Love Finds Its Pocket

by Mary Scarpelli

  “And anyway, the connection I share with you is so much deeper. It’s one-hundred percent – mind, body, soul; it’s total. Oh, I know we argue sometimes but we’re just clarifying our respective positions. You can be a little bit insistent sometimes, but I don’t mind. What I’m trying to say is that you are perfect for me. I don’t want anyone but you. Everything about you is perfect, imperfections and all because they too are really perfect, you know what I mean?”

  Kat once again was engaged in a full-on belly laugh as Toni’s ramble, although heartfelt and beautiful, had already flown off into space, having taken flight directly from her mouth into the ether, enveloped by the thick fog of the evening’s discussion.

  “It’s you and me babe. We are wonderful. I agree; we are – perfect. Kiss me.”

  Toni obliged, hovering lengthwise over Kat’s body but careful not to make contact, giving her a kiss lasting several minutes, getting so easily lost in the lushness of her lips, ready once again to be graced by the pleasure of Kat’s skilled hand, only to be abruptly interrupted by the repeated fanfare-style trumpet blasts of Kat’s cell phone. Toni oh so reluctantly disengaged and looked at the name that lit up the screen. As she suspected, the screen read Mama Mia! She smiled and handed the phone to Kat. She began to clear away the remains of their dinner, finding several things to keep herself occupied knowing that Kat and Antonia’s conversations tended to be lengthy.

  Since Antonia had expressed regret and guilt over not staying longer, knowing Kat well enough to notice that although she indeed was feeling better, stronger every day, that her good humor and matter-of-fact attitude toward her mastectomy and having had cancer, was closer to putting up a good front rather than the non-event Kat wanted everyone to believe it was, their conversations were even longer than usual. Antonia was aware of Kat’s doctor’s appointments, remembering that that was the day Kat had been scheduled to speak with her breast surgeon to receive the results of the pathology analysis; she was more than annoyed that she hadn’t been immediately contacted with the news, but because she had been so busy herself, carting around her in-laws for their respective wellness visits, decided to set aside her wounded pride until after she heard that Kat was going to be okay – only then would she lay on the guilt, as thickly as possible.

  “I know you wanted me to call you so you could tell me about the test results.” Antonia said, a little chilly and hurt but not so much that she kept her distance.

  Kat certainly didn’t want to explain to her that she’d been celebrating the good news by having her precious daughter boff her brains out over the past several hours but hoped that as their conversation progressed, Antonia would piece it together for herself. She’d been married for so long that Kat thought she probably forgot how wonderfully powerful it can feel to satisfy the immediacy of lustful excitation. Sensitive territory to be sure; had it been one of her friends, they wouldn’t even have had to wonder about the nature of the delay.

  “I won’t be dramatic – that would be cruel,” Kat said, only to be interrupted.

  “Yes, it would be.” Antonia always wanted to be number one in everyone’s lives. She had little patience for waiting in line.

  “You are wonderful, do you know that?”

  “We are very much alike, bella mia.” Antonia concurred.

  Before meeting Kat, Antonia feared that the lessons she sought to instill in her hard-headed child had not taken root. She felt some measure of vindication knowing that Toni had chosen a life-mate that was so similar in temperament to her mother. She only hoped that Toni was similarly aware of it.

  “We sure are! I tease Toni about it at every opportunity! There’s endless mileage to squeeze out of that one.

  “So then, enough delay. Apparently the initial pathology reports have borne out that the remaining lymph nodes removed during surgery had no sign of cancer in them. The cancerous lesion that was removed was also studied so that they could better understand its ‘quality’ – um how aggressive it was.” Kat was interrupted.

  “I’ve done a fair amount of research so I’m aware of histologic grading.”

  Impressive, thought Kat. “Great. Excellent. The quality of my cancerous little lump, which was just shy of one and a half centimeters, got an aggregated score of five, which classifies it as Category 1. Plus, my cancer is HER2 negative so that’s wonderful news! I’m most excited about the HER2 status because that means hormone therapy will be effective on me. Those drugs are designed to attach to estrogen so that less of it will be freely floating around my system, coaxing errant cancer cells into forming a gang and wreaking systemic havoc.” Kat waited for the congratulations to come pouring through the other end of the transmission; it was, however, strangely absent.

