Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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. . . in sickness and in health

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I woke feeling drained. My sleep had been restless at best, nonexistent at worst. I could still feel the pinch where my flesh had been violated during the biopsy. I listened for the birds, but they were strangely quiet. The morning air had that still, damp quality that indicated the onset of a storm.

I lay quietly, listening to the familiar sounds of Lee's breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest mesmerized me. I needed the tangible reality of his strength, his health, to reassure myself that the world was as it always had been, that I hadn't fallen into some strange, alternate reality.

He stirred and rolled over, his eyes opening to meet mine. It was as if he'd felt me watching him. "Mornin', Amanda," he whispered tenderly. "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept okay, I guess." I couldn't give voice to the dream I'd had last night. The tendrils of the waning nightmare were finally leaving my consciousness and I had no desire to provide them solidity.

He reached out a hand to caress my cheek as he tenderly said, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Lee." Then I slipped into his embrace, pulling him around me, trying to lose myself in the security of his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I used a towel to clear a circle in the middle of the steamed-over mirror. I stared at myself, thinking that I looked pretty good for 46. The small crows' feet at the corners of my eyes were barely visible, the laugh lines around my mouth shallow. My hair was the same nut-brown, my figure still slender. My figure . . .

I lowered the towel I'd wrapped around myself. I was still trim, my hips gently rounded, the small amount of flesh at my waist the only indicator that I'd carried two children. The scar below my shoulder was all that remained of the bullet that nearly took my life ten years ago. My breasts, while not as firm as they'd been in my youth, were nonetheless nicely shaped. My breasts . . .

I stared hard at my breasts, looking back and forth between the right and the left. The right one gave no sign that it was the carrier of a potentially dangerous disease. There was no puckering, no visible lump, nothing. Other than the small area of redness where they'd performed the biopsy, it looked perfectly normal.

"Hey, are you going to hide in here all morning?" My husband's deep-throated chuckle intruded on my inspection. His strong arms wrapped around me from behind and his lips raised a tingle on the back of my neck. "If you were gonna stand in here naked, why didn't you invite me?" he teased.

Suddenly not caring about anything but being in his arms, I turned hungrily to him. I devoured his mouth in a kiss of desperation, a kiss designed to make me forget, to make me feel only passion, to make me feel like a woman. Sensing my mood, he swept me off my feet and carried me to our bed.

I gave myself to the feel of his lips, his hands, his body as he explored every inch of me. I flinched slightly when he brushed over my right breast, but assured him it was okay, that he shouldn't stop. I couldn't bear for him to stop.

I returned his caresses touch for touch, kiss for kiss, suppressing any feelings but those of desire and burning passion. I needed him to posses me, to engulf me, as I in turn possessed him. Our bodies met in hunger and need, the fulfillment we both sought soon overtaking us and leaving us gasping, our bodies intertwined as we surrendered to each other and became one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mother," I began as I sat across from her, my coffee untouched. "There's something I need to tell you, something serious."

"Has something happened? It's not one of the boys, is it? Oh, Amanda, just tell me; I can handle it. Is it Phillip, or --"

"Mother, will you let me talk, please?" I interrupted, exasperation creeping into my voice.

"Of course, dear. I won't say another word." She made a zip-the-lip motion across her mouth and patted me reassuringly on the knee.

"You remember last week, when we had lunch, and --"

"Oh, yes, and we had that cute young waiter -- " she stopped herself, a sheepish expression on her face. "Sorry."

"I told you I had gone for my mammogram, remember?" I saw her nod and plunged ahead, twisting my wedding ring round and round my finger. "Well . . . they found a mass in my right breast."

"Oh, dear God, Amanda."

"I went for a biopsy, Mother. I'm supposed to find out the results this afternoon. I thought you should know." I stopped, not knowing what else to say, mere words seeming woefully inadequate at expressing the morass of feelings inside me.

Perhaps finding words inadequate as well, she pulled me into a fierce embrace. We sat, quietly, while she held me, rocking me back and forth in an unbroken, soothing rhythm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Déjà vu, I thought, as we sat in the doctor's office. I wondered how many others had sat here waiting for test results, how many others with sweaty palms and dry mouths had watched the second hand on the clock sweep slowly across its face.

