Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale (7 page)

“I was
joking, Jodie. I don’t advocate amputating body parts as a form of weight
loss.”

Jodie
flushes with embarrassment.

Angela’s
face is filled with sorrow. Or pity. “The feeling you had was right then.”

“Yep. I have
a surgeon’s appointment next week.”

“Are you
still keen to have it off?”

“Not sure.
Guess I’ll have to see how bad it is before I decide.”

Jodie has
rallied. She’s blown her nose and is stuffing the tissue into her handbag.
“Well, if you do decide to get fake ones, I know the most spectacular plastic
surgeon.
 
The work he did on my
sister was unbelievable. Her boobs look like she’s nineteen. Unfortunately, her
face still looks forty-three.”

I can’t help
but laugh. Jodie’s a bitch sometimes but she’s also a bit of a crack up. She doesn’t
see the problem in calling a spade a spade. And she likes to get what she pays
for.

The bell
rings and within minutes the playground is heaving with hundreds of kids under
the age of eight. I’d hate to be a teacher. Being a parent is hard enough. I
look to the door and see Rory running towards me, his blue school shirt is
flapping and his grey school shorts are sporting some type of grass injury.

“Hey Mum.”
He stops in front of us and I bend down to kiss him.

“Hey sport.
You ready to go? Got your homework?”

“Yep. Miss
Reynolds put a note in my diary for you, too.”

“Have you
been naughty?”

“Nah. Oliver
pushed me over and I scraped my elbows. He made me get grass all over my new
shorts, too. He said I was hogging the ball but I wasn’t. He always hogs it.”
He lifts his elbows for me to inspect the damage and suddenly I feel overcome
with motherly protective instincts. That Oliver is a bully.

“I’ll pop in
and see Miss Reynolds.”

“Mum. No. It’s
fine. She said it’s fine.”

I look at
Rory and decide to leave it be. If he says it’s fine, then it is.
 
I only hope he reacts this well when I
break the news.

*****

After
dinner, I sit Rory down on the couch. “I need to have a talk with you,” I say.

“Is this
about my shorts?”

“No. I don’t
care about your shorts.”

Rory looks
at me quizzically. He knows something is up because I’m always on about looking
after his school uniform, being proud of it.

I pull him
over to sit on my knee. Even though he’s getting to be a big boy, he still
loves a cuddle and I could do with one.

“Mummy’s
sick, Rory. When I said I was going to the dentist the other day, I really went
to the doctor. I have Breast Cancer.”

Rory’s deep pink
lips begin to wobble. Two crystals of tears form in the corner of his eyes. “Are
you going to die? Like Julia’s dad?”

Julia Long
was a child in Rory’s class whose father suffered from a particularly
aggressive form of bowel cancer the previous year. The children had seen him at
school during the various stages of his illness and appeared to take it in
their stride. But this is different. This is my son.

“No. I have
to go to a special doctor next week. She’s going to help me get better.”

“Can I
come?”

“Not this
time but I’ll write everything down, so I can explain it to you when I get
home.”

Rory seems
okay with this. He’s like me. He likes to know where he stands. “Will your hair
fall out and grow back curly?”

“Maybe.”

“Will you
have to go to hospital?”

“Yes. But
Brendan will look after you and it won’t be for long. You can visit me every
day after school.”

Now he pouts.
Rory and I are rarely apart. Having lived alone together until Brendan came
along, we have strong mother-son bond. I think even Brendan gets jealous of it
sometimes.

 
“It’d probably be better if I don’t go
to school,” he says. “Then I can stay with you and hold your hand. You might
get lonely without me.”

“Nice try, buster.
But you’re going to school.”

“But not
when you have the operation.”

I concede
that much. “You can have one day off, then.”

He jumps
down from the couch, accepting of his fate. “Okay. Can we have ice cream now?”

I take him
into the kitchen and as I’m getting the ice cream from the fridge, he’s getting
two bowls from the drawer. He’s telling me about the spelling test he did this
morning. I can’t fathom that he’s processed this so quickly but he doesn’t
appear worried. Shouldn’t he be crying? I bite on my lip and push back a tear
myself. I have to be strong for him. I have to show him I can fight it. I can’t
die and leave my little boy alone. Nobody else knows exactly how to put the
topping on the ice cream the way he likes it. I scoop one heaped spoonful of
ice cream into his bowl and one into mine and as I’m reaching for the Ice
Magic, his hand takes mine. It’s warm and comforting and I know he loves me.

“Don’t
worry, Mum,” he says.
 
“Everything
will be okay.”

And that’s
when I lose it for real.

Chapter 7

The next week,
I’m back at the shop. I’ve had my appointment with the specialist. Even after
she informed me that the lump is bigger than they first believed and I’ll have
to have a mastectomy and follow it up with chemotherapy, I manage to hold my
end up. I don’t collapse in a blubbering heap. I merely accept that it’s one of
those life things. You get on with it. And I have a lot to do between now and
when I go to hospital in a week. Everything has to run smoothly while I’m away
or I’ll have a breakdown. That would be worse than cancer.

As I walk in
the door, Lani greets me with a barrage of messages. Everyone right down to the
postman wants to know how my appointment went. It’s comforting to be surrounded
by such concern at a time like this. I haven’t had this much attention since I
broke my ankle doing my square dancing badge at Brownies when I was nine, not
that it’s the type of attention one craves. I’d rather be noticed for my
ability to cook up a storm or warble out a tune like Rihanna, but I can do
neither of those, so I’ll take these little slices of love and store them for
later.

“There’s a
message from Melinda, too.” Lani hands me a scrap of paper. “Call me dim but I
have no idea what she was on about.”

