Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 02 - Spring Moon (36 page)

“You sound good,” she said. “I’d be freaking out.”

“I am freaking out,” I said. “Jon’s gone for Oreos.”

“Yikes. That’s bad. Well, I researched prosthetics,” she said. “They look totally real.”

“They don’t move unless I want to sound like C-3PO.”

“Little Dick says he’s still the best robot ever,” she said.

“What color do I get? I don’t want one white arm and one tan arm, I’ll look like a cop.”

“A cop?”
           

“Tell you later.”

“Well, get white and wear a ton of sunscreen,” she said. “This could save you from having spotty claws like my mom. I’m already getting spotty.”

I looked at my hands, no spots yet except where I’d been stabbed by needles. Always a silver lining.           

“I’ll have to get older arms over the years.”

“Yeah, or have one totally buff arm until you die. Wear one of those slinky one sleeve goddess dresses,” she said. “Hey, speaking of which, I scheduled my boob job. Be sure they bury me in something low cut.”

“Oh man, buff jugs at 100. Maybe I’ll get some too, the new me. I bought a Subaru, did I tell you that? Crazy. I should have bought an automatic.”

“So how was it to see Stroud?”

“He looks good. Same eyes. Same smile. Little gray around the temples. The thing with Leeann was mortifying.”

“She sounds like one fiery little Beaner.”

“That is so politically incorrect.”

“Hey, I’m married to a Black guy. You’ve heard what people call me. Anyway, that was a compliment. Did Jon talk to him this morning?”            

“Not really. He might have growled, maybe he threw some advanced calculus at him.”

“Yeah, that’d be some big time back off shit. You going to call him?”

“No. I need to find a way to stop hurting myself over it.”

“Aren’t you curious about why he called?”

“Sure. I plan to die curious with one arm. Sounds like a bad country western song.”

“Yeah, cowgirl got one bit off by a mule. Still curious about the dark drifter going grey with a wife and four kids.”

“So far,” I said. “She was wearing a cross.”

“With a wife, four kids and counting,” she said.

“Yeah. I’m twisting in circles about the way I didn’t take care of myself. I believed him. I need to find a way to accept what a nitwit I was. He can’t help me with that.”

“Jon’s right, you didn’t know he was with her. You didn’t take care of yourself with a lot of people. I can’t believe you still feel bad about Steve. What a putz.”

“I feel bad about most of them. Why can’t I get past that?”

“Are you kidding? I got hot just hearing about it. It’s hard to refresh that memory. It would be easier if he was a fat slob, and she had swinging tits in puffy polyester.”

“I don’t know about that. What would Jon think if I was an also-ran to polyester?”

“You were never an also-ran. He’s right about living in the boondocks, he saved you from yourself.”

“What can’t you forget?”

“Oscar’s affair. I still think about her. About them. I wonder if he’ll do it again.”

“I’m so sorry. Have you stopped calling her the skanky ho?”

“Yeah. What’s that make me?”

“Do these things last forever?”
           

“I hope not. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life thinking about it while I fold his briefs,” she said. “I’ll see you tonight. I’m sending Amy and Claire to get you dressed.”

“Have them bring cowboy boots, size 8.”

“Got it.”

We signed off. Jon came back with the surgeon and three tubes of Oreos. Uh oh. The bugs were still in retreat. My arm was cooler and less swollen. There was no firm plan yet. My arm and finger were both on his radar.

“It doesn’t look like my finger anymore. It doesn’t look like anybody’s finger, except maybe someone who’s been dead a few months. I think that will make it easier. It’s not like it got sliced off in the deli slicer and is sitting there, still beating, fat and pink in a pile of pastrami.”

The surgeon looked at Jon, not sure what to make of that comment. Jon smiled.

“She has a vivid imagination,” he said. “She’s very good at her job.”

The surgeon looked at my chart, probably searching for the
occupation
box. He had mastered the fine art of no bedside manner. Jimmy would have known what to do with the pastrami comment. He said he’d check back the next day and left.           

Jon took off to check on the kids while I rested up for visitors. He called using Facetime and put Meggie on. She talked in one long stream of trike and Gus words as she tossed her head and hand in opposite directions. I felt like I was riding a windshield wiper. I fell asleep to her.

