High Meadow

by Joan Wolf

  Molly, who understood that her daughter was trying to take her mind off the coming operation, played along. They were still debating the virtues of the furnace replacement over the roof when another nurse came to get Molly. Kate was allowed to accompany them.

  They went down the elevator, through several long, windowless corridors, through a heavy fire door and into the hospital. The first stop was a dressing area, where Molly changed into a gown. The nurse gave her a bathrobe to cover the gown and nonslippery socks for her feet. Then she and Kate sat in the corridor and waited.

  Some patients wandered by, others came by on gurneys. Molly felt perfectly calm. This was something that had to be done, and she was going to do it. Surreptitiously, she slipped her hand under her bathrobe and tenderly cupped her breast. "Good-bye," she thought half-humorously, half-sorrowfully.

  Then the surgeon was coming down the hall. "Your time has come," she said with a smile. "We're all ready for you."

  Molly stood up.

  Kate kissed her. "Good luck, Mom. I'll be waiting for you."

  "Thank you, dear."

  "This way," the surgeon said, and Molly went with her along another long windowless corridor, down a second hall, and into a room with a table surrounded by all sorts of monitors. There were three people in the room, all dressed in surgical attire and wearing masks.

  "If you'll just lie down on the table, Molly," one of them said pleasantly.

  Molly said, "What a gyp. On ER you get to ride to the operation room on a gurney, and you most certainly don't have to climb onto the table yourself."

  Everyone laughed, and Molly got on the table.

  The woman who was the anesthesiologist introduced herself and explained that she was going to start the anesthetic and Molly was to count backward from five. She made it to three, and was out.

  A nurse was standing next to her bed when she awoke. "She's coming around now," Molly heard her say. Then Kate was there.

  "Mom? Mom? Can you hear me?"

  "Yes."

  Kate squeezed her hand and gave her a tremulous smile. "How do you feel?"

  "I don't know," Molly returned. "The operation is over?"

  "Yes."

  The nurse said to Kate, "We'll keep her here for a little bit longer, then you can go back to the hotel."

  She didn't know how long she remained in the recovery room, with Kate standing next to her like an archangel guarding paradise. Finally, though, they put her in a wheelchair and took her back to her hotel room, which looked positively cozy and welcoming after the vast, impersonality of the hospital.

  She got out of the wheelchair and into bed perfectly easily. "I don't feel wobbly at all," she told the nurse.

  "That's good. When you feel like it, you can call down to the restaurant and order dinner."

  'All right."

  The nurse left. Kate came over to kiss her cheek. 'Just rest for a while, Mom. Then we'll see if you feel like eating."

  "All right, Kate. But first I want to see what they've done." She opened the front of her hospital coat and looked down.

  Thank God, was her first thought. She still had her breast. The two-inch incision had been made about a half inch above her nipple, but the nipple was still perfect. And the shape of the breast didn't look much changed. "This isn't bad at all."

  Her sense of relief was huge.

  Kate came over to look. The line of the incision was visible through the tape that covered it. "Wow," she said. "It looks great."

  Molly smiled tremulously. "It does, doesn't it?"

  Kate bent and kissed her cheek. "Get some rest, Mom."

  She closed her eyes and an hour later she opened them and discovered that she was hungry. They had an excellent meal brought up from the restaurant, the nurse came in twice to check the IV that was in Molly's arm and the drain that was in her breast, then it was time for bed.

  As she tried to find a comfortable sleeping position that would not compromise her breast, Molly said, "Thank you, Kate, for being with me today."

  "Mom! Where else would I be?"

  "I know. I'm lucky to have a daughter like you."

  "You're always there for me when I need help. That's what we do. We help each other."

  Molly smiled. "Yes. That's what we do."

  "Good night, Mom."

  "Good night, Kate."

  They both settled down to sleep.

