The examination table in her doctor’s office was surprisingly plush and spa-like. It could have been relaxing if she weren’t wearing a paper robe that tied loosely in the front and threatened to open with a sneeze.
Imogen thumbed at Instagram to try to distract herself, feeling a small rush of euphoria at how many likes her previous day’s photographs had gotten. She liked a photograph of Bridgett standing in the middle of Seventh Avenue with traffic whizzing by her. God only knew how she had taken that picture. She liked Ashley’s #IWokeUpLikeThisSelfie, her eyes even bluer without liner and mascara, her pale hair fanned over half her face.
She liked a photo of Massimo’s miniature Yorkie, Ralph. She liked a picture of a woman’s bright red nails, her fingers layered in elaborate cocktail rings, holding onto a Céline clutch in the same color. She checked the name on that picture, Aerin2006. The name wasn’t familiar, but she didn’t know a lot of people in her Instagram feed. She’d asked Tilly to help her find interesting accounts to follow and then left it in her nanny’s hands.
She was about to search through the rest of Aerin2006’s photos when Dr Claudia Fong walked quietly into the room. She was an unassuming woman with small glasses and pin-straight long black hair that reached almost to her backside. She shuffled when she walked and murmured when she talked. She was gentle and kind and the best oncologist in Manhattan according to last year’s New York magazine’s Best Doctors issue.
The doctor softly pressed in a circle around Imogen’s right nipple.
‘The pain is on the left side,’ Imogen said, too anxiously.
‘I know that, Imogen.’ Claudia smiled, used to anxious patients. ‘I need to check the healthy one before I check the one you say is bothering you.’ Imogen nodded and resolved to keep her mouth shut and let the doctor do her job. When she moved to the left side she cautioned, ‘This may hurt,’ before launching into her favorite diatribe about why New York continued to be an unsuitable place to live.
‘Why do we live in New York, Imogen? Why? I keep asking myself that every single day. Humans aren’t meant to live like this and I don’t just mean the cold. We work all the time. We never have enough money. We never do those things that allegedly make New York such a great place to live.’ She put air quotes around the words ‘great place to live.’ ‘I keep telling my husband we should go to Santa Fe. I had an aunt in Santa Fe. Dry heat there.’
Imogen nodded supportively even as it began to hurt when the doctor pressed her fingers into the soft tissue around her nipple. Her breast felt like it was clamped in a vise every time the doctor pushed down, which was why Imogen was shocked when Dr Fong finally smiled, Santa Fe a distant memory for the time being.
‘I don’t feel anything at all abnormal, Imogen. But I want to do a mammogram just to be sure. Let’s get you back into the X-ray room and get one done straightaway so that we can assuage your fears.’
That wasn’t possible. Imogen knew that her cancer was back. She could feel it, feel it growing inside her and taking back control of her life. The mammogram would prove Dr Fong wrong.
But it didn’t. Sitting in Dr Fong’s office, the inside of her breast illuminated on a flat screen in front of her, even Imogen had to admit that both sides looked like they contained healthy tissue. Dr Fong traced the edges of the illuminated breasts with a lighted pointer.
‘See, here are the implants. You can tell because they are less dense than real tissue. But you still have some of your own tissue right around the nipple and underneath the implants.’ She pointed to a cloudy mass. ‘That tissue appears more dense, but it also appears completely healthy. Imogen, I think what you are experiencing is phantom pain.’
This made her feel hysterical. ‘You think I am making this all up?’
Dr Fong quickly shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think that at all. Phantom pain is actually very real. It’s a lousy name. Sometimes it can originate in a patient’s head, but it is most often because the nerves are short-circuiting a little bit, as they are getting used to the surgery. They are sending pain messages to the brain when they shouldn’t be there. Pain is useful for us. Pain tells us when something is wrong with our bodies. Think of pain as a referee throwing up little red flags all over the place. In this case the pain made a mistake. There is nothing wrong with you, Imogen. I promise.’
‘Try to relax through it. I’ll prescribe some more painkillers. I need you to keep up with the exercise of your chest and your arm.’ Dr Fong finished taking notes on her tablet and started writing out a prescription. ‘Keeping those muscles strong will help you heal even faster. Beyond that I can’t tell you much else except that I am incredibly pleased with your progress.’
Imogen felt relief coupled with annoyance. Phantom pain wasn’t something she wanted to say to people. It sounded like something she made up.
‘What do I tell Alex?’ Dr Fong could tell that Imogen was displeased with the diagnosis.
‘Tell him the truth. Your nerves are getting used to the new tissue and there is a learning curve. You don’t ever actually have to say the word “phantom.”’
Sometimes fake felt so real.
Imogen sank back onto the table and typed out a text to Alex:
>>>>Tests okay. You get to keep me.<<<<