“Hi, Mom. How's it going?”
“Everything's fine, dear.” She glanced across the room at Jane. “Your daughter is beating me at Parcheesi. Alexander just went to sleep. He's so cute. He drank the whole bottle, gave me a big smile, and went right to sleep in my arms. He didn't even move when I put him down.” It was all so normal, except that Liz should have been telling him that and not his mother. He should have been at the store for a meeting, and she should have been telling him that all was well at home. Instead, she was in the hospital being poisoned by chemotherapy, and his mother was watching the children. “How does she feel?” She lowered her voice so Jane wouldn't be as aware of the conversation, but she was listening intently anyway, so much so that she moved Ruth's man on the Parcheesi board instead of her own. Later she would tease her about it and accuse her of cheating. She knew why it had happened, but she needed a little levity in her life. There wasn't much of that these days. And she was only eight years old. But there was a profound sadness about the child, just under the surface, and it was almost impossible to cheer her.
“She's all right. She's asleep now. We should be home by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“We'll be here. Bernie, is there anything you need? Are you hungry?” It was odd seeing his mother so domestic. In Scarsdale she left everything to Hattie. But these were unusual times, for all of them. Especially Liz and Bernie.
“I'm fine. Give Jane a kiss for me, and I'll see you tomorrow, Mom.”
“Good night, darling. Give Liz our love when she wakes up.”
“Is Mommy okay?” Jane turned to Ruth with terror in her eyes as Ruth crossed the room to give her a hug.
“She's fine, darling, and she sent you her love. And she'll be home in the morning.” She thought it would be more reassuring if the love came from Liz and not Bernie.
But in the morning, Liz awoke with a new pain. Suddenly she felt as though all of the ribs on one side were breaking. It was a sudden sharp pain that had never happened before, and she reported it to Dr. Johanssen, who called the oncologist in and the bone man. And they sent her upstairs for an X ray and another bone scan before she went home.
The news was not good when they got it a few hours later. The chemotherapy wasn't working. She had metastasized further. They let her go home, but Johanssen told Bernie that it was the beginning of the end. From now on, the pain would increase and they would do what they could to help her control the pain, but eventually very little would help her. Johanssen told him this in a little office down the hall from her room, and Bernie pounded his fist on the desk right under the doctor's nose.
“What the hell do you mean, there's very little you can do to help her? What is that supposed to mean, dammit!?” The doctor understood perfectly. He had every right to be angry, at the fates that had struck her down and the doctors who couldn't help her. “What do you goddamn guys do all day long? Take out splinters and lance boils on people's asses? The woman is dying of cancer and you're telling me there's very little you can do for the pain?” He began to sob as he sat across the desk staring at Johanssen. “What are we going to do for her …Oh God …somebody help her …”It was all over. And he knew it. And they were telling him there was very little they could do for her. She was going to die a death of agonizing pain. It wasn't right. It was the worst travesty of everything he believed that he had ever known. He wanted to shake someone until they told him that something could be changed, that Liz could be helped, that she would live, that it was all a terrible mistake and she didn't have cancer.
He laid his head down on the desk and cried, and feeling desperately sorry for him and totally helpless, Dr. Johanssen waited, and in a moment, he went to get him a glass of water. He handed it to Bernie with sad Nordic eyes and shook his head. “I know how terrible it is, and I'm so sorry, Mr. Fine. We'll do everything we can. I just wanted you to understand our limitations.”
“What does that mean?” Bernie's eyes were those of a dying man. He felt as though his heart was being torn from him.
“We'll start her on Demerol pills, or Percodan if she prefers. And eventually, we'll move her to injections. Dilaudid, Demerol, morphine if that works better for her. She'll get increasingly large doses and we'll keep her as comfortable as we can.”
“Can I give her the shots myself?” He'd do anything to ease the pain.
“If you like, or you may want a nurse for her eventually. I know you have two small children.”
He suddenly thought of their summer plans. “Do you think we'd be able to go to Stinson Beach, or do you think we should stay closer to the city?”
“I see no harm in going to the beach. It might do you all good to have a change of scene, especially Liz, and you're only half an hour away. I go there myself sometimes. It's good for the soul.”
Bernie nodded grimly, and set down the glass of water the doctor had given him. “She loves it.”
“Then by all means take her.”
“What about her teaching?” Suddenly their whole life had to be thought out again. And it was still spring. She had weeks more of school. “Should she quit now?”
“That's entirely up to her. It won't do her any harm, if that's what you're afraid of. But she may not feel up to it if the pain bothers her too much. Why don't you let her set her own pace.” He stood up, and Bernie sighed.
“What are you going to tell her? Are you going to tell her that it's in her bones?”
“I don't think I have to. I think she knows from the pain that the disease is advancing. I don't think we need to demoralize her with these reports”—he looked at Bernie questioningly—”unless you feel we should tell her.” Bernie was quick to shake his head, wondering how much more bad news they could take, or if they were doing the wrong thing. Maybe he should take her to Mexico for laetrile, or put her on a macrobiotic diet, or go to Lourdes, or the Christian Science Church. He kept hearing remarkable tales of people who had been healed of cancer through outlandish diets, or hypnosis or faith, and what they were trying was obviously not working. But he also knew that Liz didn't want to try the other stuff. She didn't want to go haywire and run all over the world on a wild-goose chase. She wanted to be home with her husband and her kids, teaching at the school where she had taught for years. She only wanted to go so far, and she wanted her life to remain as close as possible to what it had been when it was normal.
“Hi, sweetheart, all set?” She was dressed and waiting in her room, in a new wig his mother had brought out. This one looked so real he couldn't even tell it wasn't her hair, and other than the dark circles under her eyes and the fact that she was so thin, she looked very pretty. She was wearing a light blue shirtwaist dress and matching espadrilles and the blond hair of the wig cascaded over her shoulders much the way her own hair would have.
“What did they tell you?” She looked worried. She knew something was wrong. The ribs hurt too much, and it was a sharp pain like nothing she'd ever had before.
“Nothing much. Nothing new. The chemo seems to be working.”
Liz looked up at her doctor. “Then why do my ribs hurt so much?”
“Have you been picking up the baby a lot?” He smiled at her, and she nodded, thinking back. She carried him all the time. He wasn't walking yet, and he always wanted to be carried.
“Yes.”
“And how much does he weigh?”
She smiled at the question. “The pediatrician wants to put him on a diet. He weighs twenty-six pounds.”
“Does that answer your question?” It didn't, but it was a noble attempt and Bernie was grateful to him.