  “Have you spoken with an oncologist yet?” Antonia was still worried sick. She understood the implications of Kat’s results, should have been wholly relieved that a major catastrophe had been averted but refused to allow herself even one moment of joy lest she hear it from the mouth of a medical professional – in this case only an oncologist with extensive experience treating breast cancer patients would do.

  “Antonia, you worry too much. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” Once again, Kat was interrupted.

  “Listen to me. I don’t want to put a damper on your happiness but you haven’t even discussed the various treatment options with an oncologist so how do you know that he – or she, won’t recommend chemotherapy? That certainly would be a game-changer, no?

  “I’m so sorry my lovely Katherine but I think it’s too early to celebrate.” Antonia added, more quietly and sympathetic than her previous statement, then said, “I would rather be having this conversation with you in person. This is a sensitive topic and it deserves, what do you young people call it now? Oh yes, face-time,” Antonia said with a chuckle at how oddly each generation’s colloquial usage takes on the character of the times.

  “I’m not that young, Antonia,” Kat responded, not knowing if Toni had apprised her mother.

  “I know, bella mia; my namesake told me when we were in the waiting room.

  “What I meant was that you’ve managed to retain a youthful spirit; you haven’t – but could have, let your childhood keep you down, making you old and bitter and angry before your time. You have such joy, an abundance of love pouring out of you so to me, you’ll always be young.” Antonia said with her characteristic, definitive tone.

  “Well then, I stand corrected! But mom, I think you should know... I’ve already made up my mind to forgo chemo, regardless of what the doctor tells me.” Kat was not annoyed at the constant interruptions; it was characteristic of their conversations and an aspect of Antonia that she had grown to adore.

  “You are an intelligent woman and I don’t doubt that you’ve done your homework but I think it’s a bad idea to reject a therapy option that could save your life – extend your life. You’re still getting your period, yes? So then your ovaries are still producing estrogen. That fact doesn’t concern you? Maybe if you were my age, it wouldn’t be an issue.

  “I hope it’s not because of your hair!” Antonia added as an afterthought with a sternness of tone that was supremely intimidating.

  Kat visualized the accusation as being framed within a rich mahogany border accompanied by Antonia’s powerfully squinty glare, the strength of which was able to flow, unimpeded, through an aerial transmission. She laughed hard as she converted it to a cartoon to lessen its impact, only to regain her composure after once again becoming uncomfortably aware of the tissue expander pressing hard between her overlapping, resituated pectoral muscles and chest wall – a permanent physical intruder.

  “I am vain, aren’t I? But no, Antonia - not so vain that I would sacrifice my odds of long-term survival. I truly believe that chemo is being overprescribed – like a de facto, one-size-fits-all treatment plan or something. Don’t you agree that doctors hate feeling helpless just like we do? I don’t doubt the integrity of their intentions but that doesn�
��t mean I have to be one of their guinea pigs.

  “Most women who’ve just gone through cancer-related surgery will listen to their doctors, trust them implicitly because they’re desperate to live another day – those women who have children, most likely young children, they would do anything, accept any solution proffered to them if it meant improving their odds a few extra percentage points.

  “But here’s the thing Antonia, I haven’t read even one study that proves, unequivocally, given my specific set of circumstances of course, that chemo would improve my odds in an appreciably significant way. And anyway, if you take into consideration the year or more that I’d be suffering through it between treatment and subsequent recovery, then take into account quality of life issues, the additional life span calculation is nullified – it becomes moot.

  “To me, choosing that option would be like using a machine gun to kill a mouse.” Kat paused to provide Antonia with an opportunity to chime in but then continued to speak when she realized that Antonia hadn’t yet interrupted because she was intently listening to and absorbing Kat’s words.

