Isabella's screams jolt me out of my fantasy and I look up to see Ray dabbing her forehead with a towel. The congregation shouts, "Amen", and a pianist begins to play a hymn as Danny hands Isabella back to her mother and whispers something into her ear. As he starts to walk towards us, I glance over at abuela and see tears of joy glistening in her eyes, and I chastise myself for daydreaming rather than paying attention to the ceremony.
"How'd I do?" he asks, holding his hands out by his sides and looking first at me and then at abuela.
"You did wonderful, Daniel," abuela says, stroking his cheeks. "Isabella is one lucky little girl to have you for her godfather."
Grinning from ear to ear, he says, "Well... in all of this excitement, I've really worked up an appetite. I just told Josefina that I'd treat us all to a nice lunch. How does that sound?" When abuela nods her head enthusiastically, he turns to me and asks, "Do you like Italian food, Michelle?"
"I love it. Unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to join you. I've got other plans. Thank you for asking me, though," I say, hoping that he is satisfied with my answer.
Clearly annoyed, he says sarcastically, "A lunch date with Bill Lewis, no doubt?" Will this issue between us never die?
Tell him only the bare minimum, Michelle, I tell myself. Feeling intimated by his looming presence, I stand as I say, "Actually... I've got an appointment right after lunch."
Backing away from me, he eases his stance and says, "I see. Well... I guess we'll see you back at the house this afternoon then."
Crap. Ok... think Michelle. I briefly contemplate telling him where exactly it is that I'm going, but it's a private matter and Danny Santos is not entitled to know my every step just because I work for his grandmother. "I won't be back until late Sunday. I'm spending the weekend with my brother and his wife."
He shoots a quick glance down at his watch before turning angry eyes to mine, arguing, "It's fifteen until noon, Michelle. What about the rest of the day? You said your appointment is right after lunch, right?" I nod, averting my eyes to escape his piercing ones as he finishes, "How exactly are you planning on having this afternoon's therapy session if you're not coming home until Sunday?"
"I thought we could just make up the time next week," I answer sheepishly.
When I finally raise my eyes to meet his, he says with controlled anger in his voice, "Follow me. We need to talk... privately." As he turns, I look down at abuela and she's silently pleading with me with her eyes. She's desperate to defend me to Danny, but I shake my head 'no' as I follow him into the hallway.
There are several family members and friends milling about, so he grabs me by the elbow and ushers me into a room across the hall. When I see the high ceiling and the three-tier raised platform on the stage, I assume that this must be the choir rehearsal hall.
I am hoping for the best but expecting the worst as he assumes the fighting stance. Returning his glare, I display a confidence that I don't feel when he begins, "Look... as your employer, I expect you to schedule appointments on your free time. I don't appreciate you just bailing on therapy at whim. Our family pays you good money and we expect you to fulfill your end of the bargain."
My blood begins to boil and I can feel my voice reverberating off of the walls as I counter, "What do you think I've been doing? Exactly which of my obligations is it you think I've been neglecting? Because the last I checked, nobody had to push abuela in here today... she walked. Walked, Danny. As for the bargain... the bargain was for twenty-five hours of therapy a week. What do you care when they happen... as long as they do happen?"
Pacing the room, he turns away from me as he says, "All I'm saying is that if you find this job too demanding, let me know. I'm sure that I can find someone who can accommodate abuela's needs."
Lord... forgive me for the hateful thoughts I am having about Danny Santos in this holy place. "Oh please, Danny. What do you know about her needs? I am with her every waking moment. Can you find someone that can heal her emotionally as well as physically? Because that's what I'm doing when we talk about Pilar's death, you know?"
Whipping his head around, he charges me like a bull and when his face is mere inches from mine, says, "Spare me the psychoanalysis, Michelle. Besides... that's not part of your job description. No one ever asked you to do that."
Backing up, I put a safe distance between us as I spit, "I didn't have to be asked, Danny. I saw that she needed someone to confide in, and when she realized that she couldn't come to you, I stepped in and filled that void. It's human decency, Danny, and if you had just one ounce of compassion, you'd understand."
His eyes soften slightly, but he says nothing. I glance down at my watch and see that it's now five after twelve. Bill will be at my house in less than an hour and I've yet to put any food in my stomach all day. Not being able to stand the silence any longer, I say, "I've got to go. Let me help you get abuela into the car."
"I'll do it myself," he insists, heading for the door.
Concern for my patient winning out over my contempt for this man, I say, "Don't be ridiculous, Danny. Let me help you. You don't know how to properly transfer her into the car."
"Because you never taught me," he answers, and his whiny voice reminds me of a five year old throwing a temper tantrum.
