remembered the families huddled together, trying to gain comfort and hope from one another. She remembered the young father who looked so lost sitting with his two little girls squeezed up next to him while he read stories and waited to hear if their mother would live or die. He had broken down and sobbed when he was given the good news by the smiling surgeon.
And she remembered the elderly woman who was sitting all alone until Kate and her sisters walked in. She decided to keep them company, told them she was waiting to hear if her husband of forty years was going to survive bypass surgery. She told one story after another and another and wouldn’t let anyone else get a word in. Faster and faster the woman talked until Kate’s head was spinning. At one point Kate pictured herself sitting there with giant cotton balls stuffed in her ears. It was an uncharitable thought, but the image did make it easier to smile through the woman’s endless chatter.
Waiting was always a miserable experience. Today was no exception. Jordan wasn’t taken into the OR until a little after ten, and she’d been ready since six-thirty. An emergency had caused the delay. Kate was able to stay with her in preop, but when Jordan was wheeled away, a volunteer who looked about twelve years old showed Kate the way to the surgical waiting room.
She led her down a maze of corridors, and Kate soon became suspicious that the girl didn’t know where she was going. It seemed they had made a complete circle and finally found the waiting area by chance.
There were actually two waiting rooms with a desk and a phone manned by another volunteer in between. The larger room was packed, and after giving her name to the woman behind the desk, Kate went into the smaller room.
A family of five, all with red-rimmed eyes, was just leaving as she walked in. There weren’t any other people, and Kate was thankful she was alone. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to strangers. She sat down in the corner by the window, picked up a magazine, and promptly put it back. She was too nervous to read.
The truth was that she wanted to sit down and have a good cry, but she couldn’t do that, of course.
Kate reached for another magazine and noticed how her hands were shaking. Get a grip, she told herself. Jordan would be okay. It was just a little bump, not a lump, and everything was going to be all right. Except that the surgeon had been so grim about it. According to Jordan, anyway, but then Jordan tended to overreact.
Now who was she trying to fool? Her friend never overreacted. She was too . . . practical . . . and cautious to a fault.
The key to an effective pep talk was honesty, she decided, and so Kate decided to come up with some honest reasons why everything would be okay.
She paced back and forth while she thought about it. All right then. Jordan had told her that the surgeon had been quite grim. Maybe he had to anticipate the worst so that he would be prepared, and he needed to prepare his patient for the worst, too, didn’t he? Wasn’t that part of his Hippocratic oath or something?
How convoluted was that reasoning? Time for a little realism. Yes, it was true that one of Jordan’s aunts on her mother’s side of the family had died because of a lump she had pretended wasn’t there until it was too late. And yes, there was a cousin on the same side of the family who had also been given the same diagnosis. But so what? The cousin was in her late eighties, and so was Jordan’s aunt, wasn’t she? Which meant that statistically the odds were on Jordan’s side, and she should and would have a happy, healthy life for the next sixty-five years, give or take a few.
Except that she’d found the lump last week, not sixty-five years from now.
That reminder took the wind out of Kate. She sat down and bowed her head. She was suddenly so tired she could barely think. Early detection was important, right? And Jordan, her sister, Sydney, and their mother had all taken
And she remembered the elderly woman who was sitting all alone until Kate and her sisters walked in. She decided to keep them company, told them she was waiting to hear if her husband of forty years was going to survive bypass surgery. She told one story after another and another and wouldn’t let anyone else get a word in. Faster and faster the woman talked until Kate’s head was spinning. At one point Kate pictured herself sitting there with giant cotton balls stuffed in her ears. It was an uncharitable thought, but the image did make it easier to smile through the woman’s endless chatter.
Waiting was always a miserable experience. Today was no exception. Jordan wasn’t taken into the OR until a little after ten, and she’d been ready since six-thirty. An emergency had caused the delay. Kate was able to stay with her in preop, but when Jordan was wheeled away, a volunteer who looked about twelve years old showed Kate the way to the surgical waiting room.
She led her down a maze of corridors, and Kate soon became suspicious that the girl didn’t know where she was going. It seemed they had made a complete circle and finally found the waiting area by chance.
There were actually two waiting rooms with a desk and a phone manned by another volunteer in between. The larger room was packed, and after giving her name to the woman behind the desk, Kate went into the smaller room.
A family of five, all with red-rimmed eyes, was just leaving as she walked in. There weren’t any other people, and Kate was thankful she was alone. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to strangers. She sat down in the corner by the window, picked up a magazine, and promptly put it back. She was too nervous to read.
The truth was that she wanted to sit down and have a good cry, but she couldn’t do that, of course.
Kate reached for another magazine and noticed how her hands were shaking. Get a grip, she told herself. Jordan would be okay. It was just a little bump, not a lump, and everything was going to be all right. Except that the surgeon had been so grim about it. According to Jordan, anyway, but then Jordan tended to overreact.
Now who was she trying to fool? Her friend never overreacted. She was too . . . practical . . . and cautious to a fault.
The key to an effective pep talk was honesty, she decided, and so Kate decided to come up with some honest reasons why everything would be okay.
She paced back and forth while she thought about it. All right then. Jordan had told her that the surgeon had been quite grim. Maybe he had to anticipate the worst so that he would be prepared, and he needed to prepare his patient for the worst, too, didn’t he? Wasn’t that part of his Hippocratic oath or something?
How convoluted was that reasoning? Time for a little realism. Yes, it was true that one of Jordan’s aunts on her mother’s side of the family had died because of a lump she had pretended wasn’t there until it was too late. And yes, there was a cousin on the same side of the family who had also been given the same diagnosis. But so what? The cousin was in her late eighties, and so was Jordan’s aunt, wasn’t she? Which meant that statistically the odds were on Jordan’s side, and she should and would have a happy, healthy life for the next sixty-five years, give or take a few.
Except that she’d found the lump last week, not sixty-five years from now.
That reminder took the wind out of Kate. She sat down and bowed her head. She was suddenly so tired she could barely think. Early detection was important, right? And Jordan, her sister, Sydney, and their mother had all taken
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