooper back in its spot, washes his hands, then turns around to kiss me.

I cover my mouth with my hand. “Eew, no. I’ve got morning breath.”

“Yeah, and so do I. Who cares?” He pulls my hand down and gives me a tender, closed-mouth kiss. “Was that so bad?”

“No,” I acknowledge. I nuzzle into his chest, and he wraps his arms around me. I feel his chin stubble atop my still-bald head.

“Hey, you know what? There’s a decent amount of hair coming in now,” he says, giving the crown of my head a little kiss before releasing me.

I turn toward the mirror and see that he’s right. There is some peach fuzz coming in up there. It feels soft as I run my fingers across it, and my scalp tickles a little. So much better than being painful to the touch when I was completely bald and going through chemo. “Yay! I mean, I still look bald, but it’s a start.”

Roddy wraps his arms around me from behind. “Hair or no hair, you’re beautiful.”

I melt in his embrace, leaning my head back to relish this wonderful moment with this man whose eyes always echo what he says. I never thought I would find someone who would love me or see me so completely, yet here he is. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Clare.” He says, kissing the top of my head again. “Now, we’d better get ready or you’re going to be late for your treatment.”

* * *

At the cancer center—god, I’m so tired of seeing this place—Roddy sits in the main waiting room when I’m called back to change into a gown and sit in the smaller patient waiting room. Thankfully, the gowns here are nice and soft, unlike those at the radiologist’s office. Although, considering the fact that I basically have to drop my top as soon as I get in the radiation room anyway, the pretense of the gown is almost comical.

“Clare,” Nurse Stacey calls. She’s one of my regular radiation nurses, along with Kim and Jeremy. Since I’m here every day, I’ve given them permission to use my first name instead of saying Ms. O’Donnell all the time. “We’re ready for you.”

I follow her into the treatment room, remove my gown, and lay myself down onto the table. It’s essentially like an MRI or CT table, but they have a mold they made especially for me to lay on that keeps me in the right position and a bolster for my knees since I’m on my back for my treatment. There’s a whole host of other molds hanging up in racks on the side of the room for everyone else coming later. There are also more bolsters and blankets to the side to help them keep everyone in position and as comfortable as possible.

“Let’s get you centered here,” Stacey says, adjusting me along with Jeremy. They both call numbers and measurements to Kim who is sitting in a booth with all the computers adjusting the radiation equipment.

The machine itself moves around me and has points they need to line up with specific points on my body. To achieve this, I had to get my first and only tattoos which consist of four dots: two on my sternum and one each on the outsides of my ribcage.

“Looks good,” Jeremy says. “Alright, Clare, go ahead and put your right arm above your head.”

I follow his instructions as I’ve done every day. Stacey puts a rolled blanket under my arm to keep it comfortable since it will be up there for the duration of the treatment. They make some additional adjustments since the movement of my arm has moved my ribcage slightly. Once everything is lined up again, Stacey and Jeremy go into the booth with Kim.

What follows is a series of instructions to hold my breath and to breathe normally as the radiation machine moves around me. I don’t feel anything physical while it’s happening, with the exception of soreness in my shoulder from being in that position for too long.

However, I’m emotionally and physically exhausted from all the treatments and the feeling that all this will never end, even though I know I’m almost done with the main treatments. Don’t get me wrong, chemo was the worst part, but daily radiation treatments have their own physical toll because you’re reminded every single day that you’re going through cancer treatment. You can’t escape it. Not to mention the copious amounts of greasy lotion I have to keep on the skin on my breast, chest and underarm from the radiation burns. I’m basically wearing the same old clothes most of the time because everything is getting coated in the stuff that I’ll just have to throw them out.

I’ve only got seven more treatments to go out of twenty total, and believe me, I’m counting down the days.

* * *

After my treatment, Roddy takes me to Denise’s Café for breakfast. We introduced Roddy to Denise’s, and he loves it now as much as the rest of us. We get a booth in the corner, and we give our orders to the server because we both knew what we wanted before we got here.

“I’m so glad radiation is almost over,” I say, taking a sip of my water.

“I can imagine,” Roddy replies. “And I know you won’t be done with all treatment then, because you’ll be on the hormone therapy for years, but at least the more active treatment will be finished.”

“Hallelujah!” I do some jazz hands and we both laugh. “I cannot wait to start feeling normal…or whatever the ‘new normal’ is going to be.”

“Speaking of, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk with you about,” he starts.

“A good something or bad something?”

He shrugs. “It could be a great something…for both of us.”

I’m intrigued, and trying not to jump to too many wedding-type conclusions as my mind races to figure out what he’s going to say. “Go on.”

Of course, the server arrives at that moment to bring our food and drinks, so we take a few moments to shuffle plates around, thank her and get settled again. I start buttering my toast while I anxiously wait for Roddy to continue.

He finishes putting honey in his tea before passing the golden bear to me. “You remember when I went to New York a few months ago?”

“Sure.” I take a bite of my buttered toast, then prepare my tea.

“So, while I was there, I was performing at one particular show, and Josh Groban happened to be there in the audience.”

I stop stirring my tea to look at him agape. “You’re joking.”

“Wait, it gets better.” He grins. “After the show, I’m told that Josh Groban would like to meet me. So, of course, I say yes.”

