by Elena Graf
The details began running together, but instead of listening to the medical debate, Maggie found herself observing how the doctors conducted themselves. She’d had a brief stint playing a female doctor on a daytime soap opera. Then, her only role models had been other actresses playing doctors or the few female doctors who’d treated her during the fertility treatments. Now, she could see how they really behaved in their natural setting. Immersing herself in these observations was comforting and helped her muster the objectivity she needed as each of the specialists at the table outlined their recommendations.
Dr. Birnbaum advocated observation, more frequent imaging and continuing the daily Tamoxifen indefinitely. She mentioned adding aromatase inhibitors, but she was careful to explain in detail the damage they could do to her bones and joints. “But something to consider, and we can put you on a schedule of CA 125 tumor marker blood draws to monitor the levels. There’s a lot we can do to keep an eye on the situation.”
The surgeon looked Maggie right in the eye when she spoke, which Maggie appreciated but found disconcerting. She dared not blink while Dr. Connelly was speaking. “I’m trying to read you, Ms. Krusick to see how much risk you’re willing to tolerate. If the idea of a recurrence terrifies you so much you’ll never be able to sleep at night, my recommendations will be different.”
Maggie glanced at Liz, who nodded, but didn’t intervene. “I’m scared, but somehow, I manage to sleep. I like to sleep.”
Everyone laughed.
“If you were really anxious about recurrence, I’d recommend a prophylactic double mastectomy followed by reconstruction.”
Maggie actually flinched at hearing those words. She glanced at Liz, who remained as impassive as a boulder.
“Some BRCA2 women elect to go that route,” continued Dr. Connelly. “Since it’s a relatively rare mutation, I personally haven’t had many patients face that dilemma, so I don’t have a much experience to gauge whether that’s a wise decision. A lot depends on you. If you really want to prevent the cancer from ever coming back, removing the tissue in which it grows is your safest bet. But even the best surgeon can’t remove every last cell, so it’s not iron-clad insurance.”
“So, what do you recommend, Dr. Connelly?” Maggie asked.
“I’m with Dr. Birnbaum so far. I’m guessing Dr. Katz is going to recommend removing your ovaries and tubes. We have a lot of ways to treat breast cancer as long as we find it early enough. Ovarian cancer is a tougher opponent because it’s harder to detect.”
Dr. Katz nodded. “Yes, and we can remove the ovaries and tubes laparoscopically, so the recovery time and scarring are minimal.”
“One reason I’m not pushing the mastectomy-route,” continued Dr. Connelly, “is I know Dr. Stolz will watch you like a hawk. She’ll make sure you get to all your imaging appointments. Right, Dr. Stolz?”
For the first time since the meeting had begun, Liz smiled. “You can bet on it.”
Maggie agreed to let Dr. Katz schedule the surgery to remove her ovaries.
“It may have to wait until after the holidays,” said Dr. Katz in an apologetic tone, but it will be soon after the new year.”
Dr. Birnbaum summarized the results of the meeting.
“I recorded the meeting,” said Liz, reaching for her phone, “…in case, we forgot anything.” She tapped the app to turn it off. “Thanks, ladies. I appreciate your time.”
Dr. Birnbaum escorted them to the elevator. She gave Liz a hug as the door opened. “We’ll be in touch.” She offered her hand to Maggie. Then she opened her arms and pulled her into an embrace. “Enjoy your holidays and don’t worry about a thing! Let us do the worrying.”
Easier said than done, thought Maggie as she mentally reviewed the meeting on the way to Guilford. They’d agreed that staying the night at Jenny’s was more sensible than driving round trip back to Maine. Maggie had given in to Liz’s request to stay an additional day, so that she could visit her mother. The relationship between mother and daughter had been strained since Thanksgiving, but Liz had half-forgiven Monica. Maggie understood. If her mother were still alive, she’d want to make peace too.
Liz was quiet as she drove, and Maggie allowed Liz her introspection. She had plenty to think about herself. The fact that all the doctors on the team had been fairly low key about their recommendations helped ease her mind. No one seemed to be rushing toward any dramatic interventions. Maybe the risk wasn’t as great as it seemed. She glanced at Liz, who was deep in thought.
“Do you agree with the recommendations of the doctors?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, mostly.”
“Liz! You promised you’d talk to me.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to tell you absolutely everything I think.”
“No.”
Liz turned into the driveway and parked in front of Jenny’s garage, but she didn’t get out. “What do you think of Melissa Katz? Jenny thinks she’s phenomenal.”
“I wasn’t impressed with her bedside manner.”
“For your ears only, she sucks. Don’t say anything to Jenny, please.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“But I’m glad you’re electing the RRSO,” said Liz, shutting off the engine.
“The what?”
“Short for Risk-Reducing Salpingooophorectomy….when they remove your fallopian tubes and ovaries for prophylactic reasons.“
“I don’t need my ovaries. They didn’t do me any good when I was trying to have children. They can go.”
“Bilateral mastectomy would reduce your risk of breast cancer recurrence to ninety percent.”