Lee held my hand fiercely, determinedly, as if to hold me rooted to existence -- our existence, the existence we'd built through friendship, partnership, and marriage. This side road my body seemed determined to take me down had held no place in that existence, at least up until now.

I held to my still present hope. Hope that the tumor was benign, that it was just a cyst, that the dreams that woke me up at night weren't true. As Dr. Granger entered the room, her business-like manner hinting at the news to come, I gathered my hope about me tightly, determined to hold on no matter what.

"Amanda, I have your biopsy results," she said as she sat down. "The tissue we removed was malignant. But . . . Amanda . . . I want you to know that we caught this early. The tumor is small and your overall health is excellent, so the prognosis is very good."

I felt the color drain from my face at her words. My wedding ring dug into my fingers as Lee squeezed my hand even tighter. I didn't know what to say, what to ask.

"We'll fight this, Doctor," Lee finally said, a slight catch in his voice. "Just tell us what we need to do."

"We'd need to perform what's called a modified radical mastectomy. That means we'd remove your right breast as well as lymph node tissue from under your right arm." The doctor quickly added, "The good news is, the biopsy confirmed that it's a Stage I cancer, and should require no further treatment. And, Amanda, Stage I cancer has a 98% survival rate."

The words 'mastectomy' and 'survival rate' reverberated in my head, the images they conjured causing me to pull my hand from my husband's grasp and cross my arms protectively across my chest. Finding my voice, I asked, "You'd . . . you'd have to remove my whole breast?"

"Yes, but, Amanda, reconstructive surgery could be performed as soon as the mastectomy is fully healed."

"And this procedure would remove all the cancer?" Lee asked, his voice sounding strained.

"We won't know for sure until we look at the lymph node tissue, but I'd say our chances are very good." She offered a smile, one that I couldn't seem to return. "Now, I have the names of a couple of oncologists . . . " She handed me two business cards, then continued, "These are both excellent doctors, but you need to choose the one you feel most comfortable with. The oncologist will perform the surgery and advise your follow-up care. Amanda, do you have any questions?"

"I . . . I don't think so." I looked blankly at the names embossed on the cards, names I'd not seen before, names without the comfort of familiarity.

"Well, please, Amanda . . . and Mr. Stetson, if you have any questions, feel free to call me -- anytime." She held out her hand to shake as we stood to leave, the gesture striking a chord of finality.

"Thank you, Dr. Granger," Lee said, shaking her hand before guiding me out the open door.

I crossed my arms once more, vaguely aware of the forward motion of my feet as they carried me down the hall. My hope trailed after me like a slowly deflating balloon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I undressed for bed, pausing as I undid the fastening on my bra. I looked down at my breasts, the right one marginally smaller than the left. 'What will I look like when it's gone?' I asked myself.

I'd been a late bloomer -- a result of my thinness, Mother had told me. I could recall how desperate I'd been to develop; it had seemed that all of my friends were buying bras when I could make do with just an undershirt. The presence of breasts had been a rite-of-passage amongst my girlfriends, and boys had certainly paid more attention to the developed girls.

I smiled as I remembered my first bra. Mother had taken me shopping, proud that her little girl was becoming a woman. It'd been both embarrassing and exciting. I'd blushed bright red when the saleswoman measured around my chest to determine my size. But, later, I'd wanted to wear that bra constantly, even to bed.

In college, I'd gone through a rebellious period. Many of my girlfriends were going bra-less, and I'd been small-chested enough to get away with it. Then, as an adult, the significance of having breasts changed -- altered by the blossoming of my sexuality with Joe, then changing again as I became a mother.

Then there was Lee. He'd reawakened a sexuality I'd had to push to the back of my mind as I'd dealt with the absence of, then divorce from, Joe. Lee had reminded me how good it felt to be a woman, a sexual woman, a woman with a body to be loved, cherished, and enjoyed. And, now . . . now I was facing yet another change, a change I was at a loss in dealing with. Sighing, I pulled my nightgown over my head and rolled into bed, burying myself under the comforter.

I felt the weight of my husband compress the other side of the mattress. His strong arm snaked around me, pulling me close to him. My tears fell quietly as I felt the reassurance of his touch.

"I love you, Amanda," he said as he held me tenderly.

