by Julie Allan
“The good news is, the scan we did of your head shows no signs of injury,” the doctor said, pausing to let that news sink in. “But . . . I am a bit concerned about some things I saw on your chest X-ray. Were you ever a smoker?” he asked. “No,” Bennett answered, “What kind of things did you see?”
Fear reached in and froze Lizzie, and she could not hide it from her expression. Bennett reached out to hold on to her. Lizzie felt like a bomb went off in her chest. How can Bennett seem so calm?
Lizzie barely heard the doctor's response, and immediately drew a mental line from the ‘things’ on the X-ray to Bennett's lingering cough this fall. She felt the ground shift underneath her as if the storm had shaken her personal foundation, not just the foundation to the front porch.
Bennett squeezed her hand reassuringly. How he could think about her when, whatever this was, it was happening to him, she could never comprehend. She fought her way out of the mire in her mind to hear that more tests would need to be done and they would be scheduled for Monday. For now, they could go home.
After the doctor had left to complete his release papers, Lizzie helped Bennett get dressed, as he was a bit sore from his tangle with the tree. “Lizzie, let's not say anything to Amy or anyone else until after the tests on Monday. There is no sense in worrying anyone. Besides, I’m sure it’s fine. I would have noticed some other symptoms if it was anything serious.”
"You mean besides the cough," Lizzie replied. “Okay, but I want you to let me come with you on Monday.” “It's a deal. Now let’s get out of here. I’m starving, and I want to enjoy sleeping in our new bedroom tonight.”
When they arrived at Aunt Dorothy’s house, they were amazed at all the cleanup Scott and Jim had accomplished. The electricity had been restored, and M.A. had gotten Sawyer and Dot to carry over most of the small things they wanted to keep but had yet to determine what to do with. They had stacked the boxes neatly in the now vacant guest room. She had even managed to get the donation items taken care of by having the local charity come pick them up shortly after Bennett had gone to the hospital. M.A. had made a salad and baked some brownies; Jim was grilling burgers, and Scott was playing ball with the dogs.
“Well, looks like everything is well in hand here!” exclaimed Bennett.
“Daddy!” the children shouted, rushing to Bennett. “Tell us all about your fight with the tree,” Sawyer added.
Aunt Dorothy looked at Bennett, “Everything okay?”
“Oh, nothing but a few minor scrapes and bruises. I do think I’m going to be a bit sore for a day or two.”
“And you, child, is all okay with you?” she asked, giving Lizzie a sharp eye.
“Yes, ma'am.” She could not look Aunt Dorothy in the eye; she was afraid she would not be able to hide her fear from her. She wanted desperately to bury herself in her aunt’s warm embrace and tell her what they had learned at the hospital, but she had promised Bennett. The band of gold around her finger was all the justification she needed to honor that.
She turned to M.A., “Thanks for holding down the fort and getting dinner ready; we’re starving!” “We’ll be ready to eat in a few minutes,” M.A. said.
It was so hard not to tell M.A. and ask her what she thought it all meant. She was a nurse, after all. “Anything left for me to do?”
“Not a thing, my friend,” said M.A. setting out the ketchup and mustard on the table. “Well you know that means I get the cleanup,” Lizzie smiled at M.A.
Lizzie felt numb as they sat down to eat. She picked at her food and what she did eat, tasted like sawdust. She distracted herself by getting Dot and Sawyer to tell what they did during the storm. Dot was still in the clouds from her excursion downtown with friends and was more than happy to share all the details of her day. Thank goodness! Thought Lizzie. She was sure that a sparring with Dot right now would be her undoing.
Sawyer had also enjoyed his day and chattered on about it happily. Lizzie caught Bennett’s eye and he smiled and winked at her, sensing her uneasiness. She smiled back at him and turned her full attention back to Sawyer. Lizzie loved how Sawyer had Bennett’s eyes and how his hair had the same curly tendencies. Her heart caught in an overflowing of love for her son.