  Molly got home at noon the following day and at twelve-thirty a delivery of a dozen magnificent red roses came from Alberto. Then came a beautiful floral arrangement from Daniel. Then came a lovely plant from the Monteros, which Daniel must have sent. Finally, a floral tribute from the English Department at Glendale High School arrived.

  "My goodness," Molly said a little breathlessly.

  "The place smells like a funeral home," Kate said.

  "Kate! What a thing to say. It smells wonderful."

  Kate, who had never once thought of sending her mother flowers, smiled wryly.

  But she was hugely relieved by how well her mother seemed. Molly slept for part of the afternoon, but she was up soon after Daniel dropped Ben off from school. The three of them ate a snack in the kitchen, and Ben asked, "Would you like to sit quietly, and I'll read you a book, Nana?"

  Molly said, "I would love to have you read me a book." "Okay. And then maybe we can play cards." "That sounds like fun."

  Kate said, "Well, it looks as if I can safely leave you in Ben's hands, Mom. I have a lesson to teach." "Go ahead, dear. I'll do just fine." "Send Ben to fetch me if you need me." "I won't need you." "I hope not, but if you do . . ." "If I do, I'll send Ben." Kate went down to the riding ring to give her lesson.

  Molly did not have to take any of the painkillers that the surgeon had prescribed, and two days after the operation she had the drain taken out of the wound. Kate was as relieved as Molly by how easily the operation had gone.

  "Mom's doing great," she told George on the afternoon after Molly had had the drain removed. She was over at his farm because his prize golden retriever had given birth recently, and Kate had not yet seen the puppies.

  The puppies were as beautiful as George had said they were, and after Kate had admired them they went into George's kitchen for a cup of coffee. Nothing in the kitchen had been changed since George's wife had died fifteen years earlier, with the exception that George had added a microwave in which he cooked the TV dinners thiat he existed on, and he had a new coffeemaker.

  "Glad to hear that," George replied as he filled the coffeemaker with water.

  "Is Tom Marshall going to take one of the puppies?" she asked, and they talked comfortably about the puppies' prospective homes as the coffee dripped. Then George poured two cups, put one in front of Kate at the kitchen table, and brought one over for himself. Before he sat down he said, "You didn't by any chance see a copy of today's Daily News did you?"

  "We don't get the News. Why?"

  "There was a picture of Daniel in it, that's all. He was at some big shindig in the city."

  "Oh."

  "He had a very glamorous-looking woman on his arm."

  Kate took a swallow of coffee. "Do you have the paper handy?"

  "It's right in the living room. Hold on."

  George came back with the paper and plopped it on the table in front of Kate. It was already open to the page that sported Daniel's picture.

  The photographer had caught him on his way into the dance. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and the woman on his arm wore an evening gown. Kate looked at the sculpted face of Alicia Peterson, at her mass of blond hair, at the fur wrap she was clutching around her bare shoulders, and felt a stab of intense dislike.

  George said blandly, "I imagine he didn't ask you because he knew you wouldn't leave Molly."

  "Don't be silly, George. Why would Daniel ask me to a dance, for God's sake? We don't have that kind of a relationship."

  "What kind of a relationship do you have, Kate?" George asked gravely.

  If anyone other than George
or her mother had asked her that question, she would have told them in no uncertain terms that it was none of their business. To George she said truthfully, "I don't really know. I never expected to be spending this amount of time with Daniel. I see him or talk to him almost every single day. It's because of Ben, I know, but I hadn't expected him to be so . . . involved . . . with my own life."

  George looked at her in silence. His skin looked like wrinkled leather under the hanging kitchen lamp fixture.

  "Do you have something to say?" she asked finally,

  "I do, but I don't know if I should say it. I don't want to scare you."

  "Scare me? What on earth could scare me, George? You had better tell me, or I'll be imagining all kinds of awful things."

  "Daniel is interested in you, Kate. Interested in the way a man is interested in a woman he finds attractive. The question is, are you interested back?"

  Kate stared at him. Finally, she said, "Do you mean you think Daniel is . . . romantically . . . interested in me?

