Two days after Dr. Lander gave me the kiss off, I received a call from the offices of a Dr. Obatu. Not an automated call from a computer, an actual phone call from a live human being. A woman with a charming lisp asked when it would fit into my schedule to come in for an initial consultation. I chose to go later that same day. If I put it off, the idea of radiation would blot out everything else. Better to get it over with so I could get on with my life sooner. A few minutes later, I received a surprisingly thorough and welcoming confirmation email from Dr. Obatu’s staff. The email also included a list of questions the doctor would be asking along with pictures and short bios of the staff.
The women behind the desk were filing away the day’s activity when I arrived at 5:43. “I’m Lara Blaine,” I panted. It had been a longer walk to the basement level department than I anticipated. I should have given myself an hour to get there rather than fifteen minutes. “I had a 5:30 with Dr. Obatu. I hope I’m not too late.”
An extremely pregnant woman with a ready smile said, “No, you’re okay. Dr. Obatu is actually running late this afternoon. We had an emergency right after lunch and he never caught up.”
“One thing out of place can mess up the whole day, huh?”
The receptionist nodded distractedly while searching through the forms on her desk. “What did you say your last name is? Blare?”
“No, Blaine. Lara Blaine.”
“There must be a mistake somewhere,” the receptionist said looking down at the blue folder in her hand. “Was your maiden name Larissa Scott?”
An icy fist gripped my heart when I heard that name. I reached across the desk and snatched the file out of her hand. “How did you get that name? I changed that!”
She took the file back. “Excuse me,” the woman said with a tone that only a mother of little boys would have. “That is hospital property.” She put the file down on the desk out of my reach and opened it up. “I see now. Yes. I am sorry. It says Lara Blaine right here. Just the pediatric files that came from microfiche have the other name.”
The woman asked me to verify my date of birth and address but I couldn’t speak. I felt like my throat had been stuffed with dry leaves. All I could do was stare at a brown spot on the tip of her nose and nod at her questions. “For future reference, you are file number BL2911. It would be good to know your number in case there’s ever any question about your name. Knowledge is power, you know.” I stood there staring at her nose until she handed me a clipboard. “We’ll need you to fill out these forms before you go in to see the doctor. You’ve got plenty of time.”
I drifted over to a grouping of couches and chairs. The yellow and blue plaid couches were newer than the furniture in the succession of waiting rooms upstairs. There was the requisite television and magazines but someone had also taken care to place soft throws over the backs of the couches. The area seemed more like a living room than a waiting room. On a side table, there was a large basket filled with packets of cookies and crackers and a tray of miniature water bottles.
I poured a bottle of water down my throat and tried to calm down. That name. How did they get that awful name? I vaguely remembered filling out a form authorizing the hospital to access all my medical records and putting that name down as “other names,” but I never thought they would bother to actually get my records.
After I left Hawthorne, I legally changed my name to keep Dale off my trail. My grandmother thought Larissa was a silly sounding name, so my grandparents always called me Little Lara. Blaine was my grandfather’s middle name. I never knew who Mr. Scott was or if there even was a Mr. Scott. Scott could have been some guy Mama met in a bar.
I filled out the straightforward forms and wondered what else was in the file folder behind the desk. What kind of details would the doctors look for? Old Doc Babbitt prescribed me antibiotics for my recurrent “infections” like the vet shot up the milking cows for recurrent mastitis. He must have known what Dale was doing to me. He probably didn’t write anything incriminating in my records though. He owed Dale way too much money in poker debts. Babbitt probably only sent my immunization records.
I nibbled on an oatmeal cookie as a new sense of panic washed over me. What if someone from Babbitt’s office mentions that Ellery Hospital requested my files to Dale or Mama? Everyone probably knows that Dale is looking for me. What if they find out where I am? What if he’s coming to get me right now?
I was still lost deep in my thoughts when someone touched my arm. I flinched, but the petite woman standing over me had already encircled my wrist with her small warm fingers. “Ms. Blaine?”
“Yes?”
“I am Rosaria. We can see you now,” she said. She spoke just above a whisper forcing me to concentrate on each heavily accented word. Unlike the other nurses I’d met, she wasn’t wearing scrubs. Nurse Rosaria wore a navy blue cardigan over crisp white trousers and a starched white shirt. An enameled pin with snakes wound around a winged pole adorned the Peter Pan collar of her shirt. She exuded competent efficiency. Rosaria scanned the waiting area. “Is your person in the bathroom?”