I am literally about to bounce out of my seat right now. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this before!”

“I know, I’m sorry. So, Josh and I talk for a while about the show and music, and he says he’s having auditions for cellists because his current cellist is going on maternity leave soon, but he’s heading out on a European tour for four months.” He takes a sip of his tea and continues, “He asked me to audition for his whole orchestra while I was in town, so I did.”

I set down my fork and glare at him. “I seriously cannot believe you not only met Josh Groban—my favorite singer in the whole world—but you auditioned to go on tour with him, and you didn’t tell me!” I lean forward and playfully punch his shoulder. “Is there more you didn’t tell me?”

“Actually, yes, there is.” He looks down at his plate of half-eaten cheese omelet, then back at me. “They picked me, and I leave to go on tour with them in three months. And I’d like you to go with me.”

* * *

I’m still shell-shocked when we get to my PT appointment. I told Roddy I’d need to think about it, and he completely understood. Not only that, but I’d need to speak to Nate to find out if I could work remotely from Europe for four months or if I’d need to take a sabbatical. Plus, so many other considerations I can’t process right now. Our ride from the café over to the physical therapist’s office was silent. I’m actually grateful he simply dropped me off and I can walk home from here, because I need some alone time to clear my head. Plus, in the back of my mind, there’s this feeling that my other self is going through something similar, so there’s that to process as well.

I go through the motions with my therapist, and it’s my final appointment there, so he’s basically just reviewing everything we’ve done so far. He gives me a bunch of handouts, and a bag full of wrapping supplies, just in case I need them. I thank him for all the information and assistance, and he congratulates me on being almost finished with treatment.

I’m so in my own head when I walk out of the appointment that I don’t notice someone calling my name until they tap me on the shoulder. “Clare.”

I turn to see Suz standing right behind me. I haven’t seen nor heard from her since the breakup, and she looks different. Not bad per se, but like she’s been going through something. “Suz. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she says, but instead of leaving it there like she normally would, she continues, “I just finished with my physical therapy for today. You?”

I shake my head to clear it. “Um…yeah…same.”

She asks, “What are you doing therapy for?” at the same time I ask, “How’ve you been?”

We both laugh, and I gesture for her to answer first. “Still working on some of my fine motor control, you know, since the accident.”

I am completely taken aback. “Accident? What accident?”

“The car accident I was in the day you left,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Did no one call you? I thought you were still my in-case-of-emergency person.”

“No. I didn’t know anything about it,” I say honestly. “What happened?”

“I should have known that’s why you weren’t there. Even though stuff was…weird between us, I still thought you’d come.” She runs her hand through her hair, which I realize isn’t cut in her normal severe bob but is now shoulder length with long layers and no bangs. “Yeah, I went out that night and got hit by someone driving too fast in the rain. I don’t remember much, but I hit my head pretty good and had some internal bleeding. Had some surgeries, stayed in the hospital a long time, went to a rehabilitation center for a while, now I’m home, but doing lots of PT.”

“Oh my god, Suz! I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I had no idea.” I want to reach out and hug her, but I don’t know how things stand between us now. “I tried texting a couple of times after I left, but I never heard back. I guess I know why now.”

She nods. “My phone was toast after the accident, so I had to get a new number.”

“Again, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. And I’m sorry for how I left things with us. I shouldn’t have just left like that.” I search her face and there’s a softness there I can’t read because it was never there when we were together.

“I didn’t give you much of a choice,” she says. “Things weren’t good, and we were never right together.”

“Wow. I…never thought I’d hear you own up to us being together at all,” I reply.

She shrugs. “I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’ve been going to regular therapy as well as physical. Gotten things in perspective.”

“That’s great. I’m really happy for you.” And I really am. “And you’re good now, or, at least, getting better…physically?”

“Yes. I’m doing much better,” she replies. “Still working on some fine motor skills with my hands, but I’ll be released from PT soon.”

“Good. That’s really good.” I’m still so shocked by seeing her and her news that I don’t know what to say next.

She gestures to me. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”

“Oh, yeah…um…I just finished doing some preventative PT for lymphedema,” I reply. “I’m in the middle of my radiation treatments and my doctor thought it would be a good idea.”

She looks as stunned as I felt. “You have cancer?”

“Well, technically I’m what they call NED or No Evidence of Disease—what most people refer to as cancer-free. But I’m finishing up my radiation treatments next week.”

“Clare, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“That’s pretty much on me ‘cause I didn’t bother to tell you before I walked out. That was the day after I got the results.”

She looks up at the sky for a moment. “I guess it’s been a tough ten months for both of us, hasn’t it?”

“I guess it has.”

“Oh,” she says, gazing over my left shoulder, “I see my girlfriend pulling up now, so I need to run. But it was really great to see you.”

Girlfriend? “Yeah, it was great to see you too,” I reply, not asking the thousand questions that are swirling around my head at the thought of Suz with a person she actually calls her girlfriend.

“Hand me your phone.” I do and she updates her number in my contacts. “Send me a text and we can catch up some more sometime. Maybe over dinner?”

“That would be nice,” I say, meaning it.

“Bye, Clare,” Suz says, dashing off to the car waiting for her at the curb.

“Bye,” I repeat, feeling better about one thing today, at least.