Having not
been able to reach my friend during the week, I ended up leaving her a voice
message, telling her about my diagnosis. I expected she’d be straight on the
phone after that, but this is the first I’ve heard of her. According to Angela,
people act weirdly when faced with the realisation that we’re mortal and will, therefore,
die. Personally, I don’t see it as an excuse.

I begin to
read.

My prayers go out to you and your family. You
are a strong woman and you’ll fight this beast head on. When my mother had BC the
doctor advised her to eat lots of carrots. The beta-carotene helps. Massage is
good after surgery.

I read the
message again.

Where’s the ‘Ohmigod’,
the ‘I’m on my way with wine’? Why isn’t she asking me if there’s anything she can
do? Who is this unfeeling troll?

 
“Are you sure you copied this down
correctly?” A further squint at the missive does not bring any changes to its
content.

Lani nods.
“I read it back to her because I couldn’t believe that was what she wanted to
say. It was so weird. What’s with the beta-carotene thing? Did you do something
to piss her off?”

I could
wrack my brains for hours and I know I’d never come up with anything.
 
Melinda and I never fight. In fact,
over the years, if there were a toss up as to who had the right to get pissed
off, it would probably be me. Melinda’s notorious for being late and cancelling
last minute. And her excuses are no less than lame. Still, because she’s my
friend I’ve accepted it as a quirk of her personality and let it slide.

Maybe this is
her way of getting back at me because I didn’t get along with the guy she was
seeing? I know I said he was needy but she asked for my honest opinion. And he
was. He waited ten minutes for her outside a public toilet at the market,
pretending to scan the pictures on his phone. The market was practically empty.
It wasn’t like she wouldn’t have been able to find him. He followed her around
the house like a puppy and showered four times a day when we went on a couples
weekend. Not to mention the industrial quantities of Listerine he gargled after
every meal. Even Brendan, Mr Germs-Are-My-Enemy, was freaked out.

Surely, it’s
not because I reminded her of that.

“And this
was everything she said?” I ask again.

“Word for
word.”

Shaking my
head, I screw up the piece of paper and toss it towards the bin. It hits the
rim and bounces onto the floor. Well, isn’t that the story of my day. I suppose
I’ll try to catch Melinda later on, when Rory’s in bed. There has to be some
reason for her strange message.

“So when do
you go to hospital?” Lani asks, walking back to where she’s been changing the
display window. She’s setting up a vintage hat and handbag display, with a
bunch of old stock she found floating around in the back room. We’re hoping to
draw in a younger crowd. Retro is cool in Perth. Cute vintage shops are springing
up right down Hay Street and we need to get on the bandwagon. So Lani says. I’m
not denying it. Lani’s good at recognising a trend, despite following none.
She’s like a trend unto herself.

“Next week.
And we have a tonne to do to get organised before then. I’ll be out of action
for about a fortnight but if everything’s done it should be plain sailing while
I’m away. The hospital stay is only a couple of days and I’ll recuperate at
home. I might come in a couple of hours a day until I get back on my feet. I can’t
leave you stranded.”

“I’ll be
right. Carly’s on Uni holidays. She doesn’t mind doing an extra shift if we
need her. We talked about it the other day.”

I nod,
pleased that Lani is showing initiative that doesn’t involve wasting money. “I’ll
give her a ring, then. Put the wheels in motion, at least for the fortnight
I’ll definitely be out of action.”

“So after
the surgery, it’s chemo?” Lani asks, as she stands back to admire her handiwork.

“I guess. The
doctor said I should start a few weeks after. So that’ll be in a month or so.
It’ll mean bi-weekly trips to the clinic but I should be right to come to work
the day after each treatment.”

“You don’t
need to do that. I can take care of things. The most important thing is for you
to be well.”

“I think I’d
like to be here if I can. Lots of people work during chemotherapy. I want to
carry on as normally as possible. This doesn’t have to disrupt our entire
life.”

I think she
understands.

“Play it by
ear then. Who knows how you’re going to feel.”

“Exactly.”

“What about
the boys? How’re they coping with this? Do you need me to take charge while
you’re in hospital?”

I try not to
laugh because I know Lani’s joking this time. Brendan would blow a gasket if
she were let loose in our house. He goes into convulsions if the cushions are
fluffed the wrong way.

“I think
they’ll cope.”

“Rory’s taking
it okay?”

“He seems to
be. Every now and then he runs up for a cuddle out of the blue. Apart from
that, he’s behaving the way he always does. I’m prepared for things to change
when I start treatment, though. I’ll look a lot different. It’ll have to affect
him in some way.”

“And
Brendan?” Lani knows about Brendan’s sudden penchant for retail therapy. During
the last week he’s added a new winter wardrobe and the wardrobe to put it in,
to his list of purchases.

“He came
home with a kayak last night. A two thousand dollar kayak.”

“What the
hell does Brendan need a kayak for?”

“To kayak up
and down the Swan River. He’s wanted one for ages. Or so he says.”

“And when
does he propose to use it? He’s never home now.”

“Every night
after work. Rory and I had to go with him last night. He made me take photos
while he posed in the bloody thing. Then we watched him paddle up and down in
front of us for ten minutes. I thought I was going to die of boredom until he
fell in the water as he was trying to navigate his way between two windsurfers.
Of course, Rory and I got a talking to for giggling but we couldn’t help it. He
had a piece of seaweed stuck to the back of his head when he came up out of the
water. It looked like Billy Ray Cyrus’s mullet. ”

“Wish I’d
seen that. I could do with a laugh.”

At that
point, the door opens and the delivery guy comes in. He walks towards me and sits
a parcel on the counter while he gets out his electronic clipboard.