“I have a person?”
Rosaria sighed and tried again. “Are you alone?”
You have no idea how alone.
“You did not bring anyone with you? Someone to take notes?”
I shook my head and picked up my backpack. Rosaria mumbled something in Spanish and walked away. “Come then, let’s get you in a room.”
I trotted after her down the dark hallway. The department was clean and neat with supplies neatly stacked in locked glass cases. It didn’t smell of the disinfectant that pervaded the rest of the hospital; it smelled of lavender. Our footsteps echoed in the quiet as we turned left and then right, then left again and ended in a large room dominated by a gynecological examination table.
Can’t they just talk to me? Why do I always have to be on my back with my feet up in the air? I stepped inside and put my backpack down on one of the three upholstered chairs surrounding a small table. I expected Rosaria to shove a gown at me and leave me alone again, but she stepped inside with me and closed the door behind her. She sat on the arm of one of the chairs, sizing me up. “So, you have been diagnosed with cervical cancer,” she stated matter-of-factly. “How are you adjusting?”
Why is she asking me how I’m adjusting? They’re only supposed to ask about my cervix. I backed away until I bumped into the wall. “Adjusting?”
Rosaria slid into the chair and signaled for me to sit across from her. “Now dear, do you understand what is happening today? You are here to talk to the doctor about receiving radiation to the pelvic region. Do you understand what that means?”
I was embarrassed to admit that although I’d read extensively about radiation, I still didn’t understand it. It seemed like a bad idea no matter how much the literature explained its therapeutic benefits. On some level, I had to believe the treatments would be painful and leave me scarred.
I sat down on the edge of the chair next to Rosaria and mumbled, “No. Not really.”
“That’s okay, I’ll tell you.” Rosaria gently took my hand in hers. Her skin was warm, but her fingers were covered with rough calluses. I recalled how my grandmother’s fingers were similarly rough from pruning her roses and endlessly pulling weeds. I cast a sidelong glance at Rosaria’s face. Her skin was the color and texture of a banana nut muffin. Deep-set brown eyes met my gaze without any hint of judgment or impatience.
Why is this woman being nice to me? They’re not supposed to be nice. I had this all figured out—they treat us like cattle and we’re just supposed to take it.
Rosaria gently patted the back of my hand as she slowly spoke. She told me in clear, easy-to-understand terms how the treatments would work and what to do if I had any problems. Before letting go of my hand and reaching for a slim binder, she gave my fingers a quick squeeze. “Everything I just told you is in here.” Rosaria placed the binder on my knees. “My phone number is printed inside the front cover along with Dr. Obatu’s information and how to reach us after hours. If you have any questions at all, you may call me at any time. Do you understand?”
I didn’t understand any of it really. Why was I there? Why did I get cancer? Why was this little woman acting so nice to me? Why wasn’t she like Dr. Lander’s nurse? Were they trying to trick me?
“Yes,” I replied.
“Now then, we have some other issues to address,” Rosaria stood up and slipped back into a more professional tone. “Do you have any children?” She began gathering supplies and equipment.
I was taken aback by the irrelevant question. Nurse Rosaria didn’t strike me as the type of woman to make idle chitchat about her children. “No, I don’t have any kids.”
“Do you think you might like to have children?” Rosaria turned and looked right into my face with those big brown eyes. I didn’t like that at all.
“No, no kids,” I snapped.
“Are you certain?” Rosaria pulled a gown out of a low drawer and placed it on the examination table. “Because if you ever do want to have children of your own, we should discuss referring you to a fertility specialist.”
I slumped back in the soft chair and stared at Rosaria. “What?”
Rosaria’s hand flew to her mouth. She dropped the pair of gloves in her hand and scurried over to me. “I’m so sorry, dear. Didn’t Dr. Lander discuss the implications of your diagnosis?”
“No! Maybe…” My head swam. I tried to remember what Dr. Lander said. “I don’t know. She said a lot of stuff, but I don’t remember her saying anything about babies!” I felt stupid. Dr. Lander had probably told me something about infertility issues, but I heard so little of what she said. Dr. Lander could have said my arms would fall off the next week and I would have just nodded and waited for her to finish.
