His Name was Ben

by Paulette Mahurin

  As the chemicals permeated her body, she drifted off. A fat grotesque freak with big hands loomed over the baby’s crib. Drool dripped from his jaws. He’s going to do something. Something terrible. Admonitions from someone else scared him off. The voice came closer and there was a pressure on the baby’s shoulder. Disoriented, Sara opened her eyes to see a blur of Rosalie standing over her. “What’s happening?” Confused about what she was seeing, she shut her eyes but the nightmare had evaporated. She felt a firm hand on her shoulder.

  “Sara,” her father broke through her daze, “we’re here.”

  Sara saw her father, “I’ve…been…dreaming?” Remembering where she was, she looked back and forth at her parents. “Hi,” she mumbled.

  “So,” Rosalie looked around the room at the intravenous machine, the monitor flashing a pulse and blood pressure, and a device on Sara’s finger, “you got some sleep in this noise?”

  Jolted from the edge in her mother’s tone, Sara was wide awake. The look on her father’s face, sagging distressed wrinkles of clay, was no help either. “Dad, I’ll be fine. It’s not the cancer.” Irving’s feigned smile didn’t hide the heartache she knew he must have been feeling over seeing her looking so fragile. “Please don’t…”

  “I’m okay. You just get yourself well. You’re my life. It’s probably not from the study you’re on.”

  Rosalie barged in, “I told you not to get your hopes up.” She looked down at Sara. “They said they think it’s from that accident you were in. When are you going to learn to drive slower and…”

  Irving nudged her to shut up.

  Sara wished they would leave. Carefully, she expressed to her parents, “It would be better for everyone if you could take care of Tazzie so Ellen would be able to work and visit me in the hospital.” She wanted her best friend, another experienced nurse, by her side. What she couldn’t say was she didn’t want to stress her father, and she could do without her mother’s comment about needing to drive more carefully.

  Rosalie grumbled, “Your friend, instead of your mother? Your parents?”

  Sara wanted to take the lines running into her arms and shove them down her mother’s throat.

  “Of course, we’ll stay at your place.” Irving shot Rosalie a look that said, No more! “Where’s Ellen now?”

  “She’s working. She’ll be here first thing tomorrow.”

  “But…” Rosalie sputtered.

  Irving took hold of Rosalie. “We’ll let you rest now.”

  Ellen arrived the following morning with a few personal things, including Sara’s purse. “I’m relieved I’m off for the next three days. Your coloring’s good. You look much better than I expected.”

  Appearing unruffled, Sara said, “Yeah, I think I’m doing okay. What a trip.”

  “They took off your rib bandage?”

  “Yes, I don’t need to wear it while I’m here. It’ll go back on when I’m discharged.”

  “Any discomfort there?”

  “As long as I don’t move too much, it’s okay.”

  “This was so unexpected.”

  Sara motioned to her handbag. “Thanks for bringing my phone. Any messages?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh,” moaned Sara.

  “Give it time. It’s only been two days since you’ve seen him.”

  “Could you please call him to let him know what happened?”

  “Sure.”

  Early the next morning, a nurse holding a clipboard entered Sara’s room. “Hello Sara,” she said as she moved to the side of the bed. Nodding to the name badge pinned to the lab coat she was wearing, “I’m Catherine, one of the nurses on the research project you’re on.”

  “I haven’t seen you around there,” Sara commented.

  “No, you wouldn’t have. I don’t administer the medication. I’m behind the scenes running the project,” she smiled.

  Just then Sara’s parents arrived and Rosalie flew off the handle at Catherine. “You the one who phoned us at ten…”

  Taken aback, “Huh?” responded Catherine.

  “Then it wasn’t you? Who phones in the middle of the night? I want to know who…”

  Puzzled, “What’s going on?” asked Sara.

  Rosalie moved closer. “They wanted us here to be with you…” and drawn out for melodramatic effect, she droned, “to discuss a serious question.”