Amy and Claire came through the door dressed in pink hairdresser smocks, joking loudly over snapping gum and past bright red lipstick.

“You ready for a haircut?” asked Claire.

I struggled to sit up in bed and make sense of their outfits.
Grease
.

“You?” I asked.

“She’s good,” said Amy. “Even if she wasn’t, a Howler could make your hair look better.”

I felt around my head, she was right. I guess. I’d been avoiding mirrors.

“A Howler?”

“Rain forest monkey,” said Amy. “It’s the lead’s new sidekick.”

Claire set up for a haircut while Amy pulled out shawls to cover my hospital gown. She slid a pair of cowboy boots on my feet. They were tan with beautiful cut outs to turquoise, with silver tips and studs.

“Short notice,” she said. “But vintage Nudie’s.”

“They’re perfect,” I said.

She wrapped a color-coordinated shawl around my shoulders and artfully draped the part of me between my shawl and my boots with a color-coordinated blanket.  Got to love wardrobe people.

Jon arrived as Claire finished snipping, followed by Karin and Oscar carrying chairs they’d pinched from the waiting area. It was great to have everyone there. Dr. Oscar took a long look at my finger.

“That’s some ugly shit,” he said. “You won’t be sorry to lose that.”

“That’s what I love about you, Oscar,” I said. “All that sugarcoating.”

“My crew is always losing pieces,” he said. “Sometimes things don’t work according to plan.”

“That’s an understatement,” said Karin. “Remember when Sid the Simpleton jumped off the burning building without checking to be sure the bag was in place? He just had another mishap.”

“Got himself a new eyeball,” said Oscar. “The guys made a cue ball. He can’t blink. It’s hard to concentrate when you’re looking at an eight. People ask him questions like he’s an oracle.”

“Oracle’s don’t jump off buildings,” I said. “He’s Sid the Gecko. They don’t blink, they lick their eyes. They should make him a long tongue, he could use some help attracting women.”

“The guys in the shop can make anything you want,” said Oscar. “They just made a dick past the knees for a guy who finally talked his babe into putting out. Picture went viral.”           

“Her mother must be so proud. A daughter spellbound by a guy on YouTube who’s hung like a cobra,” I said. “I think I’ll go to someone not in the business for this.”

He shrugged. “They can still make you things for special occasions.”

“Like what?”

“Wait and see,” he said. “People get into their options. Black tie. Halloween.”

Jon was leaning back, hands behind his head, smiling. He was so damn happy listening to our stupid conversation because we were always way more fun than a maudlin drunk spending his vacation at the bar, complaining about getting cleaned out in a shitty divorce. I slid my eyes his way and tapped my silver-tipped toes together. He nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth turned up. Good thing he was fixed.           

“Knock, knock,” said Sherry.

“Mama!” said Meggie.

She ran into the room and spun around with surprise to find all her happy place people there. Bob came in with Chance and sat him up in bed with me.

The next week dragged. My arm gained and lost ground as the battle raged. Jon walked me around the floor pushing my IV pole. The gang showed up every few nights and Jon smuggled in wine and snacks. Amy and Claire were in the final stages of prepping for the move to the Amazon. They’d bought pith helmets and bolts of mosquito netting, they were going to catch malaria in style.

I got names from the social worker and talked to five women who had lost everything from a fingertip to an arm. It was comforting and encouraging to hear their stories and optimism from the other side. It would never be something Jon could fully understand. I didn’t know it yet. 

Marsha lost her arm to a more virulent form of the disease. She stabbed herself with a screwdriver putting together a playhouse for her daughter. The next day she felt like she had the flu, two days later her arm was gone, but she was alive. She didn’t go back to her life as a secretary. She trained for a sales position with the prosthetics people who made her arm. She loved her new job.

Her husband left her and tried to get custody, claiming she was disabled. He lost.

“Do you date?” I asked.

“Not at first. I thought that was over. I’d look in the mirror and think who would want me. You know?”

“And your husband had left you.”