  "That is exactly what I mean."

  She shook her head. "I don't think so, George. Our relationship hinges on Ben. There's nothing beyond that."

  George reached across the table and put a hand over hers. "Kate, I love you as if you were my own daughter. It's hurt me over these years to see how hard you've had to work." She tried to break in, but he tightened his hold on her hand and went on, "No, listen to me. I know you don't mind hard work. But the farm has deprived you of any kind of a normal social life. You've been so focused on getting it in the black that you haven't let anything else compete for your attention. Now that the farm is in the black, do you intend to continue devoting your entire life to it? Do you ever plan to get married? To have children other than Ben?"

  Kate dropped her eyes. "I haven't had time to think about that much."

  "That is precisely my point. Your father would have been proud of the way you dug in and made a success of High Meadow. But he wouldn't want you to make a slave of yourself to the farm, and that is what you have done, Kate. It's time you started to think of yourself and your own future."

  Kate didn't say anything.

  "Daniel seems to be a fine young man. He's interested in you. All I'm saying is: Give him a chance. Don't automatically shut him out, as I've seen you do to any number of men over the years."

  "That's not true! What men have I shut out?"

  "How about Dr. Winwood?"

  "He's one of my vets!"

  "He's one of your vets, and there was a time when he was interested in becoming something more, but you never saw it. I'll bet he asked you out, and you said no."

  Kate frowned. "He might have invited me to dinner, but I like to have dinner on the weekend with Ben. I don't get much of a chance to do that during the week."

  "I rest my case."

  "I don't know about all of this, George. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to become involved that way with Daniel."

  "Why ever not?"

  "Because if it didn't work out, and we didn't end up getting married, it would be horribly awkward. I mean, we would have to see each other over Ben, and it would be well. . . awkward."

  "Kate Foley, I never thought I'd see the day that you were a chicken heart."

  "I'm not a chicken heart. I'm just being sensible."

  "You're being a chicken."

  Kate drew a long breath. "I'll tell you what I'm a chicken about, George. I'm a chicken about Mom. Every time I think that she has cancer, I get sick to my stomach. What would happen if she died? What would I do? I can't imagine my life without her."

  George countered, "What if Molly doesn't die? What if she marries this Alberto fellow, who seems to be so keen on her? What if she goes to live in Colombia?"

  "Mom isn't going to marry Alberto!"

  "How do you know, young lady? Your mother has been a widow for a long time. How do you know that she might not want a new man in her life? She's still a mighty fine-looking woman."

  Kate just stared at him.

  'And one of these days, Ben will be all grown-up, Kate. He won't need you anymore. What are you going to do then? Muck out stalls and feed horses day in and day out? By yourself?"

  Kate's face got very pale.

  "You listen to me and give Daniel a chance. I worry about you, and I'm too old to have to worry like that."

  Kate still didn't reply.

  "Will you do it for me, Kate? If Daniel asks you out, will you go?"

  She said faintly, "What if he doesn't ask me out?"

  "He will," George said positively. "Believe me, he will."

  * * *

  19

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  A week after the operation, Molly went back to see the surgeon to get her pathology report. The big issue in this report was whether or not cancer had been found in the margins around the lump and/or in the lymph nodes the doctor had removed from under her arm. If the nodes were positive, it meant the cancer had spread. If they were negative, and the margins were negative, that meant that the cancer was probably localized in the lump. And the lump was gone.

  Molly was far more nervous about the pathology report than she had been about the operation. If there was cancer in the lymph nodes, the chances of her beating the disease went way down. This, not the surgery, is the life-and-death part, she thought for the umpteenth time as Kate drove her to the surgeon's office. She knew, from the strained look on Kate's face, that her daughter was feeling the same way.

  They reported to the reception desk and were told to take a seat in the small waiting room. A copy of the New Haven Register was on the table, and Kate asked if she'd like to look at it.