After everyone had eaten, she shooed them out to the living room along with the plate of brownies and began cleaning up. Relieved that she had been successful at putting off the offers of help, she loaded up the dishwasher and gathered the items that required hand washing. She was grateful for a little quiet time at the sink and the familiar methodic swishing of the sponge. There was something reassuring about a mundane task amidst the chaos that filled Lizzie’s head.
Aunt Dorothy came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “Lizzie, you didn’t eat much tonight,” she began.
“I was just too tired to eat,” Lizzie interrupted her, not turning around from the sink. She could see Aunt Dorothy’s expression reflected in the dark window above the sink and knew she was not going to be easily put off.
Lizzie dried her hands on a towel and came and sat down at the table. “Aunt Dorothy, I know you want to help but . . . well, I promised Bennett I would not say anything until we know more.”
“Say no more child,” Aunt Dorothy laid a hand over Lizzie’s. “I will say a special prayer. I am here for both you and Bennett.”
Lizzie lay her cheek down on Aunt Dorothy’s hand, “I draw so much strength from you.”
“Child, you are so much stronger than you realize,” Aunt Dorothy soothed, laying her other hand on Lizzie’s head.
Lizzie sighed and savored the comforting touch. “I hope you are right; something tells me I am going to be tested in the days to come.”
After Jim, M.A., Amy, and Scott had left, Lizzie went across the street to take a look at what still needed to be done. She walked among the rooms and the hodgepodge of furniture that needed to be arranged for staging. Lizzie paused in each room, flashes of the past playing like a film reel in her mind. In the kitchen, she saw the entire family decorating cookies for Santa. In the dining room, she recalled the first time she and Bennett had hosted a family gathering. She climbed the stairs and made a note of the spots on the runner that would need to be treated. One more thing to add to her endless to-do list. Getting this house ready for the market had plummeted to the bottom of her priority list. All she could think about was Bennett and what they would find out on Monday.
The master bedroom, which she had shared with Bennett for the past fifteen years, seemed so quiet and a bit unfamiliar with the furniture they had brought over from Aunt Dorothy's. Aunt Dorothy's, she would need to start calling it her house. She went into the bathroom and began opening cabinets and drawers to check for any forgotten items. She grabbed a bag and began throwing items in. Lizzie glanced up at the mirror and took a hard look at herself, her clearly middle-aged face staring back at her. Her worry for Bennett flooded through her soul, and she sat down on the edge of the tub. She was overwhelmed with exhaustion. Before she knew it, tears silently trickled down her face, building to body-wracking sobs. She sat there crying until she could cry no more. Her eyes were red, and her face was splotchy. Lizzie felt sweaty and clammy. She found a few towels still in the linen closet. She slowly undressed and stepped into the shower. She needed time to recover before going back across the street.
The hot water cascaded over her. She stood there so long; the hot water began to wane. It was late, and she hoped Dot and Sawyer would already be in bed when she got back to the house. Lizzie knew her emotions were still bubbling close to the surface. She needed a solid night’s sleep to get a handle on things. She checked the medicine cabinet. Yes! A pack of sleeping pills. She checked the date of expiration—one month from expiration, good enough—and she threw them in the bag. After Lizzie had dried off, she found a pair of old sweats in the closet and put them on. She took one final look in the mirror and practiced her “plaster” face, something she had rarely used since her disaster of a first marriage. Once she was sure she could maintain h
er composure, she gathered her dirty clothes and the bag of odd items she had packed and headed back across the street, back home. The air, washed by the storm, was now crisp and clean, and the glow of the lights in the front window beckoned her. Under Aunt Dorothy’s roof—their roof—Lizzie could shelter her family from whatever storms might come their way.