“That was one of the good things that came out of it. I wasn’t a happy person to begin with, but he was no prize. He was the first to reject me. I met with a group through work. It helped to hear their stories. Not that they’re all happy, some people don’t do well. That’s the truth. People stay angry.”

“My therapist used to say that anger comes first because it’s the easiest to get to. I guess that’s better than depression.”

“That comes next, then acceptance. Some people never break free of circling around the first two.”

“Sounds like Alanon. But you date now?”

“I’m engaged. I was a wild girl before I got married. Might be why I ended up with the jerk I did. It made me more selective. I didn’t sleep with anybody until we’d gotten to know each other. My mother never taught me that. It was better. I’m with someone good; he loves my daughter.”

“Is he an amputee?”

“No. I ran into two kinds of men, well three if you count my fiancé. Men who wouldn’t date me because I’m missing an arm, and men who wanted to date me because I am.”

I was quiet thinking about that last part. She started laughing.

“Take it from me,” she said. “You really don’t want to date the second one.”

“So you’re completely fine about it? I don’t know if I’ll ever have that much confidence, even if I just lose a finger. I never have.”

It was her turn to be quiet.

“Most days,” she said. “Some days I lose it. I tell myself it will pass, that I’ll find the balance again. To be honest, it’s still more a goal than a reality.”

“How long has it been?”

“Four years. You know what the hardest thing was at first? Getting my daughter strapped into her car seat. Now she does it herself.”

“I’ve been thinking about all the things I won’t be able to do.”

“I know,” she said. “I suggest you go to the prosthetics place before your surgery. Make a plan. I wish someone had told me that. Know what you can first. It will be easier. Focus on what you can do. That’s your only option. I’ll send you information about places in San Diego, and a fun article about the meaning of fingers.”

“I’ve never thought about fingers so much in my life,” I said.

“The first prosthetic mentioned was a wood foot for a warrior queen.”

“I like that it was a warrior woman.”

“Me too. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said.

We decided I should go back to the surgeon in La Jolla. I wouldn’t have to travel after the surgery, and I’d be safe with family to help me with the emotional part. If it went well, Jon could take the kids home while I recovered at Eric and Anna’s. The infection finally cleared up. The aftermath wasn’t pretty. My arm was withered to a third its size. My finger was totally useless. The surgeons agreed that I could wait a few days if I loaded up on antibiotics while I made the move to La Jolla.

We had a farewell breakfast at Bob and Sherry’s. There was no way to repay them. They said they could never repay us. Everybody was crying as we drove away. Even Gus. Even Jon.

We pulled in so I could say good-bye to Grandma. The kids wailed on in the car. I’d gotten it into my head that Chance cried before every bad thing that happened to me. Like we were still connected. I did not like him crying right before the surgery. Jon was convinced that he was only wailing to keep his sister company, but then he was also convinced that Celeste wouldn’t show up on the island.

I didn’t have anything to say to Grandma, but I didn’t feel weak like I had the last time I stood there. I was a warrior woman. I thanked her for keeping the timer. It was disfigured, but still lived a long, purposeful life. Sitting on my mother’s counter, it reminded me to forgive. I got back in the car.

“I don’t know what happens to my body part,” I said.

“They incinerate it,” he said.

“Then I can scatter the ashes,” I said. “But I doubt they incinerate it all by itself. That’s a lot of fire for one body part.”

“Then we’ll do it.”

“A backyard cremation? I don’t think so.”

“They have to give it to you, some religions would insist on it. We’ll take it to a pet place, like a hamster. Or, a Dachshund. Depending.”

“I like that idea. I can send an advance messenger to Margaret.”

“That’s a new one.”

I looked out the window and it hit me.

“A Dachshund?” I asked.

We started laughing. Chance and Meggie paused in their background vocals to look at us, and then they started laughing. Such a fine edge. We drove down the road laughing. Chance was checking Meggie’s face to see if that’s what we were still doing. Wait until they grew up. I would tell their dates that they laughed about their mother having her arm cremated like a Dachshund. I’d put it in their letters too.

I had a preliminary meeting with the prosthetics people in San Diego and settled on something cosmetic to start with. It would depend on what I had left. Every centimeter counted. I would fly back after I was healed to have it fitted and color matched.