How does he do that? How does he turn everything around so that it's my fault? "Well... maybe if you'd ever come to a therapy session, I'd be able to teach you." We could probably go on like this all day. Realizing that I don't have time for his games anymore, I say, "You know what? You're absolutely right. You have to learn some time. It's about time you took on some responsibility. You know... there will come a day when abuela will be fully recovered and I won't be needed anymore. I'll be gone and it'll just be you and her."
"Hallelujah," he says before adding snidely, "I'll be counting the days."
I push past him out of the door and say over my shoulder, "Make my apologies to your family for my abrupt departure, will you? And tell abuela that I'll see her next week." I don't wait for any kind of response, and I am in my car and backing out in record time.
Driving home, I chastise myself for entertaining the notion of having any sort of future with Danny Santos. I'd sooner kiss a toad. A little disappointed to find that no one is home when I pull into the driveway, I walk to the door... bags in hand, and let myself in. Overcome by the familiarity of my surroundings, I realize how much I've missed this place. Sitting down at the breakfast table, I begin to sob. Abandoning the idea of fixing myself a sandwich for lunch, I grab my bag and slowly climb the stairs that lead to the bedroom of my childhood. Changing into an old pair of jeans, a loose fitting t-shirt, and some beat up sneakers that I've had forever, I lie down on the tiny twin bed and wait for Bill to arrive.
Hearing his car pull up, I lift my head and look at my watch. "Dependable ol' Bill Lewis," I say aloud, realizing that he's right on time. Digging in the side pouch of my bag, I locate the prescription bottle and chase the tiny pill with a huge sip of water from my bathroom drinking cup, throwing my head back just as Bill knocks on the door.
Smiling, I bound down the steps towards the kitchen, and he watches my every move through the open blinds of the glass door as I move to let him in. It's good to seem him, despite the ominous circumstances.
Rushing in as I open the door, he scoops me up into his arms and holds me against him. I whisper into his chest, "Thank you for doing this for me."
Stepping back, he looks into my eyes and says, "There's no other place I'd rather be." He glances down at my chest and then back up to my eyes several times before finishing, "Ready?"
"Ready," I affirm as I dig into my purse for the hundredth time today, making sure that I've got my insurance card. Interlacing his fingers with mine, he leads me to his car and deposits me so gently into the passenger's seat, you'd think I was made of delicate porcelain. I can tell that he can't find the right words to say at a time like this, so we ride to Cedars in silence.
Once inside the outpatient surgery center, Bill nervously walks to the stainless steel coffee pot at the far end of the waiting room and pours himself a cup while I walk to the front desk to register. After showing proof of insurance and signing consent forms, I am led to a room where my vital signs are taken and a medical bracelet is placed on my wrist. I read each word, repeating them in my head. Michelle Bauer. 22. White female. Lumpectomy. Margaret Sedwick, M.D. The nurse asks me to return to the waiting area until they call my name, so I retrace my steps and scan the room until I find Bill.
He is staring straight ahead over the steaming cup of coffee in his hands, blowing on it to temper it before taking a sip. As I sit down next to him, he protectively wraps an arm around me, and I lean my head against his strong shoulder as I feel the tranquilizer starting to take effect. Lifting heavy eyelids, I scan the faces of the other patients, wondering if any of the women I see are here to have a lump removed from their breast.
Bill stands with me when my name is called, giving me one final hug before whispering in my ear, "I'll be right here when it's over." Groggily, I smile up at him and start to walk on unsteady legs towards the nurse, clutching the wall for support. She reaches for my hand and helps me into the first surgery suite on the left.
She helps me remove my clothes and holds out a paper gown for me to step into, leaving it wide open in the front. Helping me lie down on the gurney, she places a surgical cap over my hair and drapes a blue surgical sheet over my chest. There is a perfect round hole on the left side of the sheet which leaves my breast completely exposed. I watch the work of her hands as she pulls a rolling instrument table over to the supply cart and begins to lay out scalpels of various sizes, forceps, stacks of sterile gauze, and surgical towels.
"Dr. Sedwick will be here shortly," she says in a soothing voice, lightly squeezing my ice cold hand in her warm one. After she leaves, I stare at the sterile, white walls and the overhead fluorescent light. The antiseptic smell that permeates the room is nauseating and I close my eyes to suppress the urge I have to vomit.
Dressed in a surgical gown loosely draped over a pair of fuchsia scrubs and a surgical cap that matches mine, Dr. Sedwick enters the room and walks over to me. "How are you doing today, dear?" she asks.
"I've been better," I admit. "I'm just ready to get this over with."
