Love Finds Its Pocket

by Mary Scarpelli

  Toni chided a few of them by saying that to the best of her understanding, breast cancer was not contagious, but their collective looks of incredulity that she dare accuse them of being cowards or not being properly supportive of Kat, stating they had been praying or thinking about her non-stop, was creating a divide that Toni refused to let mend. Their behavior, consistently avoidant, was unforgivable so her decision was final; from that point forward, they were dead to her.

  Conversely, the response from Toni’s family was wholly supportive; their unconditional love for Kat came pouring out of them in buckets. Antonia spent hours on the phone with her, sometimes discussing the disease and the baffling nature that chance plays in marking its victims, but mostly they just talked about life, laughing about any manner of silly childhood anecdotes and about how odd life can be where one decision can have ramifications that may take days, months or even years to unfold. Antonia gave Kat free reign to express anything that was on her mind in hopes that talking might somehow dislodge her fears thereby alleviating some of her burden.

  Their conversations did not begin until two weeks following the diagnosis; during that time, Kat had folded in on herself, refusing any manner of comforting from anyone. Antonia’s desperate feelings of helplessness coupled with the fear that it could happen to herself or either of her daughters prompted her to open her heart to Kat the extent to which surprised even her. Kat never felt closer to anyone as Antonia’s strength rivaled that of her own indomitable spirit; they could and did discuss anything, offering each other the gift of patience, a depth of love and genuine, mutual concern for each other’s welfare.

  Kat realized that she loved Antonia with an intensity and depth of feeling usually reserved for ones mother so from that moment forward, she would call Antonia mom – rolling most naturally off of her tongue, which brought Antonia to tears of joy more often than not. Odd, she thought, how so tragic an occurrence could produce such unintended benefits. Neither woman would ever again be the same; they would develop for each other and those around them a brand of simpatico neither realized they had the capacity for – Kat because no sex was involved and Antonia because it wasn’t someone to whom she had given birth.

  Breast Cancer and You, Perfect Together

  With every step, she expected her feet to feel the sensation of making contact with the pavement but the impact never happened; rather, walking began to feel similar to zero-gravity floating, as each footfall landed in a position slightly elevated above the ground, bouncing lightly then lifting off to start the next step. The weightlessness of her bodily sensations as juxtaposed against the heaviness of her worrisome thoughts produced an incongruous circularity of consciousness that she found impossible to reconcile – she wondered briefly if that’s what insanity felt like. She realized that her brain must be releasing a profusion of potent chemicals because the perception of her surroundings and everything related to a physical sensation was clearly altered. The quality was not dissimilar from that of a mild acid trip; she fell asleep at night and awoke each morning to experience the exact same surreal emotional/ intellectual/ spiritual disconnect – a circularity high that never ended.

  Her appetite had lessened to a point of non-existence; her interest in food odors, taste sensations, ability to properly digest, had fallen away appreciably. Significant pounds were shed over a brief period of time. It wasn’t as if she felt nauseous or that her body was in pain but that her life force must have been diverted elsewhere, her drive to live having simply vacated the premises, temporarily relocating to an unknown location. The sound of her own voice was remote, having taken on the timbre of a stranger, echoing slightly and ricocheting around in her mouth before exiting, a cacophonous digital delay of unintelligible noise. The sounds filtering from mouth to ears were so different from what she expected to hear that she became unrecognizable to herself. She found the experience to be so unsettling that for the first few weeks after receiving the diagnosis she was disinclined to speak unless absolutely necessary.

  Working became her sanctuary as she could redirect her entire focus externally: reading, analyzing, editing and forging responses to writers precluded the need for her to interact too closely with anyone, especially herself. Toni begged her to open up about what she was thinking, feeling, fearing, but as she wasn’t yet certain herself, indeed was still trying to wrap her own head around the absurdity of having breast cancer, her retreat remained intact until such a time as she was able to accept her new reality.

  Copious tests, including an image-guided stereotactic breast biopsy, conducting by a radiologist sporting a rather menacing-looking needle, and an MRI with and without the introduction of a contrasting liquid meant to provide the best internal roadmap possible, had been ordered by her breast surgeon, Dr. Rachael Eclatant, a lovely and skilled surgeon who came highly recommended to her from a colleague whose mother had been the recipient of a similar diagnosis. She had a cracker-jack team of assistants that worked in the background to make certain the appropriate tests were scheduled and completed, results were received and the flow of communication between doctor, lab, and patient remained open. Their collective efficiency alleviated the burden of having to manage the slate of pre-surgical requirements when the mind precluded the clarity of thought required to ensure no boxes were left unchecked.

  Dr. Eclatant also strongly recommended to Kat that she have reconstructive surgery concurrent with the tail end of the mastectomy procedure and as such provided her with a list of plastic surgeons with whom she could consult. There were so many details to consider, so much information to absorb, all of which had to be scheduled and completed at least one week prior to the date of surgery. Every detail required her to be present, cognizant and rational – to make significant life decisions, yet the novel, foreign nature of the proceedings produced emotions that were so frightening, so intensely disturbing that they threatened to override her inner calm. The decision to remove the breast in its entirety was made once Kat was informed about the odd nature of her cancer.

