CHAPTER TWO | CASSIDY
“Miss Laurent?”
I startled when I heard the sound of my own name shatter the sterile silence of the hospital waiting room, and I twirled around to see Doctor Burke’s sympathetic face staring back at me through a pair of perpetually askew wire-frame glasses.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently.
“I was just… lost in thought, I guess,” I forced a polite smile; the politest smile I could muster, considering this was the man who had once told me that my mother was dying.
“Shall we step into my office?” Doctor Burke suggested. I nodded and let him guide me down the bright white tile hallway, away from the waiting room and towards a cluster of offices.
Doctor Burke’s office felt a little less sterile than the rest of the cancer ward. The walls were paneled in warm mahogany and the floor was covered in soft maroon carpet. I plopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs in front of his desk, and the tension between my shoulder blades immediately started to loosen.
I absently combed my fingers through the soft black tendrils of hair that hung over my shoulder and bit down on my bottom lip, tasting the faint remnants of vanilla lip gloss. These were both nervous habits, but I didn’t try to correct either of them; if ever there was a time or place that nervous habits were justified, it was Doctor Burke’s office.
“Thank you again for agreeing to meet with me today, Miss Laurent,” Doctor Burke said, offering a sympathetic smile as he took a seat behind his desk.
“Please,” I said. “Call me Cassidy. It’s been five years now… I think we can skip the formalities.”
Doctor Burke smiled again, but this time I could see the weariness that filled in the lines of his face.
Years of working in the cancer ward had clearly taken a toll on the old doc. I couldn’t imagine how he handled the stress of his job; knowing that every day he came into work, he’d be telling a new patient the worst news of their life: that they had cancer.
That was the news he had delivered to my mother, five years prior, in this very office. I had sat by her side and held onto her hand as she fought back the tears, listening and nodding as Doctor Burke explained the rough road ahead.
It had taken three rounds of chemo to beat the cancer the first time. When Doctor Burke told us that it was finally in remission, my mother had celebrated by booking a trip to Hawaii, just for the two of us.
When Mom went into remission, I saw the color and life come back to her face. She was happy and life was great. Everything seemed to be going back to normal. Then the cancer came back.
It had been harder to fight the second time, and I knew that was partially because my mom was starting to lose hope. She didn’t talk about the future like she used to. She didn’t make plans or daydream about “someday…”. Her life was just about surviving, and making it to the next day.
When Doctor Burke told us that the cancer was in remission again, there was no celebration. We couldn’t bring ourselves to trust that it was really gone for good.
“We need to talk about your mother’s treatment plan,” Doctor Burke said, getting straight to the point. “Now that the cancer is in remission again.”
“Won’t it be the same as last time?” I asked. “Monthly visits to monitor any changes, bloodwork, tests…” my voice trailed off.
“Well, yes,” Doctor Burke nodded. “But it’s a little bit different now, since your mother has a history of recurrence.”
My chest tightened and my mouth went dry. In the world of oncology, it turned out there was a word worse than ‘cancer;’ it was ‘recurrence.’
“I’d like to keep a closer eye on Judy,” he continued. “At least for these first few months. We’ll take it one week at a time.”
I swallowed heavily and nodded, already knowing that my mother wouldn’t like the sound of that.
“It’s better to be safe,” Doctor Burke added, trying to reassure me. “This last round of chemo was really hard on your mother, both physically and mentally. It’s going to take some time before she’s fully recovered from that.”
Understatement of the century, I thought darkly. The last round of chemo had been so brutal that my mother had ultimately been admitted to the hospital for the last couple of weeks of treatment.
“Can I see her now?” I asked.
“Of course,” Doctor Burke said. “I’ll page one of the nurses and see if she’s ready to be discharged.”
Fifteen minutes later a nurse greeted me in the waiting room.
“Your mother is just waking up,” she said as she escorted me down the maze of white corridors that led to the inpatient oncology wing.
We reached my mother’s door.
“I’ll let you two have some privacy while I put together her discharge paperwork,” the nurse said.
The nurse turned back towards the office area and I waited until the soft click of her footsteps had faded away before I pushed open the door of my mother’s room.
The lights were off, but the cloudy grey morning light from outside was spilling in through the wide glass window overlooking the parking lot. I pulled the curtains open the rest of the way, filling the room with a little more light.
“Cassidy,” Mom said. Her voice was still groggy from her nap. She was sat up in bed, propped up by pillows, sipping a small plastic cup of orange juice.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her. I perched myself on the edge of the bed.