Chapter 6
That afternoon, they sat together holding hands as they listened to the test results and the plan the medical team was recommending. Lizzie absorbed what she could, fighting to keep her mind focused. It was what they believed to be stage one, non-small cell lung cancer. They knew from Bennett’s CT scan at the emergency room that nothing had spread to his brain. There was no sign of any spreading in his lymph nodes, but they wanted to do a bone scan to make sure of the staging. After that had been done, they wanted to do surgery followed by chemotherapy six to eight weeks after. That was about all the information she could absorb, even though there was more given. In the far reaches of her mind, she was desperately clinging to the fresh memory of a romantic lunch. That was the interlude before when ignorance was bliss, and Bennett was healthy. Now all that came after this moment, here in this institutional office, was veiled in uncertainty and fear. She felt paralyzed by thoughts of what might be. It was only the sound of Bennett’s even and calm voice that brought her back to the moment.
“I have a few questions,” Bennett was saying. “Ask anything,” Dr. Roberts said.
“How did I get this if I was never a smoker? What was the prognosis for this type of cancer? Were there alternative treatment options we should know about?” Bennett asked like he was firing a volley against an enemy.
The doctor answered, carefully addressing each of Bennett’s questions, and somehow Lizzie found herself taking notes. This kind of cancer was usually associated with smokers, but many non-smokers were diagnosed as well. Currently, the data has the five-year survival rate at forty-nine percent. This bit of information left Lizzie cold. A five-year survival rate? What data was there for the people that beat this and went on to live full lives?
Dr. Roberts was upbeat despite his less than stellar statistics. “This is the best course of treatment based on outcomes. It is what we call the gold standard, but a second opinion is always a good idea. I can recommend several colleagues who can look over your results and meet with you if you like,” he said. Bennett shook his head. “All records will be shared with Dr. Chalmers. I know he has been your family doctor for years. You may want to discuss things with him.”
“I think I would like that,” Lizzie spoke for the first time. Dr. Roberts smiled at her in that practiced way of someone who gave out bad news for a living.
“I would urge you to make some decisions quickly. Bennett is fortunate it has been caught so early, but lung cancer is known to be a spreader, so our window to avoid that is narrow.”
Bennett, decisive as ever, said he wanted to get the surgery scheduled as soon as possible, and Lizzie sat numbly, nodding her agreement. They set it up for Thursday, with appointments every day prior for preliminaries. They left the hospital with a slew of appointments and thoughts Lizzie could not voice, running through her head.
“I guess we better tell the family as soon as possible. Let's see if Amy and Scott can come over tonight and bring your parents with them,” Lizzie said.
“I suppose we can't put it off. I will need to speak to Jeremy about stepping up at work. Between him and Hank, I think they can manage a few days without me," Bennett said, already trying to take care of everything. “I know one thing for sure . . .” he began.
“What's that?” Lizzie asked.
“I’m glad you will be my nurse. Any chance you can get one of those skimpy uniforms you see on TV?” he laughed.
Lizzie slugged him in the arm, “Honestly Bennett, what am I going to do with you?” “Love me forever,” he answered. “Forever and always, you are my heart,” Lizzie answered, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill onto her cheeks.
Amy and Scott had jumped at the chance not to have to cook and had readily agreed to pick up the elder Wilsons, who preferred not to drive at night. Jeremy had been free to come as well, and the group was gathered in the living room, drinks in hand and lightly munching on spiced nuts and cheese straws, knowing a great supper was in store with Lizzie at the stove.
“So little brother, what is the reason for this family gathering on a Monday night, no less?” Amy asked. Her curiosity was piqued.
Lizzie's nervous energy gave away that something big was up, but she had not let Amy in on what it was. She was trying to honor Bennett’s wishes to tell the family when and how he wanted to. She had not even been able to convince him that they should tell Dot and Sawyer first. Bennett wanted to tell everyone at the same time.
“Yes, I suppose I shouldn't hold you in suspense any longer. Dot, can you fetch Uncle Scott from the kitchen?”
Dot dutifully ran off to the kitchen to retrieve her uncle and, a minute later, they both entered the living room. Lizzie, who had been seated with Aunt Dorothy on the sofa, crossed over and sat on the arm of the club chair Bennett was sitting in.