  Her malignant, spiculated mass was rather small and under normal circumstances she’d simply have been able to remove the lump, get stitched up, suffer through a round of radiation and get on with life. However, also tucked away in the tissue of that breast resided a rainbow formation of tiny ball-shaped clusters that were thereafter referred to as ductal carcinoma in-situ, or DCIS, relatively common and innocuous in their sedentary state. If she were only to have the lump removed, then the DCIS could become disrupted and not unlike kicking any ill-tempered back alley dog, once awakened, all hell would break loose; the cancerous yet contained little balls would be dislodged from their previous moorings, hence free to roam, breaking their stasis and commencing the process of finding sources of sustenance within her body from which to propagate – estrogen and sugar being the most notorious culprits, embedding themselves within her chest cavity or perhaps even selecting a vital organ or two in her body in which to take up residence and infect anew.

  Therefore the offending mass, in addition to the remaining breast tissue healthy and corrupted alike, would have to be excised in what was called a modified, radical mastectomy; that procedure would spare her pectoral muscles for employment as organic restraining straps for her soon-to-be reconstructed breast, replete with synthetic implant. Kat didn’t hesitate for even one nanosecond that making so drastic a decision was indeed the only rational option, as the facts spoke quite conclusively on their own merit without the need to request the presentation of additional, secondary argumentation.

  So, from that point forward, she waited in patient anticipation of having her diseased breast and the cancer residing within it removed from her body before it had a chance to spread its villainous wings and kill her. Her breasts had always been her best asset, fitting perfectly on her frame, not too big or too small, having stood the test of time to remain surprisingly taut and perky, but now that one of them had engaged in an act of bodily treason, off to the guillotine it would go, a pi
ece of history whose value to her had fully depreciated, lost to the scalpel of her surgeon and then off to the microscope of the resident pathologist before eventually being discarded as the toxic waste that is was.

  Kat was informed that in addition to removing the offending mass during surgery, they also planned on locating and removing several sentinel nodes, distinguished and identified from other, lesser important nodes by a radioactive tracer dye that would be injected into her body mere hours before the surgery. The composition of those sentinel nodes would then be analyzed with immediate effect as she lay unconscious on the operating table, to ascertain whether the cancer had spread. Dr. Eclatant said that she needed those results before determining how she would proceed, i.e., either hand Kat over to the plastic surgeon forthwith for part two, which would consist of implantation of the tissue expander, or go back in and remove additional lymph nodes to discover how far the cancer had managed to infiltrate Kat’s body.

  Kat had always reveled in being impossible to throw off balance but this circumstance forced her into submission, knocking her down then pummeling her in a merciless demonstration of exactly how little control she actually had over her life. For someone who fought so diligently toward self-actualization and maintaining an inner calm regardless of the situation, the gravity - the sheer profundity of a cancer diagnosis shocked her with its unrelenting waves of intensity.

  The plastic surgeon she selected, Dr. Xavier Echeverria, worked primarily with people who sought his services purely for aesthetic improvement so whenever he had an opportunity to work on a woman with breast cancer, he would jump at the chance to provide his masterful surgical skills. Alleviating as much of the burden associated with that dreaded disease as he possibly could always made his otherwise superficial practice seem entirely worthwhile. Not being in the business of having to steal women out from under death’s grip left him in an oddly neutral position, placing such a positive spin on the situation and future state of her breast that Kat found visits with him to be almost refreshing.

  While in his office discussing the size, material and various reconstruction options available, she was able to set aside her fear and contemplate what her post surgical breast might be transformed into – curiosity winning out over defeat if only for a brief moment in time. He showed her pictures of his work as he explained, almost apologetically, that the mastectomy would not be what caused her the most post surgical pain; rather, it would be his introduction of a tissue expanding device, placed strategically under several pectoral muscles, that would have her reaching for the pain meds for at least one to two weeks after the procedure. Furthermore, she would be expected to return to his office once weekly to have the expander filled, until it reached the desired volume; he would then become her primary medical contact until she underwent the second stage of reconstruction, which would be the implantation of the permanent appliance.

  Having decided against the tissue flap options, Dr. Echeverria showed Kat two types of implant, saline and silicone, asking her to feel each one to gauge its tactile sensation while he showed her ‘after’ photos and itemized the pros and cons of each option. Kat inspected them, feeling them as if it were already housed beneath her skin. She selected silicone, due to its superior texture and facsimile to a breast even after having read a few studies in which autopsies showed that the particulates of a slowly ruptured implant were found surrounding the various lymph nodes residing within the decedent. She reconciled with getting an MRI at least every two to three years at which time she would ensure the continued integrity of the implant’s casing.