“Then maybe I should consider it.”
“We do conserve the nipples now, so the cosmetic results are better. We’ve been working to preserve sensitivity. That was one of my research interests. Unfortunately, we’re not there yet. After a mastectomy, the best case scenario for the recovery of sensation is about fifty percent. In some women, it never comes back.”
Maggie had read that in Liz’s book, but that was before the results of the genetic tests. Then it had been a mere abstraction rather than a real possibility. No feeling in her breasts? That sounded terrible. Liz enjoyed them so much and so did she.
“Could you fall in love with a woman with fake breasts?” asked Maggie. “Honestly, Liz.”
Liz shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been faced with that possibility.”
Maggie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “YOU DON’T KNOW?”
Liz looked alarmed when she finally realized the implications of what she’d said. “That doesn’t apply to you. I thought you were asking a theoretical question to which I gave a theoretical answer. Obviously, I already love you.”
“No, it’s not obvious, and you gave an honest answer.”
Liz stared at her anxiously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what you were asking.”
“Take me home,” said Maggie. “Right now.”
“Okay, but it’s a long trip back to Maine.”
“I don’t want to go to Maine. I want to go home…to New York.”
With effort, Liz spoke in a calm voice. “Maggie, please. Be reasonable.”
“No, I will not be reasonable. I don’t want to be reasonable. I want to go home!”
Liz got out of the car and slammed the door. Maggie got out on the passenger’s side.
“This is asinine,” said Liz angrily. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not kidding, Liz,” Maggie said. “Take me home right now, or I’ll call a cab to take me to the train station.”
“This is insane.”
“Now, Liz.” Maggie got back into the car and shut the door.
Chapter 35
Muttering the F-word and several other choice profanities, Liz swung into the driver’s seat. She started the engine and backed out of the driveway
so fast the gears complained.
“Liz, take it easy.”
“I should take it easy? You’re nuts. Absolutely fucking nuts,” she added for emphasis.
Maggie did not reply. In fact, she said not a single word as Liz sped down I95 toward New York City. She stared forward, watching the traffic ahead like a mute sentinel.
The silence finally unnerved Liz. “Does this mean we’re breaking up?”
“Were we ever together?” Maggie’s voice was chilly.
“I thought we were. I guess I missed something.”
“No, we’re not breaking up,” said Maggie. “I don’t know what we’re doing. I only know I need to be away from you for a while.”
“Why? What the fuck have I done wrong?”
“Liz, please, your language.”
“Fuck my language! What have I done wrong?”
“You don’t know if you could love a woman with fake breasts.”
“So? What does that have to do with you?”
“I am thinking about having a double mastectomy.”
“But you told everyone you weren’t interested.”
“I know, but I’m really afraid. My mother died from breast cancer. It came back even after they told her it was cured.”
Liz frowned and focused on the road. She was silent for a few minutes. “You said you were fine with observation and imaging.”
“Dr. Connelly didn’t pick up how scared I really am. I guess I am a pretty good actress.”
“So, you fooled Ellen. Brava. Great performance. Why didn’t you at least tell me?”
Maggie spoke in a quiet, surprisingly young-sounding voice. “I wanted you to think I’m brave.”
Liz turned on to the bridge ramp and accelerated unnecessarily to get ahead of another car. Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Maggie anxiously gripping the ring over the door.
“I know you’re brave. You never have to put on an act for me.”
“I know. Maybe I’m putting on an act for myself.”
Liz glanced at her, but the heavy traffic required her complete attention, so she instantly returned her eyes to the road. “Look, this is crazy. Let’s go home.”
“No, I need some time. I love you, but I need to think. Everything happened so fast. Us. The cancer. Please just give me some time.”
“All your things are in Maine.”
“I’ll manage. If I need something, you can send it to me.”
“You’re going to stay that long?”
“I don’t know,” replied Maggie vaguely.
When they arrived, Liz double parked while she carried Maggie’s bags up to her apartment. They’d only brought enough for a few nights at Jenny’s, so there weren’t many. Liz was able to bring everything upstairs in one trip.
“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Liz asked doubtfully, surveying the small pile of bags.
“I have my laptop and clean clothes. I live here, Liz. I’ll be fine.” She reached up and gave Liz a quick peck on the cheek.
“That’s it?”
“Go.” Maggie pulled her by the arm toward the door. “Go or you’ll hit rush hour traffic.”
***
Liz swore loudly in the car on the way back to Connecticut. She played the final act of Ariadne auf Naxos with the volume blasting, hoping to drown out her own thoughts. She was rude to other motorists, flipping the bird to a few on the way. She drove much too fast on the Merritt, practically mowing down the cars in the left lane.
Finally, she arrived in Guilford. Her heart sank when she saw Jenny’s car in the driveway. Now, she’d have to explain why Maggie wasn’t with her. Jenny was the last person she wanted to know about the argument.
Jenny, it turned out, had gotten home only moments before. She still wore her suit but as usual, had stepped out of her heels when she’d walked in the door.
“Hello, Sweetie,” she said greeting Liz with a quick kiss. “Where’s your friend?”