“If you recall, this past weekend I had a run-in with a rather large tree and had to make a visit to the emergency room. While I was there, they did some tests to make sure I did not have any internal injuries, and they discovered a spot on one of my lungs,” Bennett said. He paused to look around the room; all eyes were riveted on him. He could almost hear the collective inhale and holding of their breath.
Bennett continued, “The ER doc set up for me to go for some further tests and meet with another doctor earlier today. Lizzie went with me. It turns out, that spot is a common form of lung cancer, and we have found it at a very early stage, so I’m going to have surgery this Thursday and most likely have chemotherapy after, but there is no reason to believe I won't completely recover.” The words tumbled out rapidly.
For a moment the room was silent, then everyone started talking at once. “What do you mean lung cancer? You have never been a smoker!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilson.
“What do y'all need?" Amy asked.
“Son, I am sure it will all be just fine,” Mr. Wilson said.
“What is cancer?” Sawyer asked. Bennett replied,
“Surprisingly, non-smokers get lung cancer too.” He looked at his mother’s incredulous expression. “I know, Mama, I had a hard time understanding that, too.”
He turned to look at his sister. “For now, Amy, I think we have it all under control, but I’m sure Lizzie will be able to think of what we may need more than I can.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
“Whatever is needed, we are here,” Amy reiterated, looking back and forth between Bennett and Lizzie.
Bennett turned to face his father. “Thanks, Dad. I'm confident this is just a bump in the road.” Lizzie knew Bennett’s dad would not buy that, but she also knew he would play along to keep others from worrying more than necessary.
“Sawyer, I will explain all about cancer to you, at least what I know and I promise I will share more as I learn about it, too,” Bennett said, motioning for his son to come into his embrace. Sawyer ran into his arms and nestled into him.
Dot sprang to her feet and, without a word, ran out of the room. They could hear the door from the kitchen to the back porch slam, followed by the screen door. Out the window, Lizzie could see her headed for the dock.
“Do you want me to go after her?” asked Amy.
“Thanks, but I think I’d better go. If you wouldn't mind checking the rice and giving the tenderloin a temp check, I think dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” Lizzie answered.
“Here, child,” Aunt Dorothy said, handing Lizzie a blanket from the back of the sofa.
“Thanks.” Lizzie took the blanket and headed to the front hall to get her barn coat. Then, following Dot's footsteps, she stepped out on the back porch, out the screen door, and across the lawn to join her on the dock.
It was
low tide and the acrid, yet sweet smell of the pluff mud assailed the nostrils. For some, it was an irritating smell, like when the wind blew the wrong direction from the paper mill. But to Lizzie and, she suspected, Dot too, the smell was the familiar odor of home, like the faint smell of your mother's perfume on a scarf. Pluff mud was one characteristic of the lowcountry people either loved or hated. There was no middle ground.
Lizzie wrapped the blanket around Dot's shoulders and sat down next to her. She could feel the tension coming in waves from Dot's body. She wanted to scoop her into her arms and pull her onto her lap, covering that sweet head with kisses, like she often did when Dot was little. Lizzie understood that would not be well received. So she resisted the urge, sitting in silence instead. She watched the crabs skitter across the mud and the red sinking sun on the horizon. It would be dark soon.
Dot stirred and moved closer to Lizzie, leaning into her side. “Mama, is Daddy going to die?” she asked.
Lizzie wanted to reassure her and say absolutely not, but she also knew honesty was best with a child Dot’s age. Lizzie carefully chose her words. “I don’t think so,” she said honestly. “I do know the doctor today seemed to think we caught this early and with proper treatment, there is no reason we shouldn’t have a positive outcome,” she explained. Listening to herself say the words almost convinced her to believe it.
“What was it like, losing your parents?” Dot asked. “Well, I was so much younger than you. I don’t know that I fully understood what had happened to them. I only have vague memories of them, but they are happy memories.” She looked up at the sky and tried to conjure a clear picture of her parents in her mind. She could only visualize them as the images in the photos that were scattered around the house.
“You think of Aunt Dorothy and Uncle George as your parents, don’t you?” pressed Dot.