  Rosalie’s tone gave Sara a fright. “What!”

  Catherine jumped in. “It’s nothing to be alarmed about. There’s just a question with the trial drug and a medication you’ve been started on since being admitted. We need an informed consent signed.”

  Sara shot her mother a look. Then back to Catherine, “What’s the situation?”

  “We had a meeting last night with the research team and your doctors to discuss this.” Catherine went on to explain the dilemma. The concern was, could Sara be on an anticoagulant safely, or should they drop her from the research project. She looked around to everyone in the room and solemnly continued, “If we stop the chemo, you’re back to where you started. If you’re on the anticoagulant, there’s risk of bleeding if…”

  Sara was steadied by Catherine’s gentle, compassionate manner. “Have there been any women on the study who’ve also been on blood thinners? If so, were there complications with any of them? Problems with bleeding?” Sara wiped beads of sweat from her forehead. “Anything specific I should know about?”

  “No. Luckily there have been women who have been through the study and were on Coumadin, the medication you are taking. They came through without any problems. Ultimately the choice is up to you and since the study is ongoing with the admission criteria intact, and this didn’t violate or go against it, there’s no further conflict with the team. But, and this is where the potential risk is, since it’s still in the investigative stages, we don’t know all the possible side effects.”

  “They had to sign consents to stay on the Coumadin?”

  “Yes.”

  “And,” looking at her father, regretting what she had to say, “if I don’t take chemo, I have maybe a couple of months to live?”

  The nurse nodded.

  Irving’s mouth dropped open, “I thought she was coming along so well with the study.”

  Seeing the pained expression on her father’s face, Sara interrupted, “Can you just explain the situation briefly.”

  “The research drug works fast but once stopped,” Catherine turned from Sara to Irving, “the aggressive nature of your daughter’s cancer can exacerbate and undo what the trial has achieved.”

  Sara had heard enough. “Okay, let’s do it. Where’s the paper?”

  Catherine added, “We need your parents to witness this, which is why we brought them in.” Sara’s squinting a perplexed look prompted Catherine to continue, “Ativan—if there’s any question with your being alert to understand what you’re signing.”

  “Mind-altering drugs? CYA,” smiled Sara.

  “How about speaking English,” Rosalie rolled her eyes.

  “Cover your ass. Translates to they need to protect themselves from litigation,” Sara coughed. “The drug I’m on can impact how I’m thinking.”

  Rosalie muttered, “Why can’t people learn to speak English.”

  With the signatures obtained, Catherine left Sara with her parents. Narrowing her eyes, Rosalie said, for what seemed like the thousandth time, “You need to drive more carefully.” Smacking her lips, “When are you ever going to learn?”

  Wanting to lash out and kick her mother away, like a swimmer pulled under by a shark, spasms of anger grabbed her already sore muscles and Sara wanted to holler, I’m so sick of your bullshit!

  After lunch, Ellen found Sara alone.

  “Did you get hold of him?”

  “No, I just left a message.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I told him I was your ride when you guys met for lunch, that you were here and you wanted me to let him know.”

>   Sara slumped back onto her pillow, “I hope he phones.”

  “So do I.” Ellen pulled up a chair, “You look worn out.”

  “Rosalie,” letting out a loud groan, “she’s so obnoxious with her ‘I told you so’ attitude and dramatics. Drives me up the wall. I wish she’d never heard it could have been from the accident. She’s all over my case about how I drive. I felt like saying, ‘I was only going five miles per hour!’ Not exactly what I need.”

  “She’s such a pain! Does she ever let up?”

  “You’ve been my friend for how many years now?” Sara’s words blurred by exhaustion, “You be the judge.”

  “On to something more pleasant.” Ellen held up an iPod. “I brought this. Let’s put on some songs and we can relax together.”