  “My immune system would be shot to hell so I’d have to isolate myself to keep from getting even sicker, I could end up with long-term organ damage or nerve damage and forget about eating. I’ve read that not only would I vomit like there’s no tomorrow, but certain tastes and smells would also make me horribly nauseous – I’d probably end up with ulcerated mouth sores, but I guess that shouldn’t be considered a negative factor because I wouldn’t be able to eat anyway, right?

  “Look, I’m not some weeping willow. If I thought chemo was necessary for my particular situation, I’d do it. So to answer your question, no, I really don’t feature losing my mane – it does define me you know, but my rationale for refusing that option is based on sound judgment and I’ll defend my decision with every ounce of debating skill that I possess.

  “Toni used the analogy that opting for chemo would be like driving a Maserati to get to the corner store.” Kat stopped speaking when she heard Antonia’s breathing get long and heavy.

  She hurriedly placed her phone on mute as she was able to picture Antonia giving Toni a long distance, inter-borough mal’occhio, and didn’t want her laughter to be audible. She looked over at Toni through the kitchen’s pass-through window and blew her a few kisses as she profusely apologized, to which Toni merely shook her head, drew in a deep breath and continued to clean up.

  “All I’m saying is that it’s overkill and unnecessary. I think future studies will bear me out but for now I’m asking that you take a leap of faith with me and trust that my decision is not a reckless, frivolous one. I want to live – I have every reason to live a long, healthy life,” Kat paused, love pouring forth in a gush, as she turned to watch Toni cleaning the kitchen. She whistled softly to get her attention, non-verbally requesting that she come over and lay one on her.

  “You’ll tell me everything that the oncologist says to you?” Antonia asked, blushing once she realized that the smacking sounds she heard were being generated by her precious Toni, who was kissing her recently acquired daughter and friend.

  “That’d better be my daughter I hear you kissing!” Antonia advised to yet another round of deep laughter from Kat, this time, mute-free.

  “Hi Ma!” Toni yelled into the phone before heading back into the kitchen.

  Kat wondered if the pressure she felt in her chest every time she laughed would diminish over time. She made a mental note to check a few discussion boards and also to ask Dr. Echeverria at her next appointment if the discomfort was typical.

  “Toni told me that your drain removal was quite an experience.” Antonia decided it was best to change the subject. Toni would always be her little girl; she still couldn’t bear the thought of her being so sexual. The thought that a part of her also found Kat to be sexually appealing hadn’t crossed her conscious mind.

  “Ugh! It’s not that it hurt – oddly. I wouldn’t call it pain exactly, but the sensation was, hmmm, how to put it... Let’s see – oh, yes of course; it was nauseating. That’s what it was; queasy-making and nauseating. I swear it felt like he was pulling one hundred feet of tubing out of me. And worst of all, he had to do it on three separate occasions. He took out two at my first visit but kept the third one in place. I guess my body was still draining too much fluid, so in it stayed for another week.

  “Toni had been clearing the lines for me, cleaning out then collapsing the drainage bulbs, which she had to do once you left because when I tried it, I think I let air flow back through the line and the sharpness of the pain that shot back into me left me feeling woozy and brought tears to my eyes. Luckily Toni was as proficient as both you and the nurse so I got lucky on that score.

  “When I finally got the third one removed, well, this morning, actually - I can’t tell you how relieved I was to be rid of that damn thing. I felt one thousand percent better the moment it was totally out.

  “Toni joked that observing the removal process was like watching a magician pull an endless stream of multi-colored silk scarves from a hat, except all that came out of me was some slightly slimy plastic tubing in which residual lymphatic fluids and blood were stuck. The doctor and his nurse laughed at her description but I was too busy repressing my gag reflex to find any humor in it.”

  “I’m very glad to hear you’re over that hurdle. How about your mobility? How far can you lift your arm?” Antonia asked in anxious anticipation.

