by Rhett DeVane
After a couple of hours, her chatter blended into the background noise, along with the phlegmy cough of the man immediately behind me. Piddie and Evelyn made frequent trips up and down the aisle to allow Piddie to move her legs during the long flight. Leigh, Bobby, and Joe slept peacefully in their seats. Holston was oblivious to everything around us, having lapsed into an open-mouthed snoring slumber twenty minutes after take-off.
Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport was nearly deserted when we emerged at 5:30 AM, bleary-eyed from the cross-country flight.
“That woman behind us was worse than Elvina Houston when she’s off her medication,” Piddie grumbled.
Jake nodded. “She only shut up the last twenty minutes of the flight—right before the pilot announced our clearance to land in Atlanta.”
“I think that poor lady sitting beside her finally just passed out cold and she didn’t have anyone to talk to,” Piddie said. “I sure was proud to see that bag of wind hustlin’ on away from our gate. I don’t think I could’ve stood her all the way to Tallahassee!”
At 6:30, the Delta attendant called for our flight to board for the final leg of our trip. The early morning fog had cleared as we began our descent into Tallahassee. The flight pattern took us over the dry lakebed that had once been Lake Jackson as we approached the airport.
The pilot executed a smooth touch down and we taxied by the tan and black airport terminal with Welcome to Tallahassee written in bold black letters across the front. Because of our early hour, the crowd awaiting our arrival was limited to a handful of homefolks. Stephanie and Bill rushed up to greet us. After collecting the luggage, Holston, Jake, and I piled into Betty with Stephanie at the wheel. Evelyn, Joe, and Piddie settled into the Towncar with Bill as the chauffeur.
“Hey! You gonna be okay to drive home?” I called out to Bobby.
He waved back. “I’m pretty rested. I slept the whole way home. We’ll see y’all later!” He and Leigh rolled their luggage toward the long-term parking lot.
“I know y’all have a lot to talk about, but I’m sure you’re awfully tired,” Stephanie said. “Just lay the seats back, and Betty and I will drive all of you Miss Daisy’s home.”
“Did she give you any trouble?” I asked.
Stephanie grinned. “Nope. Oh, she cuts out a bit up once you get her over a hundred or so, but other than that, she’s a great little ride.”
I was too tired to rise to the bait. By the time we reached the entrance to Interstate 10, I was sound asleep.
Sinfully Decadent Chocolate Torte
Ingredients: ½ cup butter, 8 oz semi-sweet chocolate, 5 eggs (separate whites and yolks), ¾ cup white sugar, 1 cup ground almonds.
Melt margarine and chocolate over low heat. In mixing bowl, beat the egg whites until stiff. In a separate bowl, beat together yolks and sugar. Blend in chocolate mixture and stir in almonds. Fold beaten whites into the chocolate until no streaks of white remain. Scrape into a 9˝ pan. Bake torte at 350º for 45 to 50 minutes.
Smother in white chocolate torte icing and sprinkle crushed nuts of the most sinful treat of a lifetime.
Chapter Thirty
POSITIVE RESULTS
Two days following our exhausting, yet exhilarating, return from Alaska, Holston’s ex-wife called from New York. His beloved ex-mother-in-law, Marilyn Beaumont, had fallen and shattered her right hip. Compounding the problem, she had developed pneumonia in both lungs, even with the best efforts of the health-care team.
Holston left from Tallahassee Regional Airport early the next day on Delta’s first flight to Atlanta, with connections to New York’s LaGuardia Airport. After I dropped him at the terminal, I continued to Dr. McCray’s office for the appointment for my physical. The office churned with its usual beehive activity at 8:30 AM.
Kimberly Grant, ARNP, swept into the exam room where I huddled, chilled to the bone in my stylish paper ensemble. “Usual three thousand-mile check-up, Hattie?”
“Yep. Also, I’ve had some bleeding recently, rectal … cramping, too. I thought I’d mention it.”
Her blonde brows knit with concern. “How much? How often? What color?”
