The Unkindest Cut of All
It's five days after my surgery and I still feel groggy and tired. My "lump" was no bigger than a pea; less than a centimetre in length and yet I'm exhausted. To boot, my incision throbs worse than my head. Still, I'm glad to be home and in my bed, surrounded by the things and the people I love. Well at least, Richard is here. He's decided to work at home for the duration of my recovery. I wish he wouldn't. He keeps running into the bedroom every half hour or so, to fluff my pillows, hand me an aspirin or offer me something to read. He's very sweet and very upbeat but inwardly I know he must be racked with fear. I know I am. He's babbling on and on about Cape Cod for the summer and how this year we really must buy a place. He never babbles on about anything unless he is nervous. Like Father, like daughter, I suppose.
We haven't told the girls anything. No sense in worrying them. Richard told them I have the flu and they seemed to accept it readily enough, although neither one has called to ask me how I'm feeling. Richard is the one doing all the calling. I wonder how they would react, if they knew the truth. Maybe they wouldn't react or even care. Ever since Rory moved out, our relationship has remained strained. We aired some things but other things just fell by the wayside without being resolved. And Lorelai…is still Lorelai. I had hoped that after my little "scene" on the plane, she might reach out to me but nothing ever happened. I opened my heart to her and got nothing, absolutely nothing in return except some vague assurances. Maybe I'm being too harsh and expecting too much. Time will tell. Suddenly the phone rings and I reach over to the nightstand to pick it up.
"Hello, Mom. How are you feeling?" I perk up, knowing that Lorelai is on the other end. "I'm better but still a little knocked out." "Yes, well the flu can do that to you. Is Dad taking good care of you?" she asks genuinely interested. "Yes, he's a wonderful nurse but awfully bossy," I snort.
"Could anyone be bossier than you?" she chuckles before continuing, " Listen Mom, given how you must feel, I suppose dinner is off again this Friday?" My heart begins to sink at this question and what it really means so I purposely respond slowly. "I'm not really contagious but if you'd rather not come, I understand." There is an interminably long pause until she finally says, "It's just that Rory and I got concert tickets to see the Bangles and we would hate to rush through dinner and not spend quality time with you. Or we could skip dinner next week and regale you with our concert stories the following week once you're better. It all depends on how you feel." Sure it does. "Go to your concert Lorelai and have a good time. I'm sure I won't be up to company anyway."
In my mind, I can see her doing a little happy dance around her newly-remodelled home. That reminds me, she still hasn't bothered to invite me to see the house. Having to force myself into my daughter's life is exceedingly tiresome.
"Well, okay Mom. I've got to get back to work. Feel better and maybe I'll stop by on Thursday." "That would be very nice, Lorelai." I say half-heartedly. It would be nice if she came, but she won't. Something will come up, it always does. "Bye-Bye," I whisper as I hang up the phone, wiping away an errant tear. Suddenly, Richard comes barrelling in again with a newspaper in his hand. "Emily, look at this place on Cape Cod! It's for sale and it's perfect! It's everything we've been looking for!" He hands me the paper and my mood begins to brighten. He truly is a wonderful nurse.
I've been waiting for three quarters of an hour and I am more than just annoyed. "How long does it take for me to get my chemo!" I snap at the nurse. "I don't have all day!" Richard raises an eyebrow at that one.
"I'm sorry Mrs. Gilmore. We're backed up and our treatment rooms are full."
What? Is there a run on cancer? I think to myself as I grab a magazine from the rack. What a lousy joke and what a lousy mood I'm in. "Emily, please be patient. They're doing the best they can," Richard responds soothingly.
I don't answer. I simply pout and grimace until SHE walks into the room, smiling and carefree. I'm stunned and suddenly deeply ashamed. She sits down to my right and reaches out her hand. "Hi, I'm Charlie. You're new around here. I know all the regulars." "Yes, yes I am new," I stammer. "Thought so. I've got leukaemia, what are you in for?" she says, so matter-of-factly. I don't respond.
She's thin and wiry; a tiny snippet of a girl. She can't be more than nine or ten. And, she has great big blue eyes, the size of saucers that twinkle when she smiles. And that scarf or makeshift turban on her head makes me want to laugh because it keeps slipping over her eyes, causing her to constantly adjust it. "I hate this thing," she sighs. "Then take it off. Haven't you heard that bald is beautiful?" I remark. She laughs at that. Sweetie and I laughed about her baldness too. Just then I wonder if I will lose my hair. Joshua thought it unlikely because the treatments were limited but who's to say?
"Charlie is a nice name. Is it short for Charlotte or Charlene?" I ask. "Bingo you guessed right! It is Charlotte but all my friends call me Charlie," she says. "Then I will call you Charlie, too," I assure my new-found friend. "And, I'm Emily and this is Richard, my husband." Richard smiles uncomfortably at the child and nods his head.
"That's the most beautiful watch I've ever seen. Are those yellow diamonds? They sparkle like the sun!" she exclaims as she playfully tugs at my sleeve clearly captivated by my Tourneau. "Why thank you, actually the stones are citrines and this is just an every day watch, it's called 'Diva.' "The irony of that isn't lost on me and I'm sure that Lorelai and Rory would consider that equally hilarious. "Your watch has a name?" she giggles.
My, what a curious little chatterbox she is. Suddenly, it dawns on me that she is alone. "Where are your parents--are they outside?" I ask nonchalantly as I flip through the pages of my magazine.
"I don't have a Mom or Dad anymore. But I do have a social worker--she's outside smoking. Somebody forgot to tell her smoking causes lung cancer, I guess," she lowers her head momentarily. Just before I can respond, the nurse walks over to us both and in a hushed tone, addresses me. "Mrs. Gilmore we still don't have enough treatment rooms available, would you mind terribly if you shared a room with Charlie?" "Not at all," I say and I mean it.
Relieved, she asks us both to follow her and as I stand up, Charlie reaches for my hand and whispers "Don't worry; I'll hold your hand. The first time is always the scariest." Richard and I look at each other. I squeeze my little friend's hand and we bravely walk into our assigned room. Suddenly, I don't feel as alone or as scared.
N.B. Many thanks for the kind reviews. More to come!