  While there, Antonia had been diligently helping Kat with her arm exercises, sitting on the sidelines coaching a clearly pained Kat to keep inching her hand up the wall as instructed on the diagram provided by the physical therapist prior to her departure from the hospital. She helped to position Kat’s arm when the pain brought tears to her eyes. What the PT had neglected to mention was how uncomfortable the exercises would be. Kat preferred the incessant hum and gnawing of a tattoo machine against her sensitive rib cage over the stiff resistance of torture generated by those damnable mobility exercises.

  Kat didn’t think she would have been able to get through the initial exercises without Antonia’s assistance but as she was in too much pain to start until the third day, she was left at a deficit, having to contend with a much softer Toni who, rather than stand by and watch helplessly as her lover struggled with what felt like trying to stretch across an ocean a massively thick rubber band whose elasticity was unwilling to give even one more inch for the sake of Kat’s improvement, was prone to tell her that perhaps she should get some rest and try again later – preferably after having popped a few opiates.

  “It’s a little better – I can extend my arm over my head now – kind of, but it still hurts when I try doing it without pushing against the wall.

  “I wish I had known beforehand how much the recovery process was going to take out of me. I’ve been robbed of my energy. I thought I’d convalesce while sifting through my slush pile of submitted manuscripts – you know, uninterrupted busy-work time, but I’ve been too exhausted, in too much pain or discomfort or unable to find the right physical logistics to use a laptop, hold papers, pick-up my phone – it’s all been a bit unsettling for me – my life has been upended.

  “I had to keep reminding myself that those stupid drainage tubes were stuffed into me and that I had to restrict my movements lest I reinjure my healing self, and forget about being able to sleep. I’ve been afraid to sleep in any position other than on my back.

  “I’ve been waking up in a cold sweat with the fear that I’m about to roll over and rip out my drainage stitches, and I’m having a hell of a time sitting up on my own after being in a reclining position; I still can’t do it without help. I have to wake up Toni each time I have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, and wait patiently each morning for her to wake up so that I can get out of bed because I’m so afraid of getting hurt if I accidently contort my body in the wrong position. And my sense of balance is way out of whack.” Kat stopped speaking when she realized that s
he had been on a bit of a self-pitying rant. The last thing she wanted to do was to burden anyone and yet there she was, communicating her fears and worries, her off-switch on holiday.

  Toni had stopped cleaning to give her full attention to Kat’s tale, not having realized just how stoic Kat had been and that she actually wasn’t a super human after all. It was so easy to forget that beneath her strong exterior resided a cream puff just as much in need of nurturing as she was. Kat was a proud woman so was not inclined to expose her vulnerabilities but this provided valuable insight that Toni vowed to keep at the forefront of her Kat-a-list, i.e., her commandment book, so-to-speak, of Kat truths that are not necessarily self-evident. She knew the reference would one day be immeasurably helpful.

  “I’m coming back to stay with you for a few more days – I was afraid that I was leaving you too soon. No! Do not argue with me. I’ll be there tomorrow morning and I’ll be staying until we both agree that you’re feeling strong enough that you need only one Mangiarmi woman to help you. Capisci?” Antonia stood her ground. Even over the phone, she was an intimidating woman.

  “Yes, of course,” Kat softly responded, humbled. “Antonia?

  “Thank you.”

  The Miserable Metamorphosis of a Middle-Aged Woman

  The night air was cool, lightly grazing her face and neck with the softness of a lover’s gentle touch. She opened her mouth slightly to allow the breeze to caress her lips, touch her tongue, dry the beads of sweat that had begun to accumulate at her hairline, at the base of her neck, her cleavage, those dripping down to accumulate on her stomach. She had only intermittently experienced the early onset symptoms of menopause before the diagnosis, those flashes of intense heat coursing through her body feeling as if she were about to spontaneously combust, but chose to ignore rather than dwell on them or worry about how much worse they could become, perhaps hoping that if she remained indifferent and very still, they would no longer acknowledge her presence, become incensed and disappear. But there was no reasoning with or spiting a monster whose trajectory was single mindedly absolute and this one had only begun to assert itself as her new dominant life force, the other owner of the vessel previously known as Katherine the Great.