“It started about two months ago, I guess. Just a little at first—bright red with some rust color mixed in. My family and I just got home from a cruise. I had a couple of episodes on the boat where I bled quite a bit. The cramping’s getting worse, even lasts after a bowel movement. I’ve been more tired than usual, and I’ve dropped some weight.”
“Hmmm …” She scribbled on my chart. “Any family history of colon cancer?”
“Actually, yes. My father had some malignant polyps removed when he was around seventy. I recently found out that he’d also had a portion of his colon removed. He and Mom never told us. I found out from my aunt.”
“We’ll get you a referral in to the Digestive Disease Clinic. Hopefully, it’s just internal hemorrhoids. It’d be a good idea to check it out, given your family history.”
Other than being anemic, the physical went smoothly. Kimberly handed me a referral for my biannual mammogram (or slam-o-gram, as Stephanie and I called it) and a date and time for my initial visit to Dr. Lucas Thomas.
“Wow! That was quick! This appointment’s this afternoon.”
Kimberly grinned. “Hey, what can I say? I have pull. Actually, he had a cancellation. Otherwise, it would have been three weeks before you could get in to see him.”
“I’ll work my schedule around this. I’d rather get this taken care of. I have a wedding to plan.”
Kimberly squealed. “Really?”
I showed her my engagement ring. She oohed and aahed. Personally, I’ve never understood why women stuff their engagement rings in each other’s faces as if they were honored awards. But, since I did love Holston, and was pretty excited about the prospect of sharing life’s travails with him, I figured there was no harm in being a little proud.
After the midmorning clients, I left my Tallahassee clinic for the Digestive Disease Clinic at the end of Riggins Road. The spacious reception area on the first floor was filled with patients of varying ages. After I filled out the preliminary forms, a scrub-suited nurse escorted me into an exam room.
Dr. Lucas Thomas stepped into the room and introduced himself. My spirits sank to new depths. How could I possibly allow this gorgeous specimen of the male gender to see my bottom?
“You’re a little young for me to suspect colon cancer, but I never take chances when someone has a positive family history. It’s a good idea for you to have a baseline colonoscopy at your age,” he said in a warm, gentle voice. “I believe in being proactive and preventative when it comes to colorectal cancer. It’s curable, when found at an early stage.”
He explained the colonoscopy procedure thoroughly, using a flip chart to illustrate the different parts of the rectum and large intestine he would be researching. His nurse, Connie, stepped in as he was leaving. She made an appointment the next week for the procedure, and reviewed the pre-op instructions.
As I left the clinic with a handful of papers, I marveled at the fact that I had just consented to have an incredibly handsome doctor stuff a long tube with a camera into a very private area. Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation struck me. Would I be able to order framed copies of the points of interest to pass around at parties?
“I need to stay for a few days,” Holston said. “The old girl’s pulling out of it, but she’s still in intensive care. I really thought I’d be calling you with bad news. But, she’s a fighter.”
I toyed with the idea of telling him about the impending colonoscopy. No. He had enough on his mind at the present.
“Okay, sweetie. I miss you madly. Have you and your ex-wife scratched each other’s eyes out yet?”
“She’s been almost bearable. Dealing with her used to be pure hell. Now, it’s just the fourth level of purgatory.” He chuckled. “Claire has everything she’s always wanted—money and social position. I told her about you.”
“And
…”
“She’s thrilled. I keep waiting for the real viper to lash out. Since I don’t stand in her way anymore, she treats me like some college boy she once had a mindless fling with before moving on to bigger and better things.”
“Her loss, my gain.”
“Yes, and you have my heart and soul. I’ll call you in a couple of days. You can always reach me on my digital phone. Leave a message, and I’ll get to you soon. I have to keep it turned off while I’m at the hospital.”
Jake and I cruised off the Thomasville Road exit of Interstate 10 in Tallahassee and turned onto Capital Circle. The blue jeep in the center lane suddenly had the automotive equivalent of a cat running-fit, swerving across two lanes of traffic before screeching on the brakes for a right-hand turn sans signal.
Jake grabbed the dashboard. “Gah! What bit him?”
