The parking lot reserved for radiation patients swarmed with activity. A kid in a yellow polo shirt helped people out of their cars while a cluster of other young men ferried the cars to the valet section. I zoomed past the young man and nosed Ruby into the last available self-parking spots. I’d studied the information packet Rosaria had given me until its pages were as soft and creased as magnolia petals, yet I was unprepared for how crowded the restricted yellow lot would be. As I hung the special parking permit that would prevent Ellery Hospital from towing Ruby, a young woman around my age stopped in front of the car. The left side of the mud-spattered minivan beside me slid open revealing two car seats buckled into the center row. Lacrosse sticks and duffle bags were strewn across the floor of the van.
Oh no, she’s a mother.
I examined the woman as she tossed her pocketbook in the closest car seat and climbed into the van. She didn’t look like a cancer patient, although she did hold her head as if she had a stiff neck. If I saw her at the gym, I would have assumed she had overdone it in Pilates class.
Walking into the sunlit foyer felt like walking into a different world. Rainbows danced across the polished floor. Multicolored mobiles spun in the air currents created by the sliding doors. A crowd of people milled around a bespectacled woman perched behind a high desk in the center of the jewel box foyer. A large gold bee secured the lacy blue cardigan draped over her girlish shoulders. “Hello. Who are you?” she cooed like The Caterpillar looking down at a confused Alice in Wonderland.
I hardly know myself.
I rose on my tiptoes to look over the desktop and whisper, “I’m here to be irradiated.”
The woman glanced at the large yellow book in front of her and echoed my sober tone. “Your name, dear?”
“BL2911. Lara Blaine.”
The woman’s face cracked open with a smile. “Oh, Miss Blaine! Rosaria told me to expect you this morning. I’m Lorraine.” She signaled to the woman helping an old man with his walker to take over and climbed down from her high stool. Lorraine stepped around the desk and steered me into a sunny atrium. A handful of people sat on low couches arranged into conversation pits. Floor to ceiling windows looked out on a courtyard where workmen were replacing the spent summer annuals with decorative cabbages and pansies.
“Now, when you come in every day, check in at the desk. I’m usually here at this time of day but Diane can take care of you if I’m helping another patient. Your treatments will be with Rex in room B. Now if you bring anyone with you, they’ll have to stay out here. We have coffee and soft drinks and the volunteers sometimes bring in cookies.” We passed a small bookshelf filled with reference books on cancer and radiation. Lorraine noticed me looking at the books and said, “Feel free to borrow anything you’d like. They’re here for you to use.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “Any chance I can sit near one of those sunny windows and read about radiation treatments instead of receiving them?”
“Sorry, honey. It doesn’t work that way.” Lorraine led me around a freestanding wall to a locker room area. Keys hung from two of the four doors. My research told me that there were two radiation treatment rooms at this facility. I assumed the other two keys were with the people now being irradiated. The cold fluorescent glow in the locker room area accentuated the creases in Lorraine’s cheeks, making her appear ghoulish. “And here are your changing rooms. You can leave your pocketbook and clothes inside, but make sure to take the key. The doors lock themselves.”
Lorraine consulted her clipboard and continued, “There’s a pile of clean gowns on the shelf. We’ll need you to take everything off from the waist down.” She held her clipboard beside her face and whispered conspiratorially, “You might want to wear loose cotton clothes for the next few weeks, dear. My ladies who get the radiation to their nether regions seem to do better if they let their bodies breathe some.” She took a step back toward the atrium. “Once you’ve changed, step around the corner and wait on the bench until Rex is ready for you. Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Lorraine’s soft sweater brushed against the back of my hand as she scurried back to the reception desk. My fingers itched to grab it and wrap myself in its softness.
I twisted the key in the door furthest to the left and entered the changing room. A shelf along the back wall held stacks of yellow hospital gowns under a sign telling patients they could wear gowns front and back if they wanted extra coverage. Rosaria had written in my information packet that I could leave a bra or camisole on during the treatment. I didn’t own a camisole. Does Rosaria wear a camisole under her blouse? Do grown-up women really wear things like that next to their skin?
