Understanding settled over the room like a weighted blanket. It wasn’t comforting. Here, no one’s differences or details mattered. They all knew Chickie’s story and how hard she’d already fought to breathe. Now they were watching her battle end-stage lung cancer up close.
For weeks, Dr. Tedrow preached the benefits of a positive mental outlook, but that was hard, dammit. Hard when Monique was adrift, isolated, picking at old wounds, and estranged from everyone except her twins. And the house grew quieter every day. Cancer had scarred her, and not just on the outside.
“Okay,” Dr. Tedrow said, a little too cheery, drawing attention away from Chickie. “Mo is ringing in the new year in paradise, kind of epitomizing our charge to Thrive with Cancer. So, who else? What will you reinforce this week?”
While she wanted to celebrate Tommie’s happiness, she didn’t really want to go. Tommie Lane, though, did not take no for an answer. Ever. And according to her kids and everyone else who voiced their unsolicited opinions, this trip would be good for her.
If only she could believe that.
When Monique next looked up, the room was emptying. She’d been so lost in her spiraling thoughts that she’d missed everyone’s reinforcements and well-wishes as they departed. Now she sat alone with a psychologist who probably still got carded when buying liquor.
“I wanted to check in with you,” he said, leaning on the desk across from her. “See how things are now that your children are home for the holidays.”
Late December in Chicago, and this guy dressed like he was in Key West. The socks and sandals were almost too much.
“Yeah,” Monique said, gathering her things to signal that she had no time for private check-ins. She had cancer. It sucked and could take up too much space in her head if she gave it more room—like the couple of hours spent in this group each week. But Monique was a master at handling unpleasant things.Keep it moving.
“I’m good, Doc—”
“Derek.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, Mo, we’ve been at this long enough. I thought we’d be friends by now. Still with the formalities?”
Monique shook her head. “Yeah, I just wasn’t raised like that.”
“Okay,” Dr. Tedrow said with a sigh as he leaned back. “Tell me. How are things?”
If she didn’t give him something, she’d be there all night.
“Last round of treatment and scans weren’t too long ago. Just kind of a wait-and-see now.” She stood, pulling her purse strap onto her shoulder and glancing toward her coat hanging on the hook by the door. If she looked at him with all his earnest concern and helpfulness, Monique didn’t know what she’d do.
“But your numbers look great. No evidence of disease. It’s okay to celebrate being in remission, Monique.” He made his next words more pointed. “Youshouldcelebrate.”
No evidence of disease.“Sure, everything looks good and all, but you know…” She shrugged and walked away.
Remission was just a word, one she had reveled in this time last year. And then they cut her back open and cleaned out rogue cells that had managed to evade CT scans and tumor markers. In the process, they had cleared out what little hope she had left too. Yeah, she’d wait and see before celebrating. Cancer wasn’t going to catch her slipping again.
Her knuckles found that spot on her hip again and pressed down.
Dr. Tedrow moved almost silently behind her. The soft curls that now covered her head weren’t enough to cushion the impact of his precise, dewdrop-blue gaze.
“You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m here to help.”
Monique took a deep breath to stop herself from breaking into a full sprint out the open door. Coat be damned.
“Being a single person with a cancer diagnosis can seem limiting, but you didn’t do anything wrong. Try to accept the positive change in status, Monique. Be in the moment.” He said these things as if he knew first-hand what he was talking about. “No one deserves cancer, but everyone deserves love.”
Those encouraging words were misdirected, though. Monique had plenty of people she loved.
“I’m going to spend time with the people I love right now,” she said as she grabbed her coat. The sharp bite of her words ricocheted across the aged cinder-block walls and linoleum flooring. She worked her arms into her coat sleeves—the healing but still-tender port scar on her upper chest reminded her of its presence with every swift movement.
“I don’t doubt that,” he said, grabbing his too-thin coat off the back of a chair and following her out the door, then into the hall. “Your kids are great. Thoughtful and loving, just like you. But I wonder… who sees your pains and all those wonderful parts too? Who sees beyond just what you’re capable of?”
Dr. Tedrow lingered there for a moment as if he knew he’d asked an unanswerable question and took preternatural satisfaction in puzzling unsuspecting victims.
Then he turned on his Birkenstock-ed heel and drifted in the opposite direction.
A light snow joined Monique on her drive home. In her headlights, icy snowflakes danced in a kaleidoscope of holiday cheer. Her neighbors always did the block up. Kwanzaa kinaras now joined fat Christmas trees in front windows as she drove past.
Turning into the alley was like a switch had been slapped off. Her view became a dull, dark gray-brown as she pulled into the garage and made her way up the back walk to let herself into the Chicago bungalow she’d lived in most of her life.