“Like I’m ready to burn this place to the ground and never look back,” Mom said dryly. I couldn’t help but smile.
“I’ll get the gasoline,” I said.
“I’ll get the matches,” Mom smiled back. Then she pressed her eyes shut and winced in pain.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” I promised. “They’re just getting your paperwork ready now.”
Mom nodded. Then she reached up a hand and ran her fingers through my soft black curls.
“Your hair is getting so long,” she said.
My smile faded. I had inherited my dark, curly mane from my mother. Before the cancer, she had worn her hair long and over her shoulders, just like mine. But her hair hadn’t survived multiple rounds of chemo, and the curls she had once been so proud of were replaced with a pink silk scarf that she wore tied around her head.
“I hope you didn’t get all dressed up for me,” Mom added. She nodded at the white cotton sundress and pale blue cardigan that I was wearing.
“I thought we could go to lunch on our way home,” I said. Then I added: “If you’re feeling up to it.”
“I’m not sure I’d make a very good lunch date right now,” she sighed. “Besides, you shouldn’t waste a cute little dress like that on me. Maybe we can swing by the staff wing on our way out of here and find some young, hot doctor--”
“Mom!” my face burned bright red under the sprinkling of freckles that dusted my nose and cheeks.
“What?” Mom asked innocently. “There are some cute doctors that work here, you know. Single ones, too. I’ve been keeping an eye out…”
“Oh my god,” the burning in my cheeks intensified. I buried my face in my hands, feeling equally mortified and amused by my mother’s tireless attempts to find me a boyfriend. Even chemotherapy and doctor-mandated bedrest wasn’t enough to stop my mom from playing matchmaker.
“Well you’re not getting any younger, Cass,” Mom said bluntly. Even though her voice was raspy and weak, I could tell she was serious. “You haven’t even tried dating since What’s-his-face.”
I cringed. ‘What’s-his-face’ was Mark Ryan, the college sweetheart-turned-long-term boyfriend who had unceremoniously dumped me a week after my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Mom was right: after Mark, I had basically given up on dating or finding love.
“And frankly,” Mom continued, “I’m not getting any healthier.”
My mouth went dry again and I swallowed heavily. I glanced up, trying to meet my mother’s pale green eyes, but she was staring absently at through the window behind me.
“Mom, don’t say that,” I said firmly. “You’re going to beat this. I know you are!”
“Cass, stop.”
“Mom--”
“It’s not like running a 5k,” Mom said. “It’s cancer. There’s no ‘beating’ it. There’s no ‘winning.’ Maybe the cancer is gone for now, but it’s only a matter of time before it comes back.”
I pointed my eyes down at the floor and tried hard not to cry. I hated crying in front of my mom.
“I just want to see you happy,” she said, placing her hand on top of mine. Her skin was dry and ice cold, and a shiver trembled down my spine. “When you were a baby, I used to hold you in my arms and imagine your entire life spread out in front of you. I used to picture you graduating from college, finding the love of your life, walking down the aisle in a beautiful white dress, having a little baby of your own someday…”
My eyes burned with hot tears.
“I always thought I’d be here to see those things,” Mom said, her voice cracking. I knew she was crying, too.
“You will be,” I promised her.
“I hope so,” Mom choked. “I’m not afraid of the cancer anymore, Cass. I’m not afraid of dying. I’ve made peace with it. But you know what I am afraid of?”
“What?”
“I’m afraid of what I’m leaving behind.” Her voice cracked, and she squeezed my hand tighter in hers. “I need to know that when I’m gone, there will be someone by your side to hold your hand and dry your tears. I need to know that when I’m not around to love you anymore, someone else will be. I need to know that you’ll be taken care of.”
Before I had the chance to say anything, there was a soft knock on the door. We both turned to see the nurse standing in the doorway.
“We’re ready to discharge you now, Judy,” the nurse said.
I quickly used the back of my hand to dab the tears that had formed in my eyes.
The nurse and I both helped my mother ease out of bed and into a wheelchair. My mother’s arms felt frail and light under the soft pink terry robe that she was wearing, and her words echoed through my head.
For five years I had done everything in my power to ease my mother’s pain and make her as happy and comfortable as I could. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for mom. There were even times that I wished that I could transfer her cancer into my body, so that I was the one growing frail and weak instead of her.
So, if I was willing to do anything to make my mother happy, why couldn’t I honor her dying wish? If it would bring my mother true peace and happiness, why couldn’t I just get married?