  By the time the first tune started, Sara was fast asleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  The aroma of breakfast sent heart rates into calmer zones on the floor that Sara had been transferred to the night before. Unlike most other hospitals, UCLA is a state-of-the-art facility that caters to its celebrity clientele and patients with good food.

  The nurse brought in the breakfast tray, which was unusual. But the minute Sara looked down and saw the small teddy bear wearing a UCLA t-shirt, she understood. “You have a special admirer. And he’s very cute. He didn’t want to interrupt your meal and,” she put the food down on the over-bed table, “said he’d be back later.”

  Sara’s heart flipped over in anticipation as she searched for a note. It was taped to the backside and said “See you soon.” No signature. It wasn’t needed. I can’t believe he did this. She burst into tears.

  “Oh no,” the nurse squinched her face, “I’m sorry. Is he someone you didn’t want…”

  “Not…” Sara could hardly speak.

  Confused, the nurse handed her a tissue.

  “Not at all,” Sara wiped her tears dry. “I’m happy.”

  “That’s a relief,” the nurse laughed.

  Sobbing turned to laughter. The outpour was a purge of shock upon shock of bad news—from the chemo and radiation therapy, multiple emergency room admissions, her mother’s attitude and father’s health, worry over what would happen to Tazzie, and countless sleepless nights and worrisome days, one after the other.

  The nurse waited a few seconds before saying, “I’ll be back later to give you your meds.”

  Adding cream and sugar, the coffee looked like a latte—her favorite drink. Steam rose from the cup, along with images reminding her of Henry. Some of their happiest times together were going out to a coffee house and listening to jazz.

  They met while she was an undergraduate in the nursing program and married shortly after, when he was out of school and working. It seemed too good to be true, until he came across a new movement founded on ideas generated by Descartes. At first it made sense to her but as the group became demanding, overpowering, insisting they donate time and money to sustain its principles, she dared to question its tenets. The consequences were devastating; he chose the group over her when she was excommunicated.

  She waved her head in an effort to rid it of him, questioning if it was even possible. The bad taste of the humiliating embarrassment lessened as she sipped coffee and cuddled the gift from Ben.

  Sara supported a mirror against the water pitcher to put on makeup and comb her hair. She tried to busy herself with a magazine to no avail as her excitement grew with every set of footsteps moving down the hallway. A few false alarms of staff entering the room intensified her jitters, while she redid lipstick and blush. Relieved when Ellen arrived, she exclaimed, “I’m going nuts.”

  “You’re glowing. I’d say it’s more than the medicine making you happy.” Pointing at the stuffed animal, Ellen smiled, “Is that from…”

  “Yes!” muffled Sara.

  “How cute.” She picked it up and read what he wrote. “That’s why the rouge and gloss?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  When Ben arrived an hour later to find them talking, Ellen stood to greet him. Extending a hand, “You must be Ben.” A glance at him and Ellen instantly shot Sara a smiling look.

  Sara read Ellen like an open book. The validation showing in Ellen’s body language sent Sara soaring. I told you he was gorgeous!

  Ellen pointed to the seat, “Here, make yourself comfortable, I need to get going.”

  “Please don’t go on my account.” He waited to see if Ellen would sit.

  “Oh, no really I do” Ellen eyed Sara, “need to run some errands,” and sauntered out.

  Ben turned his attention to Sara and saw the contusions from needle sticks in her arms and hands, the multiple attachments she had to an intravenous machine, and the sheet pulled up to her neck. Wincing, he tried to cover up his concern with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t look too bad. I was expecting worse.”

  Sara picked up the teddy bear and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you so much for this.”

  “I thought you’d appreciate the little guy.” He sat down.

  She watched him move, and the way the wrinkles in his dark blue jeans puckered.

  “This is quite an institution,” his smile stiffened. “It’s a hike to get around here. I’m glad I’m staying a couple of blocks away and don’t have to worry about a parking space.”