“She needed to do a few things in New York, so she asked me to drive her down.”
“Oh?” Jenny cocked a perfectly arched brow. “What things?”
Liz shrugged. “I don’t know. Things.” She’d tried to sound casual about it, but hadn’t quite succeeded. Jenny’s blue eyes studied her intently.
“Aren’t you nice to drive her all the way down to the city? So accommodating.”
“Yes, I know. I’m wonderful.”
“You are. I hope she appreciates you.” Jenny gave Liz another kiss, then she took Liz’s coat and hung it in the closet. “I was just about to mix up some martinis.”
“Oh, yes. I could use one.”
Jenny gently pinched her cheek. “I bet you could. You have that I’m-dying-for-a-martini look.”
Liz took off her shoes and suit jacket and followed Jenny into the kitchen.
“How did your tumor team meeting go?” Jenny asked, taking the martini pitcher and the liquor out of the cabinet.
“Fine. Just as I expected. They recommended observation, imaging, and testing. Tamoxifen, and maybe AIs. Bev is still mulling it over.”
“Sounds about right,” said Jenny, measuring off the gin. “The tumor was low grade. How did Melissa do?”
“You mean, apart from having the bedside manner of a seaworm?”
“Yes, she’s not Miss Personality. We only keep her for surgeries. You know most surgeons are zeros at personal interaction.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Liz with mock indignation.
“Don’t pout, Liz. You’re the exception, of course.” Jenny ran her fingers gently down Liz’s cheek, but Liz made a face and moved away. Jenny shrugged and went back to mixing the martinis. She added a dash of vermouth and crushed ice to the pitcher. She stirred the mixture gently with a glass rod. “What does Melissa want to do in Maggie’s case?” Jenny opened a jar of olives and speared a few on plastic daggers, which she set in the glasses. She took another olive and popped it into her mouth.
“An RRSO.”
Jenny nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.” She turned to Liz. “There’s some of that cheese you like in the fridge. Will you get it for me?”
“Sure.” Liz took out the cheese and a box of crackers from the bin and mechanically began to slice the cheese. She arranged the slices and the crackers on a plate. She took a jar of hot pepper jelly out the refrigerator and spooned some into a small bowl. When they’d lived together, this had been their favorite afternoon snack on the rare occasions when they were both home.
“I’ve become a lightweight since you moved out,” said Jenny. “I need to eat something when I drink.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it. It’s true.” Jenny popped another olive into her mouth and put away the jar.
They took their drinks and snacks to the library and sat down to admire the fading light over the sound.
“So, what’s really going on between you and Maggie, Liz?” Jenny put her feet up on the sofa.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. I know you too well. Did you scare her away with your overbearing Teutonic personality?”
“No.” Liz sighed. “I don’t think it has anything to do with me. She has a lot to absorb. She just doesn’t want me breathing down her neck while she thinks things over.”
“Uh huh. I don’t believe you.”
Liz shrugged. “Don’t. See if I care.”
Jenny peered directly into Liz’s eyes. “She’s worried about you. I could sense that she’s insecure where you’re concerned.”
“Oh, what a crock.”
“The lady doth protest too much.”
Liz ignored her and took a big swallow of her martini.
“Let me guess,” said Jenny, putting her feet in Liz’s lap. Liz noticed that the toes were perfectly manicured an
d painted an elegant pink. “I would appreciate a foot rub,” said Jenny. “Miserable day. Two primas.” Liz put down her glass and absently began to massage Jenny’s foot. “Mmmm. Feels good.”
“Thanks.”
“Maggie doesn’t think she’s enough for you, especially now that she may lose her breasts.”
The insight was so succinct and so on the mark that Liz paused the foot rub to take a double sip of her martini.
“Score!” said Jenny triumphantly. “She’s right, you know. She’s not enough for you. I’m sure the nostalgia goes a long way in holding your interest, but not that long. She’s not your equal, Liz. Not even now when you’re just a country doctor, which we both know is pure fraud.”
“That’s enough, Jenny!” Liz released her foot and moved to the other side of the sofa. “I won’t allow you to speak of Maggie in that way.”
“Sorry. I’ll mind my manners.” Jenny sat back and sipped her drink.
They finished all the snacks. Liz got up to replenish the tray when she realized she hadn’t brought in anything for dinner. “Should I call the Thai place for takeout?”
“I feel like sushi tonight,” said Jenny, sprawling on the sofa. “That new place is really good, and they deliver. The menu is on the back of the pantry door.”
Liz went back to the kitchen to get it. “The usual?”
“No, let me see. They have some good specialty rolls.”
After a brief debate, they compiled a list. Liz called to order the rolls.
“Like old times,” said Jenny when Liz got off the phone. “I really miss it.”
Liz was a little anxious to see where this was heading, but not curious enough to wait for Jenny to say more. She made a quick escape into the kitchen to make another round of martinis. “This is my last,” she said, bringing in the pitcher. “I have to see my mother tomorrow, and I can’t deal with her AND a hangover.”