I took off my plain white shirt and wrapped two gowns tightly around me before unbuttoning my chinos and shimmying out of my white nylon panties. I folded the flimsy fabric in my hand trying to hide the dull brown stains that no amount of bleach completely removed no matter how long I soaked them. As I tucked them between my neatly folded slacks and my shoes, I thought about the pictures I’d seen of concentration camp victims carefully stacking their clothes before they were led off to the gas chambers. I wonder how many of them knew what was going to happen. I know what’s happening to me and I’m still walking in there.
Free will is a bitch.
Holding the gown edges together with one hand, I opened the door and padded around the corner to the bench across from the large door with a B painted on it. I pulled a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall and spread it on the bench before sitting down to await my fate. The rough paper, scratchy against my skin, felt like an accusation. The clock mounted high on the wall ticked off four long minutes as I stared at the big B. I felt very small. I looked over at the empty bench across from the door marked A. Where is everybody? I tried to remember if I even heard anyone walk by the changing area while I took my clothes off. Where is the person for room A? Did something happen to them?
I couldn’t sit patiently waiting to be taken into what would likely be a torture chamber. I bounced up and paced back and forth spinning the long yellow plastic key ring on my finger. To the left of the door, a floor to ceiling curtain had a sign pinned to it that read, “Keep curtain closed; protect patient confidentiality.” I couldn’t resist. Behind the heavy cloth lurked a rolling rack filled with amorphous grey blobs. BL2911 had been scrawled down the side of the blob in the first occupied space. My corn flakes bubbled up my throat. There had to be fifty disembodied shells silently waiting for their people to come lie in them. The image of Winston in 1984 waiting in his little room for a cage of hungry rats to be strapped to his face flashed through my mind. I dashed back to the bench and sat on my hands.
A middle-aged woman stumbled out of the changing rooms and flopped down on the A bench. She reminded me of Mr. Badger from The Wind in the Willows. Her hair, a shoe polish black, had three inches of grey roots along a center part. A scowl seemed rooted in her day-old oatmeal colored skin. The edges of The Badger’s single hospital gown drooped open over her elastic waist pants. A welt of a scar ran down the center of her chest. She didn’t acknowledge me so I pretended not to notice her.
I straightened the paper towel I was sitting on.
“Good idea. Best not to put your bare ass on the seat,” the woman said. “You shouldn’t walk around here barefooted neither.”
I silently glared at the painted B across from my bench and hoped she could take a hint.
“You should wear rubber thongs.” The Badger still wore her brown gum soled loafers. “You’re liable to pick up a fungus in there. Nothing worse than a foot fungus.”
Although I thought foot fungus was the least of my worries, I made a mental note to put a pair of flip-flops in my bag the next morning.
“You in B?”
I nodded to the door. I could feel The Badger appraising me. Where is that radiation guy?
“Has the burning started?” The Badger croaked.
“What?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
The Badger raised her shaggy eyebrows in derision. “The pain. It usually hits in the second week.”
“I’m fine. They said the radiation would be painless.”
“That’s what they told you, huh?” The Badger took a long slow drink from the water bottle propped against her hip. She winced as she screwed the top back on. “Just remember, it gets better eventually.”
You troll! “What makes you such an expert?”
“I know.”
I rolled my eyes and pretended to examine the safety instructions posted beside the control room door. The Badger cleared her throat and gurgled, “I know all right, this is my third time through. Esophageal in ‘92, breast in ‘98 and now esophageal again. The radiation to the breast burned the skin a little but it wasn’t too bad. The first time for the throat did some damage though, let me tell you.”
Oh please, don’t! Please stop talking.
“That’s why they sent me up here. The doctors say they can give me a few special treatments that are supposed to be real focused. They say it shouldn’t be too bad this time.”
I remembered the woman who travelled from Florida to receive her treatments at Ellery. “What do you mean, up here? Were you treated somewhere else first?”
“I got treated in Charlotte the first two times. The hospital there is nice. I like the nurses there better. This place is like a machine.”