I checked the rear view mirror. The pick-up truck behind me and the cars in his wake had almost become intimate on an insurance basis.
I glanced over at Jake. “Did you see his vanity plate? It said KILLER.”
Jake snorted. “It should read IDIOT!” He jabbed at me with his index finger. “Don’t think for a minute that I came along out of insane curiosity over your handsome doctor. I’m here because I get to drive Betty afterwards. You’ll be way too loo-loo to operate heavy machinery. Leave that to us big girls.” He batted his long eyelashes. “Besides, it’s slow at the shop right now, so Jolene can handle it. Of course, I put in a tape to record Oprah.”
I smirked as I pulled into the parking lot at the Digestive Disease Clinic. “Your concern is heartwarming.”
“You sure get irritable when you don’t have your morning caffeine fix, sister-girl.”
I huffed. “You’d be irritable too, if you had to drink damn near a gallon of cherry flavored Go-Lightly. Hah! There’s a sick joke for you! I practically had to sleep in the bathroom. Then, I had to give myself an enema this morning to boot! Plus!” I stabbed the air dramatically. “I’ve had nothing to eat since 6:00 PM yesterday, and nothing to drink since midnight. I’m just a little edgy—okay?!”
Jake patted my hand. “There, there, sweet girl. They’ll be giving you some sleepy juice pretty soon, and you won’t care one way or the other.”
Shortly after I registered at the desk, a smiling nurse called my name.
“You go, girl!” Jake gave me a thumbs-up. “I’ll see you when it’s behind you—no pun intended.”
After removing my clothes and depositing them into a labeled plastic bag, I donned the mandatory air-vent-in-the-rear hospital gown, and settled on to a gurney. Several nurses stopped by my curtained cubicle, taking vital signs, double-checking the chart for allergies to medications, and confirming the planned procedure. One nurse started an IV, and the next gave the pre-op medications.
“You should start to feel this pretty quick,” she said. “The whole procedure is fairly painless. We’ll have you in the recovery area for a bit afterwards.”
Soon, my eyes wouldn’t focus, except for a few seconds at a time. A gentle warmth flowed through me as the drug took effect.
“Here we go,” the attendant chirped as she wheeled the gurney through a set of double doors into the operatory.
“Good morning, Miss Davis,” Dr. Thomas said.
“I really think this procedure should put us on a first-name basis, don’t you?” My words slurred. “By the way—that Go-Lightly stuff was God-awful!”
“But, necessary, I’m afraid,” he replied. “I’ve got to have you clean to be able to see clearly in there.” Dr. Thomas and his nurse rolled me onto my side and raised one knee almost to my chest.
“You’ll feel a little pressure, now,” he said as he inserted the tube. “You want to watch on the monitor?”
My tongue was thick and dry. “Only if you give me a guided tour.”
As he inched the scope through the rectum and descending colon, he stopped periodically to snap a freeze-frame picture.
He motioned to the video monitor. “You do have some internal hemorrhoids. See these little reddish bumps? That could possibly be the source of the bleeding.”
A few centimeters up the colon, he stopped at a black spot with ragged margins. It reminded me of the appearance of a sunspot. I strained my eyes to focus.
“Hmm…, here’s something. Heather, let’s biopsy this area.” A small looped wire clipped a section of tissue.
Other than a few diverticuli, small out-pouch herniations of the colon, the remainder of the exam was uneventful.
“Okay, all through!” he announced. The attendant rolled the gurney to a private recovery area.
Jake peeked around the curtains. “How you doin’, sister-girl?” He eased quietly onto a nearby chair. “I asked to come back with you as soon as they’d let me.”
I moaned.
“You hurting?”
“Gas pains. They blow air up inside to open up the passageway.”
“Well, just toot it out!”
I winced. “You know how much I hate to do that.”
“It’s either that, or leave here looking seven months pregnant. Do it!”
I never realized passing gas could feel so exquisite. Perhaps it could be a new hobby.
Jake dabbed at the corners of his eyes with an imaginary hankie. “I feel so close to you right now.” He grabbed my hand.
