Eddie thought she was in mourning for Shiba. It worried him that she was so restless. One day, he suggested that they get a new puppy, but Mass gave a definite no. “This time you’re not going to persuade me,” she said.
She went back to the hospital, where she went through endless tests. Everyone was friendly toward her. She wondered if that was because they realized how worried she was. But then she thought probably not, because they had to deal with so many people and were practiced at it. When she was finally done, she put her clothes back on and took the elevator down to the café. Now she just had to wait for another letter. In the past few weeks, she had started to experience stomach pains and had lost some weight. Even though that was something she had wanted for a long time, she knew this weight loss was due to something else, which wasn’t good. She sat there with a cup of coffee and studied the other people. She thought they were moving so slowly, that all the voices just merged into a hum that rose and fell. Then she drove back home to Eddie. She didn’t tell him anything about what she had been through.
One day, he came in with the newspaper and put the mail down on the kitchen table.
“There’s a letter for you from Vestre Viken Health Authority,” he said. “Are you going in for a mammogram?” He could just imagine his mother’s heavy breasts pressed together between two glass plates, and he was sure that she didn’t like standing half naked in front of strangers.
“No,” she said evasively. “It’s something else.” She picked up the letter and then put it back down on the table.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked. “What is it?”
She sat with the envelope in her hands. “Can you get me a knife?” she said wearily.
He fetched a knife for her, and she opened the envelope. She read the few lines on the page. They asked her to come to the hospital for a consultation with Dr. Bromann, in connection with the examinations and tests that had been done.
“It’s just the results of some tests,” she said bravely to Eddie. “I have to go in on Friday and talk to the doctor.”
“I want to come too,” Eddie said swiftly. He didn’t like the white envelope and his mother’s evasive eyes.
“No, I’ll go on my own,” she said. “You don’t need to hold my hand. I’m a big girl now.”
“I know. I just thought you might like the company.”
She shook her head and put the letter down. She couldn’t look her son in the eye.
The shelves were filled with books and there were great piles of paper everywhere. Bromann was sitting on a high-backed chair. He had a large melancholy face and some thinning tufts of fine white hair. When Mass entered his office, he got up to greet her.
“Please, sit down,” he said kindly. “We have a lot to talk about.”
She put her handbag down beside the chair and waited for the judgment.
“So, Thomasine,” he started, “you have had a series of tests done, and you are probably quite tired of it all. And no doubt a little confused.”
“Yes,” she said, “I’m exhausted.”
“But we had to make sure it was a thorough examination, and we’ve found a number of things. I’ll go through them one by one and will try not to use too much terminology, so you can understand.”
She didn’t say anything. She realized that something was about to happen, something she had always feared.
“First of all, you have jaundice,” he said. “You have pains in your stomach and you’ve lost weight. You also have pain in your back, which is worst when you are lying down. Your blood counts are all over the place. And we noticed something in your bones when we did the MRI scan. And the ultrasound.”
“Gosh, that doesn’t sound good,” Mass said in an anxious voice.
“Well, it isn’t entirely good,” Bromann said and looked her straight in the eyes. He didn’t blink.
Mass noticed the most absurd things: that his glasses were smeared, that there was a dent on the bridge of his nose. She felt as if she were standing on the shore and a wall of water was rushing toward her.
“I’m afraid I have to tell you that you have full-blown cancer of the pancreas,” he said.
Mass gasped. “You mean tumors? Malignant?”
“Yes. Several of them.”
“But they can be taken out?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Why not?”
“Normally, we can operate,” he told her, “but not in this instance.”
“But dear God, why not?”
He sank into his high-backed chair. “Because unfortunately it has already spread to your bones. You have been ill for a long time without realizing it. This particular cancer has only a few and rather diffuse symptoms.”
The tidal wave engulfed her. In a matter of seconds, she understood she was going to die. She thought she might collapse on his desk and Bromann would gather her up in his strong arms.
“But what about Eddie?” she sobbed. “He can’t cope alone.”
“Your husband?”
“No, he’s gone. I’ve only got a son. He lives at home with me because he needs help and he’s on disability.”
Bromann nodded. The sympathy he felt for the woman sitting opposite him who was soon to die was in danger of making him lose his professionalism.
“What is his diagnosis?”
“He doesn’t have one,” Mass wailed. “But he can’t work. He’s incapable; he doesn’t fit in. But he manages fine at home with me.”
“Can you tell me what sort of things he can do and what he can’t?”
“He’s very slow and cautious, but his brain is good. He gets anxious when I leave the house. When he was small, he suffered from separation anxiety, and he’s still frightened of strangers even now. He seldom goes out. He’s twenty-one years old and he will live at home with me until I die. And now you’ve told me that I’m just about to die. Because that is what you’re telling me, isn’t it?”
She looked at him in desperation. “Can I not have a marrow transplant?”
“No,” Bromann said. “I’m afraid it’s too late.”
“But when am I going to die, then?”
“I understand why you ask. The cancer is quite far advanced, but you know, even doctors can be wrong. You will be given chemotherapy.”
“And then I’ll lose my hair?”
“Do you think that’s so bad?”
“No, I’ve never been that vain. But Eddie will be scared.” She picked up her handbag, opened it, and looked for a tissue. She didn’t have any, so she put the bag down again. “Is it a matter of months? Or maybe a year?”
“We would normally reckon on three to six months. But in your case, unfortunately, it may be sooner.”
Mass sat with her eyes closed. She was sinking, sinking, sinking. Eddie alone in the house, it would never work. He had no concept of cleaning. Would he even be able to make himself food?
She felt sick. Her mouth was dry. “Can I die at home?” she asked in a faint voice.
“Yes,” Bromann said. “If that’s what you want, but it won’t be easy. You will be supported by the palliative care unit at the hospital. They will visit you at home. And as far as your son is concerned, we’ll make sure he gets all the help he needs from the social care services. We’ll send a request to the council as soon as possible.”
“No,” Mass said wildly. “You don’t know what he’s like!”
He asked if she had someone she could talk to, other than her son. She said no. She got up, but her legs would scarcely carry her.
“What am I going to say to Eddie?”
Bromann followed her to the door. “You have to tell him the truth. Don’t leave him in the dark. Given what’s coming, you have to work together. And you might have important things to say to each other.”