  She saw through the cheerful mask to his drawn face and wondered, What are you holding back? She was familiar with covering up her feelings to present an acceptable front, because we don’t just come to the party and respond, I feel like shit, to the usual, How you doing? She worried it might be personal, that his visit could bring bad news. “How are you, Ben?”

  He tried to hide that he didn’t relish talking about his treatment. Not wanting to be a downer, especially with all she had been through, he responded, “Doing okay. So tell me, how are they treating you here?”

  She took his lead and dropped prodding any further. “No complaints. I better not,” she laughed. “I know too many people who work here. One of my classmates from grad school came to see me last night when she got off duty.”

  “Where does she work?”

  “Peds.”

  “Oh, that’d be a tough floor to work. I doubt I’d be useful around sick kids. Or animals,” he broke eye contact. “That’s my Achilles heel.”

  “Animals!”

  “You like them too?”

  Tazzie’s whole sordid history came out. “On some of my worst days, she was there and perked me up. You’ll have to meet her. She’s little for a rottie and…” Catching herself from getting too wordy, she slowed the pace. “I’m sorry, I’m getting way ahead of myself. I don’t even know what your plans are or how long you’ll be here.”

  “Sounds like Tazzie’s a good friend,” as he veered from mention of his treatment timeline. “Dogs usually are.” A nurse who entered to administer medication through the IV line interrupted Ben. Waiting for her to finish, he asked, “Giving you the choice stuff?”

  “Not this time. That was my blood thinner.” Motioning to the bruises on her arms, “How do you like my art work?”

  “Van Gogh has nothing on you,” he laughed. “You look good to me.”

  The once-over he gave her sent her stomach into flips. A giddy flush moved over her as the hospital noise and commotion disappeared in a burst of elation. She didn’t remember hearing much of the small talk they made back and forth before he noticed her eyelids start to get droopy. “I don’t want to tire you. I better be heading out for now.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “You need your rest, Sara.” He stood and gave her face a gentle caress. “Take care of yourself.”

  When Ellen returned, Sara was up out of bed sitting in the chair, looking radiant. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sara had been out of the hospital, feeling better and regaining strength, for a week. Along with her improving health came more fantasizing over Ben. She had spoken with him several times in light conversations a
bout books they liked to read, movies, politicians they could do without, and how her healing was coming along. She frequently observed how adept he was at deflecting questions concerning his health.

  Ben’s attention to Sara was encouragement that he was interested in her. Little comments about her “cute smile” or “inviting eyes” helped her to feel attractive, intensifying her yearning to be with him. But as the phone conversations continued, she was relieved that their getting together was delayed until she gave him the green light. The cloud on the horizon of their union was conflicting emotions that were equally strong: her fear of exposing her naked body to him and the unrelenting desire to make love with him—to feel like a complete woman. As her feelings battled, her trepidation over how it would play out increased. Am I fooling myself? He’s a man. They’re visual creatures. But maybe he likes me enough.

  Resting comfortably with her ribs still taped, there were no further complications with her lungs or bruising from the medication. With Ellen taking care of her and Tazzie shadowing, she was relieved to be home.

  As she lay in bed watching the overheard light dangle on the ceiling, the swaying shadow mesmerized her. Listening to Tazzie’s guttural sounds, asleep next to her, she remembered back to when she first saw her at the shelter. Taz’s file stated she came from a puppy mill in Arkansas and was shipped cross country and sold in a pet shop in Santa Monica, California. The couple who purchased her had her for a few weeks before she ran into the street and was hit by a truck. They dumped her into the kill shelter with a broken femur. Three days before she was to be euthanized, Sara went there to walk the dogs, as she did every week. She met Tazzie, whose leg was splinted, and brought her home. “I love you, Tazzie girl,” Sara whispered. “Maybe soon you’ll have a new buddy. His name is Ben and he told me, ‘You sound like a good friend.’ He’s so right. You’re the best. I know you’ll like him.”