  "No thanks, dear," Molly said.

  A nurse came into the waiting room and called the overweight man who had been sitting with them.

  Molly stared at the art museum print of Degas that hung on the wall across from her. When I leave here, I'll know. I'll either be celebrating, or I'll be wishing I could turn back time to this minute, when I didn't know.

  The receptionist called her name. Molly got up and went to the desk. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Foley, but the lab hasn't sent over your report yet." Molly's stomach twisted. They can't expect me to wait another day! "Dr. Rose has called, however, and they are going to fax it over. We'll let you know when it's here."

  "Thank you," Molly said faintly, and went back to sit beside Kate.

  "I can't believe it," Kate said, when Molly told her what had happened. She made no attempt to lower her voice. "They had a whole bloody week! What the hell were those people at the lab doing?"

  "These things happen, Kate," Molly said.

  Kate was implacable. "Well they shouldn't. If the lab didn't send the reports, someone in this office should have noticed that you had an appointment for today and made sure the pathology report was here."

  The receptionist was studiously ignoring Kate's tirade.

  "I'm one of many patients, Kate," Molly said.

  "You're the only you. You're the only person who's my mother, who's Ben's grandmother. You're important, Mom. And so is everybody else who comes in here. You're not numbers, for God's sake."

  Molly said, "I know, dear. I'm not happy about having to wait any longer, but there's nothing to be done. So calm down and read the newspaper."

  They waited for half an hour. Molly memorized the details of the ballerinas in the Degas print and watched five patients come in and four be called. Finally, someone came to fetch her; she followed the nurse down a corridor and into a waiting room.

  "Dr. Rose will be right with you," the nurse said pleasantly, giving her a gown to put on "open side in front."

  "Thank you."

  Left alone in the examination room, Molly broke into a sweat. I'll know soon. I won't be able to hide behind not knowing anymore.

  She had changed into the gown and was sitting on the edge of the examining table, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, when Dr. Rose came in. The surgeon smiled at her, and said, "I have go
od news for you. The lymph nodes and the margins around the lump were clear."

  Molly's stomach relaxed for the first time in days. She shut her eyes, and said softly, "Thank you, God."

  "I thought you'd be happy to hear that. I took out the sentinel node and six more just to be sure, which is a lot less than we had to take just a few years ago. But we've discovered that when the sentinel node is clear, it usually means the cancer has not spread."

  Molly raised her left arm, which had an incision under it. "My arm feels pretty good."

  "Yes, but you're going to have to be careful. You don't want to get lymphedema, so be sure you don't lift any heavy weights with your left arm."

  "What is lymphedema?"

  "It's a blockage in the lymph system—in your case, to the arm. It causes swelling. You most definitely do not want to get lymphedema, so be careful you don't let any heavy weights hang on your arm either. The lymph system in that arm is compromised."

  "Permanently?"

  "Yes, permanently."

  "I'm a high school teacher. I carry a lot of books."

  "Then carry them in your right arm."

  Molly sighed. 'All right."

  "The next thing for you to do is to make an appointment with an oncologist."

  Molly was surprised. She had assumed that, since the cancer was localized, she wouldn't have to undergo further treatment. "Why? Isn't the cancer gone? You just told me it was confined to the lump."

  "As far as we know, it's gone. But cancer can travel in the blood as well as the lymph, and there is no way to screen for that. That's why we use chemotherapy, even on patients like you, where the cancer seems to be localized."

  "Oh," Molly said dismally. "Then I'm going to have to have chemotherapy?"

  "It's much safer to have it, Mrs. Foley."

  "I see."

  "Do you have an oncologist you'd prefer?"

  "No. The oncologist who treated my husband has since retired. Can you recommend someone to me, Doctor?"

  "I usually recommend Anna Golden. She's well-known in her field, and she's empathetic as well. She works out of the MacGahren Cancer Center at St. Thomas's."

  "She sounds fine."

  "I'll make an appointment for you if you like."