Authors: Brenda Bevan Remmes
They concurred this would be a trial visit. Richard had helped to get an appointment in two days which was unheard of. It would be foolish to not at least check the man out.
When Dr.
Rao walked into the exam room he had on a UNC cap with a Tar Heel T-shirt under his lab coat. The heaviness in the air lifted immediately.
“Ms. Kendall, what a pleasure,” he said as he ext
ended his right hand. His full head of jet black hair and dark eyebrows accentuated his flawless brown skin. Whereas Liz had always thought of most Indian men as being of slight build, Dr. Rao was solid and squared off in both face and figure. Liz acclimated quickly to his clip, enunciated English.
“I hear from Richard you are a big Tar
Heel fan?” Dr. Rao said.
“Yes, I am,” Maggie said.
“Ah yes. To tell you the truth, I’m a closet Carolina fan myself, but I have to keep a low profile here. You understand?”
Maggie smiled. “I’m sure you do.”
Billie and Liz introduced themselves and there was a polite exchange about Cedar Branch, Richard and their mutual friendship before Dr. Rao referred to the papers in his hand. “I have just received the lab reports from your doctors in Raleigh and Murphy. They were faxed this morning. Tell me, what do you already know?”
“It’s a cancer, probably leukemia. That’s all I know. That’s not good news,” Maggie said.
“That’s correct,” Dr. Rao said. “It is, indeed, a cancer. Of that I am certain from your lab work. I’d like to run a couple more tests a second time to confirm that it is AML.”
“AML?”
“Acute Myeloid Leukemia. It frequently helps to double-check lab results. I always do that before recommending a treatment plan.”
“It’s serious?” Maggie said.
“Serious, yes, but untreatable? No. We can treat this cancer, Ms. Kendall. It’s not an easy treatment protocol, but you are relatively young and appear to be in good health otherwise. You’re strong. I hope you’re determined to fight.”
“You think I could beat this?”
“What makes you think that you can’t?” Dr. Rao asked.
“Nothing,” Maggie said after a pause. I can do this. I just never thought I’d have to do it at Duke with doctors and nurses who have little blue ‘Ds’ on their pockets.
“They’re
good people, Miss Kendall.” Dr. Rao said. “I’m sure they’d be at Chapel Hill if they could, but heaven can’t accommodate everyone.”
*****
Liz walked into her office at the Red Cross and stopped at her secretary’s desk. Debbie’s face was lit up like a Christmas tree and she announced with an accent as country as Texas, “Guess what? I’m a-gonna be a grandma.”
“A grandma?” Liz sat down next to her with a thud. “Was there a high school graduation or a wedding I missed?”
“There you go, always looking at the glass half-empty.” Debbie never knew a cliché she hadn’t worn to a frazzle. That was one of her favorites. “You know where I’d be if I always thought of everything that could go wrong? Living in the toilet, that’s where. When life gives you a lemon, it’s time for a Cowgirl’s Prayer.” This was one of her favorite alcoholic concoctions of tequila, lime juice and lemonade.
“Congratulations,” Liz said, and regretted her lack of enthusiasm. “When’s the baby due?”
“March.”
“Listen, I wanna hear all about this, but I need you to do something for me first.”
“Shoot.”
“We got some bad news. Maggie has been diagnosed with leukemia.”
Debbie’s face froze in mid-sentence. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That’s not good.”
“Not good at all.” Liz didn’t say anything for a minute and then took a deep breath. Up until this moment she had kept her emotions pretty tightly under wrap, but she knew too much. This was one of the disadvantages of working in the medical field. When friends tell you about their health, a nurse always thinks of the worst case scenarios.
Debbie picked up on Liz’s momentary lapse and went to the water fountain in the hall
. Her skirt was again too short and her blouse too tight.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as she handed Liz a paper cup of water. “What can I do?”
“Thank you,” Liz swallowed the water
. “Maggie’s going to be in and out of the hospital a lot.
“Bless her heart.”
“It’s going to be tough and she will need some blood because her red cell count will get very low. I want you to put in a request for a list of donors with her blood type in our region so I can make some calls. I want to be sure we’ve got plenty on hand and I know who to call if we need more.”
“I’m on it,” Debbie said. “You know her blood type?”
“I need to confirm it. It’s in our main record bank out of the Atlanta office. Just ask them to fax the names and blood types of donors in our regions—and let me know as soon as the fax comes in.”
*****
“Got your list for you,” Debbie said as she walked into Liz’s office later that day. “Marjorie C. Kendall, Right?”
“Yep, that’s her.”
Donated last two years ago in 1990; Marjorie C. Kendall, 0 positive. And her husband donated last in 1982.”
“No husband.”
“Oh, that’s right. He died, didn’t he?”
“Debbie, she’s never been married
. Who’ve you got there?” Liz got up from her chair and walked around to the other side of the desk to look at the paper.
“Oh shit,” Debbie said and then paused
. “That’s her dad.” Debbie flushed. Skewing her mouth and wrinkling her nose, she shook her head slowly from side to side and said softly, “Don’t know if you want to see this or not.”
Liz looked at her for a long moment and then took the papers out of her hand. Marjorie C. Kendall, blood type 0 positive; Corbett M. Kendall, blood type AB.
“Crap,”
she said. “Holy crap.”
