KENDRA STOOD BEFORE HER CHILDHOOD DRESSER, GAZING INTO a mirror that had seen so many of her faces: hope, joy, anticipation, sadness—or what she thought was sadness—boyfriend problems, girlfriends gossiping behind her back, a less-than-perfect ACT score.
But never had it seen despair. Or fear.
Overnight, it seemed, her breast had changed. She examined it all the time now. It was her first thought in the morning and her last thought at night. And this morning when she looked, she gasped. Her left breast had swollen and grown more tender to the touch and gotten that pitted orange look she’d seen so often online.
She’d known it was coming, but seeing it made it tangibly more real, more serious—more frightening. How much worse would it get? Would it stay so . . . deformed? Would she really need a mastectomy?
She felt her arms begin to twitch, anxiety rising like goose bumps. There was so much to consider. So much she needed to know . . . and do. And she couldn’t even nail down whether her next few weeks would be spent in the Midwest or on the East Coast.
Kendra sighed, moving away from the mirror. It was eight forty-five, and she wanted to be gone by nine. The facility at Wash U was only minutes away, but she needed extra time to find parking and fill out paperwork.
She dressed quickly, threw her hair into a ponytail, and went out, glancing at Trey’s room as she walked past. It was empty. Descending the stairs, she spotted him and Molly camped in a messy living room. With everything on her mind, she couldn’t begin to figure out what was going on with him. But she couldn’t wait to talk to him—sober—to see where his head was.
Kendra walked through the kitchen to the garage, thankful they’d kept her mom’s Toyota Camry. Originally it was meant for Trey, but when their father went overseas and left his BMW, Trey naturally preferred to drive that. The old Camry with a zillion miles was perfect for her right now though. Comforting. It was almost like she could feel her mom with her as she made her way to this appointment.
But only almost. As she walked through the doors of the cancer center minutes later, the scene was striking, for a lot of reasons. Patients young and old in wheelchairs, with shaved heads, walking alongside IV drips, smiling, sullen, looking hopeful, falling asleep. But no one else was alone.
Dr. Contee was everything Kendra thought she would be. Knowledgeable. Attentive. Soothing. Unhurried. After an examination, Kendra pulled out a pad of questions she’d written, and Dr. Contee took her time answering each as best she could. It was a no-brainer. Kendra needed to be under this physician’s care.
“Kendra, over the weekend you seemed fairly certain about wanting to pursue treatment here in St. Louis.” Dr. Contee, in her early fifties, wore stylish glasses and her hair pulled back. Even her white lab coat looked chic on her. “But today I’m sensing a hesitancy. May I ask why?”
“I thought my brother might be able to help get me to treatments,” Kendra said, “but now I’m not sure he can commit to that.” She thought about it. “But the situation is really no different in DC. Being single . . .” She paused, swallowed the tears. “It’s just hard.”
“Your mom had friends from church who occasionally took her to appointments. Would that be an option for you?”
“No. I’ve been gone a long time and haven’t really kept in touch with anybody.”
Dr. Contee typed something into her laptop. “Let’s work on this, because I’d like to get started with your chemo this Thursday.”
“In three days?”
“There’s no reason to wait, if this is where you’ll be.”
Maybe she could drive herself, though it wasn’t recommended. Or take a taxi. Better to figure it out here in St. Louis, with Dr. Contee, than in DC.
The doctor wasn’t done. Before she sent Kendra on her way, she walked her through next steps, ordered pre-chemo tests, and gave her a packet of material regarding local support groups and resources for cancer patients.
Cancer patient.
That’s who she was now.
Kendra left with a cloud of thoughts. It was a lot to process, her time with Dr. Contee. She needed to drive somewhere and think. She navigated her way to Forest Park, less than a mile away, and in a flurry of twists and turns wound up near the zoo. Somehow it seemed just about right. She parked and walked in, starting as always on a path to the left. She hadn’t been here in years, but she remembered. That’s the way her mom would lead them. This was one of their favorite things to do when she was a girl.
Thankfully, the midday St. Louis heat wasn’t oppressive. There was even a slight breeze once she entered the forest-like environs of the River’s Edge. She took her time, idling to watch the hippos romp through the pool and nose the viewing glass, staring at the slow gait of the Asian elephant. It was peaceful, communing with nature and animals. Almost too peaceful, as it coaxed a myriad of thoughts to the fore.
Kendra had been many things. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Student. Attorney. Almost-bride. But cancer patient seemed to engulf them all. It was demanding. Exacting. It had stormed into her life and taken over. It had displaced her from her job and her condo, at least for now.
It had taken Derek.
Kendra moved on, amid running toddlers and strollers. And moms. She stopped, her breath sucked away. Would she never have that identity—mom?
She found a bench and sat, a new grief washing over her. This was bigger than Derek, the wedding, the condo, or a job. This was everything. Her life had been swallowed up. Hopes, dreams, everything she’d envisioned—gone. And what did she have to look forward to instead? Two and a half years of treatment. Oh, and if it was “successful,” maybe three or four.
The sights and sounds all around were almost haunting now. Even the bees and the flitting birds. All flaunting their joie de vivre. “Vivre,” for her, in any meaningful way, was over.