"I love you, Lee," I replied. The familiar protection of his embrace, a protection that had always seemed infallible, now felt inadequate. He couldn't shield me from this -- from invasive cancer cells assaulting me from the inside, from the shortcomings of my body's own defenses, from the surgical violation that was soon to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It felt like someone had tap-danced on my chest. My eyelids were heavy, weighted down by drug-induced slumber. I tried to lick my parched lips but realized my mouth was bone dry. I finally succeeded in opening my eyes and tried to focus. There was a figure dressed in white at the foot of my bed. "Wa . . . wa . . . " I couldn't quite form the words.

"Mrs. Stetson, you're awake," a kindly voice stated as the white figure entered my narrow field of vision. She wrote something in my chart. "Good, I'll let the doctor know. You want a drink?" She must've seen my attempted nod because she said, "Okay, but only a sip at first, you've only just come out of surgery."

She held my head while placing a cup and straw to my lips. She took it away much too quickly, but at least I could now remove my tongue from the roof of my mouth. "My . . . my husband?" I croaked.

"You can have visitors once we move you to your room. The surgeon has to see you first. I'll go get him." She quickly disappeared from view.

It hurt too much to keep my eyes open, so I closed them while I waited. I soon heard voices and opened my eyes to see my oncologist looking at my chart. "Well, Amanda, your vitals are good. How do you feel?"

"Sore," I said, my voice raspy.

"Well, that's to be expected. I'll have the nurse adjust your IV and then move you to your room. I know there're a few people anxiously waiting to see you," he said, smiling. "The surgery went very well, Amanda. The cancer was confined to your right breast, which we removed completely. Your lymph nodes are normal; that's good news. Dr. Granger will be by to see you this afternoon. She'll discuss your reconstructive surgery options with you." He squeezed my hand in an inadequate attempt at comfort, and left.

I lay there trying to digest what had been done to me. I craned my neck in an attempt to see my chest, but it was completely covered. I felt a sense of panic as I lay back and stared up at the clean, white, unblemished ceiling.

Within a few minutes I was moved to my room. It was a private one -- Lee had insisted, despite the expense. He'd argued that if I had to share a room I might not sleep as well, which could delay my recovery. Mother had sided with him, so I'd quickly conceded the point. As the orderly and one of the floor nurses helped me into bed, I was glad for the privacy.

Showing me how the bed controls worked, the floor nurse raised the head of the bed so I could partially sit up. She placed a cup and straw next to my bed and said, "Now, Amanda, I want you to sip the water, just enough to keep your mouth moist. If you drink too much, it could make you sick to your stomach."

I nodded my agreement, acknowledging how painful that would be.

"I'll go get your family, now, Amanda. But don't overdo it. When you feel tired, ask them to leave." She left, the door closing quietly behind her.

I took a sip of water, my mind racing. 'What will my right side look like? Will I ever look normal again? What will Lee think? What -- ?'

My introspection was interrupted by a soft knock. Lee peered around the door and smiled tenderly, asking, "May we come in?"

I managed a nod and was soon inundated by family. Lee, Mother, Phillip, and Jamie entered quietly, fanning out around my bed and smiling happily.

"How are you, dear?" Mother asked, fussing about rearranging the few things on my bed tray.

"Mom, do you feel okay?" Jamie asked, a worried look on his boyish face.

"Is there anything we can get you, Mom?" Phillip added, putting his hands in his pockets and shuffling his feet.

"One at a time, guys," Lee interjected, his deep baritone filling the small room. "Give your mother a chance. Amanda? Are you up to visitors? Or should we come back later?" He gently brushed the hair off my forehead and smiled tenderly.

"It's okay," I said hoarsely, reaching for my cup of water, which Mother quickly assisted me with. "It's good to see all of you. My throat hurts when I talk, so why don't you all talk and I'll listen."

"Sure, Amanda," Lee agreed.

"Anything you want, dear," Mother offered. "Lillian sends her love and says she'll come by later."

"Lisa, too, Mom. She thought it should just be the four of us for now; she'll come tomorrow," Phillip's deeper voice informed.

Lee told me of all the get-well wishes sent from work, while Phillip prattled on about Lisa and Mother puttered about like a mother hen. Jamie, however, was quiet -- worry creasing his brow. I held my hand out to him, offering the physical contact my youngest always seemed to need. He sat gingerly on the edge of my bed and held my hand, my firm grip offering reassurance.