Debbie quietly slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Liz sat by herself in her office for the next hour staring out the window. Judge Corbett could not be Maggie’s biological father. She would have to have an A or B as part of her blood type to be his daughter. Did it matter
? If ignorance is bliss what fool wants to know?
Once Liz
had gathered her wits she walked out of her office and sat down at Debbie’s desk. “I need to remind you of something. This information is all confidential.”
“I know that,” Debbie said, slightly insulted that Liz seemed to imply she didn’t.
“Well, I’m just reminding you so that you will continue to remind me. If we let this slip to anyone; my husband, one of your boyfriends…”
“I got it.”
“Not your kids, best friends…no one, Debbie.”
“I know that,” she said. “I like my job
. I don’t plan to lose it.”
“Okay, that’s understood
. We can’t make a mistake on this. Someone could get hurt.”
“I hear you, boss lady,” Debbie used a term she frequently called Liz, but one look at the expression on Liz’s face told her this was not a time for jokes. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good,” Liz said, “Let’s try to get ourselves back on task for the rest of the day. Tomorrow we’ll talk about your new grandbaby.”
******
Later that evening as Liz packed up to leave she poked her head into Debbie’s office.
“I’ve got a question
. Do you still have your clippers from your beauty salon?”
“Yeah, I still do hair for a few folks out of my house.”
“How do you feel about shaving heads?”
“Oh, boy,” Debbie beamed
. “You gonna have a party? Should I bring my Dolly Parton wigs?”
The hair thing was a big deal. When Dr. Rao told Maggie that the chemotherapy would virtually guarantee she’d lose her hair, it became her major obsession; not the fatigue, not the nausea, not the diarrhea or possible skin rashes, but the hair. The idea of having no hair broke her composure and brought her to tears.
Billie, Maggie and Liz sat in the den at Cottonwoods, each with a glass of wine
. Billie was in a collarless oversized blouse and puce shorts. Liz wore her usual jeans and T-shirt, and Maggie seemed to have settled into a loose fitting sleeveless “garden dress,” as Billie called it. Liz called it a “moo moo” but was corrected at once with instructions that fashion was only as good as its name. A “moo moo” brought up images of a barn. A garden dress, on the other hand, implied a more upscale label.
“Bald can be beautiful,” Billie said
.
“I don’t see many women shaving their heads in hopes of looking better,” Maggie said
. “And I’m not beautiful to start with.”
“Maggie, you’re so knock
-out beautiful I’ll bet no one even notices,” Billie said.
“That’s a load of bullroar and you know it,” Maggie said.
“You know you don’t have to shave it,” Liz said, “just wait until you go into the hospital and see how it goes. Maybe it won’t fall out.”
“I know.”
Maggie took a tissue and wiped her nose. “It’s just I can’t stand the thought of waking up with hair all over my sheets—of running a comb through my head and having clumps come out. I’d rather just get it over with all at once.”
“Whatever,” Liz said
. “It’s your call.”
Maggie cut a piece of cheese and picked up a cracker from a tray Billie had put in front of her
. Big meals had become a thing of the past, but Maggie would nibble throughout the day. “So tell me again about this friend of yours who would come here to cut my hair,” Maggie said. “Is she any good?”
“The best,
” Liz said.
“Does she cut
hair for a living?”
“Well, she’s not in business any more
. She still cuts hair some, but only after hours. I told you, she’s my secretary.”
“But you’ve never let her cut your hair.”
“I’ve just never thought about it. She’s
my secretary
,” Liz said. “It just didn’t seem to be appropriate for me to ask her to cut my hair.”
“
Why did she stop cutting hair?” Maggie leaned back in her chair and raised one eyebrow.
“Got divorced
. Wasn’t making enough money to support her kids. Needed benefits.”
“And you like her?”
“I love her. She’s great. Makes me laugh on a daily basis and is darn good at what she does.”
“But you wouldn’t let her cut your hair.”
“Look, Maggie, I’ve just never asked her to cut my hair. I’d have no problems letting her cut it, though.” Liz got up and poured herself another glass of wine. “But hey, you don’t have to do this if it bothers you. I just made an offer because I knew someone who would come to the house.”
No one said anything for a long time
. Each sat there with their glass of wine in hand and their eyes focused on the ceiling. Finally Maggie broke the silence, “You know, I always wanted a wedding cake.”
“What?” both Billie and Liz shrieked in unison
. “You want a wedding?”
“Hell, no
, I’m not interested in a wedding. I just want the cake.”
“Cake we can do
. Do you want it tonight?” Liz asked.
“No, not tonight. When I get through this let’s throw a party with a gigantic wedding cake.”
“I love it,” Liz screamed. “A cake without the trouble of the wedding. I wonder if I can talk Lexa and Nat into that?”
“Lord,” Maggie groaned, “now I’ve tripped the switch.”
“I won’t talk about it, promise,” Liz said. “It’s just that Euphrasia is going to flip when she gets to Charleston and sees how
not
simple this wedding is. Plus, and this is a big plus, there’s the alcohol, the live band with the music and the dancing and the alcohol.”
“You already said alcohol,” Maggie moaned.
“That’s because she will very much disapprove of the alcohol.”
“But you and Chase both drink.”
“I know. She knows.” Liz said. “I give them credit. Grandpa and Grandma try to let their children live their own lives.”
“So live it,” Maggie said, “and stop worrying about all of the ‘what ifs’.”
“Then, there’s the rehearsal dinner with the BS Frogbelly gang at the helm,” Liz continued.