“I’m sorry, Miss Blaine. I did not intend to frighten you, but you do need to consider all the possible outcomes. If you think you might want to have children in the future, we suggest you have some eggs harvested before the radiation treatments, just in case.”
I didn’t plan to have children, but I didn’t like that possibility taken away from me either. Then again, no man would ever want me now. I was damaged goods.
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
Rosaria studied me for a moment then turned back to the examination table. She pulled a blanket out of a warming drawer. “Dr. Obatu will want to take a look to make sure all the tissue is healed before we start a course of radiation. Put this gown on and lay the blanket over your legs. We’ll be back in a moment.” I stood up to strip as Rosaria slipped out of the room.
Even though my thoughts were still racing, I noticed the gown was much softer than the paper napkin I’d worn in Dr. Lander’s office. This gown was white cotton with soft knit trim and designed so the fabric modestly overlapped in the front. I wrapped the soft warm blanket around my bare thighs while I sat on the examination table looking around the room. There were no glib posters encouraging patients to look at the bright side of cancer here. The walls were painted a sunny yellow and had diagrams of the reproductive system taped up on them. I studied one poster that detailed the cervix from different views and levels of magnification. There was a certain beauty in the body’s complexity. Pamphlets had been pinned to the wall beside the table. I perused a pamphlet detailing the services available from the hospital’s counseling department, one on healthy eating habits during radiation, and one on tango lessons. I read a pamphlet on side effects until Rosaria re-entered the room, leaving the door open behind her. In the dark hall, I could barely make out the form of a tall slender man. The man’s skin was so dark that he looked like a lab coat with a broad white smile floating above it.
Oh my goodness, my doctor is the Cheshire cat.
“Good evening, Ms. Blaine,” the doctor said in a rich French accent. He reached out and shook my hand. My hand disappeared inside his large hand. “I am so very sorry to keep you waiting. I am Reginald Obatu.”
He sat down in one of the upholstered chairs and opened my file on the small coffee table. “Before we examine you, let’s talk for a moment.” He crossed his long legs and studied my face for a moment. “I have spoken with Karen Lander about your case. She asked me to reassure you that she is very confident that she was able to remove all the cancerous cells. We both agree that, with radiation, your long-term prognosis is very positive.” Dr. Obatu glanced down at his notes and continued, “Before we proceed with your treatment plan, what are your concerns about radiation therapy?”
Why do I have to do this? Will the radiation beams melt my insides? Will I glow?
“Nothing, I’m all set,” I replied.
The doctor seemed taken aback by my curt response. “Well, if you think of anything you would like to discuss with me or Rosaria, we are at your disposal.” The doctor slowly flipped through my file and made some notes as if giving me time to formulate a question. After a few minutes, he looked back up and continued, “I am ordering fifteen external beam treatments and then one final all day brachytherapy treatment some time after that. If you are sure you don’t have any questions, why don’t we take a look at your cervix now?”
I slid my body to the end of the table and lay back in the examination position. Unlike in Dr. Lander’s office, I couldn’t completely divorce my mind from my body this time. I watched Rosaria’s face as she assisted the doctor and was aware of Dr. Obatu’s warm instruments and gentle hands on my skin. When the examination was over, I sat up and stared at the floor waiting for the doctor to give me the bad news. So far, every time someone had looked inside me, it had been bad news. Dr. Obatu rolled the examination stool over and leaned forward to look up into my face. He smiled warmly and said, “You have healed very well.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I fiddled with the gown over my knees and turned away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the doctor sit up and exchange worried glances with his nurse. He put a large hand over mine and gave it a slight squeeze. “Well, I’ll say goodbye for now then. Rosaria will go over what to do before the simulation.” I was tempted to grab his hand and force him to stay, to tell me everything was going to be all right.
Before I left, Rosaria went over the simulation process and gave me a parking pass to the restricted Yellow lot. She asked several more times if I had any questions but I shook my head every time. This Dr. Obatu and his astute nurse confounded me. Doctors in my universe were not compassionate. I had been able to tolerate my interactions with Dr. Lander because, to Dr. Lander, I was just a diseased cervix inconveniently attached to a difficult woman. With Dr. Obatu, I felt laid bare. I didn’t like feeling so exposed. I was comfortable in the emotional fortress I had built myself. Not necessarily happy, but comfortable.