"I know you must be," she says, sitting on a nearby stool as she reviews my chart one final time before walking to the sink to scrub up and putting on a pair of latex gloves. The nurse reenters the room dressed similarly and she stands at the head of the gurney, preparing to assist. Turning to me, Dr. Sedwick says, "I'm going to tell you everything I'm doing as it's happening, ok?"
Nodding my head, I watch as she picks up a sterile gauze with a pair of forceps that the nurse hands her and dips it into a cup of Betadine solution. "I'm going to sterilize and anesthetize the area now," she informs, and I watch her sweep the gauze over my breast, completely coating it with the thick, orange liquid. Picking up a pre-filled syringe, she makes five small injections around the nipple, and soon my entire breast is numb under her touch.
"I'm going to make the incision now, Michelle," she explains, picking up a very small scalpel. I feel no pain... only pressure as she presses it deep into my flesh. When she withdraws her hand, I see my own blood on her gloves and the scalpel and I decide to close my eyes for the remainder of the procedure. "Are you ok, Michelle?" she asks, and I nod my head in reply.
After several minutes of manipulation, she says, "I've just removed the tissue. Would you like to see it before we package it?" My eyes fly open and I look down inside the stainless steel container that she is holding in her outstretched hands. I don't know what I was expecting to see. Maybe a twisted, black, gnarly mass of hardened cells. What I see instead is a small clump of yellow, fatty tissue. It certainly doesn't look life threatening, I think as I watch her gently place it in a small, clear vial. The nurse adds a preservative liquid on top of it and puts a label bearing my name on the vial before leaving the room with it.
"We should have the results back from pathology on Monday, Michelle," she says as she begins to close the incision wound with a fine thread. "I'll give you a call late in the afternoon regardless of the findings." Focusing her attention back to the wound, she says, "I'm closing with three... maybe four sutures. You don't have to have them removed... they will be absorbed by the body. You shouldn't be in any pain when the anesthetic wears off, but I'm leaving you a mild prescription in case there is any tenderness or soreness. I would suggest that you not wear a bra for the next couple of days if you can avoid it." I watch as she covers the incision site with a small bandage no bigger than a band aid. "We'll discuss a follow-up visit based on what we find on Monday, ok?" This is all so much to process. I don't know what to say, so I simply nod my head. "Any questions?"
"Can I go home now?" I ask stupidly.
Smiling, she removes the sheet and helps me to a sitting position, closing the gown around my nakedness. "Why don't you just sit here for a little while? The nurse is going to gather your discharge instructions and that prescription, and then you'll be on your way. We'd like to make sure you don't have an adverse reaction to the local anesthetic before we let you leave." I nod my head in agreement and she asks, "Who brought you here today?"
"My friend, Bill," I answer.
"If you would like, I could have the nurse bring him back here so that he could sit with you while you wait," she offers.
Smiling, I nod my head and say, "I'd appreciate that, Dr. Sedwick. Thank you."
"Fine then... I'll tell her," she says. Standing, she reaches for my hand and finishes, "Well then... we'll talk on Monday. If you have any problems or questions between now and then, please have my answering service beep me. I'm on call this entire weekend."
"Thank you," I say as she leaves the room.
Several minutes later there is a soft knock on the door and I say, "Come in." Slowly the door opens and Bill walks in. "Hey," I say, pulling the cap off of my head and throwing it down on the gurney beside me.
Sitting down on the stool in front of me, he grabs my hands and asks, "How was it?"
Standing up, I walk to where the nurse deposited my clothes and take them with me behind a curtain in the far corner of the room. "Not bad, really," I say as I begin to dress. "I'd rather have an ice cream sundae, of course, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."
Laughing, he watches me walk in my sock feet to a nearby chair, and he grabs my shoes and kneels in front of me. "Let me," he says, lifting my feet into his lap as he gently slips my shoes over them. Staring down at the top of his head while he ties my sneakers, I wonder why he doesn't have a steady girlfriend. He's about the best man I know. It's a pity that I'm not attracted to him romantically... he's going to make some woman a wonderful husband one day.
After my paperwork is complete, I shove my bra down into my purse, saying, "I can't wear this sucker for a couple of days."
Walking out of the room, he asks, "Don't you prefer to go commando anyway?"
Laughing hysterically, I lean into him as he helps me to the car. Leave it to Bill... he always knows just what to say to lift my spirits.
Resting my head against the passenger's side window, I notice that we've missed our turn and I ask, "Where are we going, Bill?"
"I thought I'd get you that ice cream sundae that you wanted," he says, looking over at me.
Smiling, my eyes flutter shut and just before I doze off, I offer a silent prayer to God as abuela's words drift into my head. I've done my part, Lord. I'm putting it into your hands now.
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