“I know what you mean.” I thought about the color-coded departments and the maze of waiting rooms. I leaned toward The Badger. “You’re here to see a specialist? Are you part of a research study?”
“This Dr. Phipps is supposed to be a real hot shot. I was supposed to start last week but he made them do my blocks three times before he was happy with them. He keeps saying he wants to make sure they only hit the cancer and don’t burn the stuff around it. Apparently they can focus the beams way more now than they could when I was treated in ‘92. Like that was the Stone Age. Dr. Phipps was probably in grade school then.”
Three times?
The metal door in front of me swung open and a brawny young man in yellow scrubs emerged with an elderly man. Hairy legs stuck out below his gown. “Keep those jokes coming, Bob. And keep drinking lots of fluids.” The elderly man walked toward the changing rooms chuckling to himself.
The younger man turned to me and extended his hand. “Lara Blaine? I’m Rex.” I expected the man that shoots radiation into people to look like Igor in Young Frankenstein, not young and handsome.
“Hi,” I said, pulling the gown tighter across my belly. I felt my face grow hot. Crap, this guy is going to see the Sharpie lines all over my belly.
Rex verified my information and patient number. “Go on inside. I’ll grab your cradle.”
I wandered through the heavy metal doors into a dull grey metal room with a slim window high in the wall. Goosebumps instantly bloomed on my legs. A large stainless steel table with a machine mounted above it, much like the one in the simulation chamber, monopolized the space. Rex appeared beside me and placed the cast of my torso on the table. “Okay. Hop up here for me.”
I carefully held the thin gown close to my body, as I lay prone in my cradle. Once in position, Rex laid a sheet over my upper thighs to preserve a modicum of my dignity before he lifted the gown to align the marks on my body with the register marks on the cradle and table. I flinched when he touched my thigh. My mind started to disengage from my body but pulled back when Rex gently shook my shoulder.
“Try to relax, Lara. Stay with me here. May I scoot your left hip up a bit?”
He’s asking permission to touch me? I bit my lip and nodded my consent.
Rex tenderly slipped his fingertips under my hip to position me correctly. “I’m sorry my fingers are cold. They keep it comfortable for the machines, not the patients.” He stepped back from the table and said, “I am going to step out now and begin the treatment. It will only take a few seconds. Try to relax, but don’t move.”
The immense lead door clanged shut behind Rex, leaving me alone under the machine. I held my breath and waited for a flash of light or a searing beam of heat. Despite what Rosaria said and everything I’d read, I knew this would hurt. It had to.
Before I could slip away, Rex was there again, beside me. He gently lowered my gown and pulled me up into a seated position. “You’re all set. See you tomorrow.”
I slid off the table and crept toward the exit. This didn’t feel right; it was as if a step had been missed. Where was the flash of light? Where was the searing pain? I didn’t feel irradiated. I felt the same as I did when I walked in. I glanced back and saw Rex place my cradle in a large rack identical to the one behind the curtain in the hallway. There were nine other cradles already there. Nine other people had already been blasted that morning.
An old woman with a bandage on her leg sat on the bench where The Badger had been. She nodded at me as I hurried by. I pretended I didn’t see her. Inside the changing room, I pulled off the gowns and shoved them through the trap door labeled “Used Gowns.” They shouldn’t launder the gowns. They should incinerate them. They’re contaminated.
The next day, the radiation treatment went as smoothly. Lorraine greeted me with a smile. People came and went. I was in and out of the treatment center in less than twenty minutes. I felt fine, like nothing was different at all. I wondered if I was a frog foolishly staying in a pot of water as the flame was slowly being raised beneath me.
***
By the fourth day of radiation, I couldn’t concentrate on mineral futures. I didn’t care how the tropical storms brewing off Africa would affect shipping lanes. My insides were being burned out of me a portion at a time. How could I give a damn about freighters full of ore? They could all sink off the Canary Islands for all I cared.
At lunchtime, I heard Garlic Breath and Pathetic Dog Owner in the next cubicle talking over their Big Macs. The most terrible thing in their lives was some football player being traded. I had cancer. I wanted to call Jane and ask her to meet me for tea again. I even found her number in the recent calls on my phone and dialed the number. I was afraid to push send. She had another chemotherapy treatment that week. She’d be feeling awful. I didn’t want to bother her. I saved the number in my phone in case I found the courage to call another day.