I quickly tired, and Mother ushered the boys from the room, quietly saying their goodbyes. I wanted, needed to talk to Lee, but I hadn't the strength. I closed my eyes as I felt Lee gently stroke my cheek, his whispered 'I love you' sending me off into sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was hungry, I realized as the smell of food pulled me from slumber. The nurse had brought my lunch, and Lee was carefully setting everything out on my bed tray. He smiled at me and asked, "Feel like eating? It's hospital food, but it's better than nothing."

I nodded and he helped me sit up, raising the head of the bed and arranging my pillows. I took a sip of juice and tried to spoon up my soup. My hand was shaking, however, so Lee quickly took over. "Here, Amanda, let me. You've certainly done this for me often enough," he added wryly.

Lee made small talk while I ate, his manner gentle as he assisted me. I swallowed as much as I could and then pushed the tray away. I looked at him and said, a quiver in my voice, "Lee, I need to talk to you."

He sat on the edge of my bed and tenderly took my hand in his. The absence of my wedding ring felt strange and a part of my mind wondered who was keeping it for me. I took another sip of water and tried to find the words I needed. "Lee, it's gone . . . they really did it . . . they removed the whole thing . . ."


He interrupted me, his thumb caressing the back of my hand. "Shh, Amanda, I know. I already talked to the surgeon. Honey, it'll be okay. I love you; you know that. The important thing is they got it all, nothing else matters."

"How can you say it doesn't matter?" I asked, tears threatening to flow. "Lee, they removed my breast, my whole breast. Of course that matters. A part of me is missing, cut away. How can you ever look at me the same?"

"Amanda, of course it matters. I didn't mean that. But they got all the cancer, isn't that the important thing? And how can you think I'd look at you any differently? You're still the same person, my partner and best friend, the woman I fell in love with and married." He gazed at me intently, the look in his eyes willing me to understand.

I couldn't understand; didn't he get how this changed things, or was he just putting on a good front, saying what he thought I needed to hear? "No, I'm not the same. They took something from me, Lee. A part of me that I can never get back."

"The surgeon said you could have reconstructive surgery. They can do wonderful things these days, Amanda. Of course this is going to be overwhelming at first, but --"

I listened to his reassuring words, felt his loving touch, saw the tender look in his eyes. It didn't sink in, though. I seemed to be on autopilot, my mind awhirl with conflicting thoughts and emotions as I felt myself withdrawing. "Lee, I'm really tired. Could you come back later?"

The look of surprise on his face gave me a slight twinge of guilt. He recovered quickly, though, and said, "Of course, if that's what you'd like. I'll be back later." He leaned down for a kiss, and ended up kissing my cheek as I reflexively turned my head away.

I heard the door close behind him as tears began to wet my pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, Amanda, you need to change the bandage like this . . . "

The nurse's voice droned on as she showed me how to care for my wound, explaining each step as she performed it. My wound. That's what my right breast had been reduced to -- a wound. The first time I'd looked at it, it had felt as though I were looking at someone else, a clinical objectivity I didn't know I possessed stepping in and taking over.

The puckered flesh held together by black stitches, the absence of rounded flesh, the complete lack of a nipple that had once offered milk to nourish my babies -- surely that abomination couldn't be me. I knew my body, and that wasn't a part of it.

Mercifully, the sterile gauze and tape hid my deformity from view and I quickly dressed, putting on the loose sweatshirt and sweatpants I'd had Lee bring from home. Home . . . I was going home today.

I finished signing my discharge papers as Lee poked his head in the room. "Hi, you about ready to go?" he asked, the cautious look on his face bringing a modicum of guilt to the surface of my mind.

"Yes," I answered. "I'm almost done. My bag is ready, if you want to take it down."

He wordlessly picked up the bag and headed out the door, not saying a thing about the large amount of flowers and balloons I was leaving behind. He'd offered to take them home earlier, but I'd refused. I'd told the nurses to distribute them to patients who could use them.

I took one last look around. I hated that I was coming back here in three months. Reconstructive surgery they called it -- as if they could somehow magically recreate that which had been taken from me. The hope I'd so desperately hung onto now seemed swallowed up by anger and despair.

Lee came back and escorted me out, the nurses waving goodbye. We took the elevator ride down to the lobby in silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~