The curtains parted and Dr. Thomas stepped into the cubicle. “How are you feeling?”
“Gaseous. Other than that—fine as frog’s hair.”
“Honey,” Jake patted my hand, “don’t say anything stupid under the influence of drugs that you’ll kick yourself for later.”
Dr. Thomas’s wore a stern expression. Obviously, he wasn’t here for a social call.
“Miss Davis, Hattie. We need to discuss your test.” He glanced at Jake.
I shook my head, then waited for the dizziness to subside. “Jake’s family. Go ahead.”
He sat on the edge of the gurney. “Hattie, do you remember that one black spot where I took a biopsy?”
I nodded.
“It’s a tumor. We’re running a quick test that will, if it’s positive, confirm my diagnosis. If the first test is negative, we’ll have to wait on the biopsy results in a few days. I believe the tumor is malignant. Cancer.”
Words tumbled around in my brain, but none came from my mouth. The mere mention of cancer had erased an entire vocabulary.
Jake grabbed my hand. “What will we do?”
Dr. Thomas stood. “I’ll come back as soon as I know something.”
I smiled weakly at Jake. “You always said I was a pain in the butt.”
He got up and threw his arms around me. “I can’t take it, sister-girl! You’ve got to be okay!”
Dr. Thomas returned shortly. His lips were drawn into a thin, serious line. “I’m sorry to say…it is cancer. When do you want to schedule surgery?”
“How ’bout now?”
“Are you sure? Do you have anything to be taken care of?”
“I want it out! And, I’m already prepared. I drank that stuff, and I haven’t had anything to eat. I might as well go ahead with it.”
“Do you have a surgeon in mind?”
I thumbed through my mental files for under: Medical, Surgery, Good reference from Mary. “Dr. Crowley?”
Dr. Thomas nodded. “Excellent. I’ll go call Tallahassee Memorial and see about coordinating a room for you. I’ll have to call Dr. Crowley’s office and check his surgical schedule. Connie can put it all together. Hopefully, we can get you worked into the schedule as soon as possible.”
He rested his hand on my shoulder. “Hattie, the good part is that the cancer was located in the descending colon. Farther up the pike, and you might have had fewer symptoms so early on. This gives us the best possible scenario: early detection with a good chance of a complete cure.”
Connie appeared fifteen minutes later. I was slowly becoming more cognizant of the reality of my situation as the medication began to w
ane.
“You have a room on the third floor.” She looked at Jake. “Can you drive her over to Tallahassee Memorial?”
“Of course,” Jake replied.
“Good. Report to central registration in the atrium. They’ll get you checked in to the hospital. We’re coordinating with the hospital surgical unit and Dr. Crowley as to a time for your surgery. They’ll be working you into an already full schedule.”
I lowered the volume on Betty’s stereo system. “You’ll have to call Anna at the clinic here. She can route my clients to the other therapists, and Stephanie can reschedule the clients in Chattahoochee. Oh my God! Shammie and Spackle! Call Margie and John to help feed and water, and, umm…Evelyn, Joe, Piddie, Bobby, Leigh…,” My head swam with the drugged effort at linear thought. “Holston!”
“Sister-girl, I know your schedule better than you do most of the time. I’ll take care of everything. As soon as we get you checked into a room, I can start making calls.”
Jake entered the parking garage by the hospital and trolled for an open space. We curved around until we finally located a spot on the top level.
“Can you walk, or do I need to find a wheelchair?”
“I’m still a little wobbly…just need a little support.”
Jake and I strolled arm in arm toward the elevators. “Someone will think we’re in love,” he said.
“Aren’t we?” I slurred.
“You betcha.”
White Chocolate Torte Icing
Ingredients: 6 eggs, 1 cup white sugar, 3 oz melted white chocolate, ¾ cup butter.
Combine eggs and sugar and mix well. Cook in double boiler, stirring constantly until thickened. Pour mixture into a medium size bowl and add chocolate. Beat until cool. Beat in butter and margarine. Chill frosting until thick enough to spread. For an extra-tasty treat, embellish torte with fresh raspberries.
Chapter Thirty-one