  Her optimism that nothing else would/could possibly go wrong with her health was not necessarily unfounded naïveté; however, denial-infused wishes were a necessity as her reality meter had already peaked to maximum capacity. She read that improvements had been made to fortify the silicone filling and the durability of the silicone’s housing so believed that the manufacturers had made significant strides toward extending the long-term viability of the unit. And anyway, the feel of silicone was vastly superior to that of saline, which would, invariably as the pictures he showed her attested, eventually wrinkle-up into an unaesthetic lump.

  Having inadvisably allowed the fear that had been encircling her neck to relax a bit was not necessarily well-founded as she was soon informed by Dr. Echeverria, in a strangely casual manner that her second surgery could not be scheduled until after she received her pathology reports and her subsequent treatment plan had been determined by an oncologist. When she protested that chemo would not be necessary in her case because the mass was measured at only slightly larger than one centimeter, the trump card that she had been carrying with her, tossing it out at every naysayer as proof that her prognosis would most assuredly be a positive one, the stanchion that had been propping her up and giving her hope that she had perhaps dodged the death bullet, was snatched from her grasp, leaving her once again to spiral into the tragic depths of darkness and despair that she had thus far been able to keep at arms length.

  ******

  Toni had been dreading the necessity of requesting time off. She had accumulated quite a few carryover vacation days and sick time and knew about the Family Medical Leave Act of 1993, but became incensed when she realized that since her union with Kat had not been legally sanctioned, she would not be allowed to capitalize on that perk. Negative thoughts began clouding her mind, anger overriding rational thinking. She felt a negation of her existence as a woman engaged in a lesbian relationship, as though she had no choice but to prostrate herself as she begged for time off, pleading with the director of human resources to understand that this leave of absence was an absolute necessity and that no, there wasn’t anyone else who could take care of her and no, her ‘friend’ didn’t have a husband to pick up that convalescent ball.

  Toni seethed that the feelings of people with pets were held in higher regard than a lesbian couple for whom some stupid legal document had not been signed. She realized, too late of course, that to receive equitable treatment one simply must play the game to some extent. The adolescent anarchy of not giving a rats ass what society deems acceptable becomes excruciatingly nullified when something so tragic occurs, making the receipt of acknowledgment from those in power an absolute must.

  Toni didn’t want to burden Kat with the dilemma that their lack of legal status had created as she knew it was her own fault for not having signed the domestic partnership papers that Kat had so conveniently signed and placed on the coffee table several months prior to her diagnosis, so she consoled herself with Gene as her backdrop, her sounding board during this time of crisis. He always was able to reason through a problem, providing clarity followed by a viable alternative but in this case simply told her that she had no one to blame but her stubborn self; there was no choice but to comply with the existing laws as her situation would be no different if she were cohabitating, sans legal document, with a man.

  “You know what you have to do, right my dear?” Gene said to her.

  He already knew that Kat was secretly planning to propose to Toni the moment that gay marriage became legal in New York State, dragging her kicking and screaming to the altar if need be. He smiled knowing that Toni would now be a very willing participant in a ceremony that she, ironically, found utterly contemptible.

  “Excuse me, Elena? Do you have a minute?” Toni poked her head around the door frame, hoping Elena wasn’t engaged in an important conversation. She asked Jordan to leave her office; Toni slid by him and took a seat.

  “How are you holding up? Hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look like hell. When’s the last time you got any sleep? You’ve been shooting out emails and finished reports at all hours of the night.” Elena asked with a level of concern she showed only to family and close friends.

  Elena had been working with Toni for so long, had gone so far as to request that Toni jump ship and join her each time she secured employment elsewhere, she felt like they were sisters. She even did the unthinkable an
d broke the barrier she normally had against bringing her work life home to her family but she loved Toni and trusted her implicitly so she became her one and only exception. Well, the first and only other exception being her husband but they stopped working together the moment they realized they had found in each other their respective soul mates; her husband quickly searched out and accepted a position with a different company, which ended up boding well for them as his career trajectory skyrocketed, precipitated by that one crucial move.

  Elena was clearly worried although she embarrassingly appreciated the ironic benefit of Kat’s diagnosis being Toni’s sleepless nights because Toni had never before been as productive. Elena’s mother had been through her own devastating bout with breast cancer, barely surviving the ordeal so when Toni told her the size and quality of the mass identified on Kat’s scans, she knew that her chances for survival made her an odds-on favorite to win the battle. She also knew that when someone is in the throes of the discovery phase and still wrapping their heads around the receipt of such a horrific diagnosis, no manner of reassuring words will have the impact they should. People stop listening – are incapable of hearing when they are in an utter state of panic, in fear for the continuation of their very existence.

  “Thank you for going to bat for me with that obviously homophobic bitch in HR. I could have walked in there bleeding from my eye sockets and she would have thrown some stupid platitude at me about how everyone else has problems too but they mange to get though it without complaining. This too shall pass, my ass!

  “There’s a special place in hell reserved for her heartless, stupid self.” Toni said, not realizing how much of her anger she had been sublimating until she spoke with someone outside of the family.