I pulled my peanut butter and jelly sandwich from my backpack, took one look at it, and tossed it in the garbage can. I didn’t want my usual sandwich. I wanted a watercress sandwich. I wanted a little pink fluffy petit fore with a crystallized violet on top. I slung my bag over my shoulder. My work for the day was done. Frankly, my work for the next two weeks was mostly done. I didn’t really need to be in the office at all. I picked up my laptop and walked toward the elevator.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Garlic Breath called after me.
“Shopping,” I said over my shoulder.
I drove across town to the teashop where I met Jane. At first, it felt a bit strange to be sitting there having tea by myself, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. The little lady that ran the shop, who I learned was named Myra, taught me the difference between lapsang souchang and Ceylon super pekoe teas. The shop was empty on a Thursday afternoon so she sat down and had a cup of tea with me. I learned we had a common love of minerals. She opened the shop after retiring from teaching high school science and was obsessed with geodes.
Fortified with caffeine and sugar, I stepped into the tiny boutique a few stores down from the teashop. Lorraine had suggested that I get some loose clothes. And I’d told Garlic Breath I was going shopping. He would definitely be looking for a new outfit the next day. Frankly, any change would be noticed. I hadn’t worn anything but plain blue chinos and a white shirt to work since I joined Bettel Occidental Commodities. I bought five new work outfits at Wal-Mart during the back-to-school sales. My athletic clothes got replaced every few months. I didn’t care about my work clothes.
I tried to remember what Jane had worn the first time we met. She looked comfortable and self-assured even when she was feeling like five miles of scorched earth. I picked up a black polished cotton skirt off the sale rack and tried it on. It felt cool and light against my legs. The saleswoman encouraged me to try on a pair of blue wool slacks to replace my chinos. They did flatter my slim figure without showing too much and I liked the way the satin lining felt against my skin. My plain black loafers looked scuffed and clunky beside the fine gabardine wool. A pair of red leather driving moccasins, very much like Jane’s, looked better and felt as soft as slippers on my feet. When I checked out, I discreetly placed seven pairs of nude cotton panties with stretch lace waistbands and a silk camisole with lace straps on the counter next to my other purchases.
***
The next day, I was making headroom on the pomegranate report when a low rumble moved through the office like a seismic wave. I peeked around the edge of my cube, expecting to see Letitia stalking her latest victim. Instead, Vanessa Klaitner from Human Resources teetered down the passageway in turquoise wedges. Her orange hair floated around the shoulders of her hot pink sheath, like seaweed around an exotic coral. Murmuring voices followed in her wake.
“Hey,” she said as she perched on the pile of file boxes outside my cube. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been up here. It’s efficient.”
“Thank you?”
Vanessa tapped the file boxes. “Big project?”
“No bigger than usual. That pile is part of the pomegranate report for next week. Did you know that the apple in the Bible was probably really a pomegranate? You see—”
“So, how you feeling? You start—”
“Fine,” I said quickly. I held a finger up to my lips and pointed at Garlic Breath’s eyes peering over the wall.
Vanessa leaned over the cubicle wall and said, “Greg Blankenshipp, don’t you have work you need to be doing? If you have time to listen to Ms. Blaine’s personal conversations, perhaps you are not as overworked as you claim to be.”
Garlic Breath disappeared with a snort.
Vanessa rolled her eyes and whispered, “Letitia tells me you took yesterday afternoon off to go shopping? I was worried something happened.”
I gestured to my new skirt and shoes. “I really did go shopping.”
“Cute shoes,” Vanessa replied. She stood up and started back toward the elevator. She called over her shoulder so everyone could hear, “Remember, if you need anything, give me a call.”
As soon as the elevator doors closed, the office erupted with conjecture. I heard Garlic Breath pick up his extension and say, “I don’t know. I was hoping she’d fire her, too.” I banged on the cubicle wall until Garlic Breath hung up.