Love And Miss Communication Part 8

Jeez, she really was the last to know.

"Sam the Man. So, then what, after the lump is taken out?" Evie asked.

"Let me explain to you a bit about breast anatomy," Gold said. He got up from his desk and took a few steps toward her. She didn't know if she was supposed to unb.u.t.ton her cardigan.

"The breast is surrounded by lymph nodes that drain fluid to the underarms," he said, pointing at an anatomical poster on the wall behind Evie's chair and motioning for her to look at it with him. She felt like such an idiot for even thinking he was going to use her body as his teaching tool.

As she rose from her seat, Dr. Gold's phone rang.

"Sorry, let me just take this. I've been expecting an important call."

"Of course," Evie said, distancing herself slightly from the D-cup breast imagery on his wall.

"This is Edward Gold," he said, phone nestled between his face and shoulder, his hands rustling through the tower of papers on his desk. He paused to put on the gla.s.ses that were resting next to his computer.

"Nice to hear from you so quickly," he said. "Of course, of course . . . Yes, yes. I can get down to Washington next month," he responded, with a huge smile on his face. "Well, that's great news. I agree, I think spectral karyotyping is key." Dr. Gold dug his free hand into his thick dirty-blond hair and mussed it into a crazy professor style. "The first trial was very successful . . . I appreciate that . . . Yes, the Tamoxifen study could be taken further. My team is going to be very excited . . . At NIH offices, absolutely. Thank you for calling."

Dr. Gold put down the phone and rejoined Evie.

"Sorry about that. Anyway, like I was saying before, when I remove the lump, I'm also going to remove the first draining lymph nodes and test them for cancerous cells. I hope very much that after the surgery we'll conclude that the cancer hasn't spread into the lymph nodes."

He took the seat next to Evie instead of returning to his desk. She felt important in his presence, especially after that mysterious phone call, for which he offered no explanation.

"Evie, I'm going to help Bette fight this. She has a top-notch team at Sloan. I want you to relax and just be there to support her. And I'm always here for you. Don't hesitate to call me anytime with questions," he said.

He filled her in on more of the nitty-gritty details of the surgery and what Bette could expect recovery-wise. She hoped he appreciated that she just listened to what he had to say and didn't try to outsmart him with her degree in Internet Medicine. She knew it drove Rick and Stasia crazy when people acted like insta-doctors after visiting mayoclinic.org.

"I really appreciate everything you're doing."

"It's my job. Do you have any questions?"

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you decide to go into this kind of medicine?" Evie asked, surprising herself with the completely out-of-left-field interrogatory. The guy had just mentioned the National Inst.i.tutes of Health on a phone call. Why was she not more intimidated? Not to mention respectful of his time.

"My girlfriend in medical school died of breast cancer. I thought I was going to be a heart surgeon or maybe a neurologist. But when she died at the age of twenty-eight, I just felt compelled to change course. I'd also lost an aunt to breast cancer the year before. It affects women of all ages, from all backgrounds. Even men."

"Wow, I'm so sorry. That must have been devastating."

"It was awful," he said. "You know, I deal with a lot of patients and their families, but so few of them ever ask me why I do what I do."

"Oh," Evie said, uncertain how he felt about her prying. "I hope you don't mind that I did, Dr. Gold."

"Not at all, I'm enjoying talking to you," he said. "Please call me Edward by the way."

"Okay, I will," Evie said, not sure she actually would.

"Anyway, I really think the experience of losing a loved one helps me connect with patients a lot better than I would have otherwise," he said.

"I totally get that. I just basically got fired and now I connect with unemployed people more than I used to," Evie said. "It's all about the human experience."

What the f.u.c.k was she saying?

Edward nodded in agreement, possibly just to save her from embarra.s.sment.

"So is that your daughter?" Evie asked, gesturing to the picture on his shelf.

"Yep. Olivia is four," Gold said, visibly melting. "She's adorable. And doing really great now."

What's with the "now"? Was she sick too?

"Well, she's gorgeous. I see she's got your dimple," Evie said. "I love children," she added, somewhat gratuitously. She really did love little kids though, babies too-especially chubby ones with ample thighs and wrists that spilled over onto their hands. Caroline's younger daughter had cheeks like marshmallows, alabaster and soft and impossible to resist pecking.

"Best thing in life," the doctor said, and Evie reveled in the simplicity of his views.

"Oh, I noticed from your wall of honor that you also lecture at Mount Sinai." Evie pointed to the countless framed certificates in Latin behind her. Edward visibly blushed. "My friend's husband trained there. Do you know Rick Howell?"

"Yes. That was my first teaching job. I met Rick in my surgery seminar. He's your friend's husband? I didn't realize he was married."

"Oh, yeah, he's been married to my best friend from college for like three years now. They're the most perfect couple. It's actually pretty annoying." Evie didn't think she'd ever said that out loud before, though the thought had taken up permanent residence in her frontal lobe. What a ridiculous time and place for her to come clean.

"I doubt they're perfect."

"No, they are, trust me," Evie said, surprised by the detour their conversation had taken.

"You look like your grandmother, I think," Dr. Gold said, changing course again.

"Really?" Evie asked, surprisingly flattered, considering she was being compared to an octogenarian.

"Yes, the green eyes," Gold said, though he wasn't even looking at her anymore. He seemed occupied sorting through patients' charts that he had pulled from a file cabinet.

"Same genes," Evie said, and then felt foolish for explaining to a medical professional that they shared DNA.

"Speaking of that, though," Evie said, "I have been wondering if I should get myself checked out. You know, for lumps?"

Now Dr. Gold focused his eyes squarely on her face, almost like he was scared he would look at her chest after she mentioned her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"If you are feeling concerned, then yes. Though I think you can probably wait until you are forty. It could be useful to have a baseline mammogram done at thirty-five."

"I've actually been pretty worried since Bette got sick. I tried to give myself a breast exam but I had no idea what I was doing. Is that something you could do?" Evie asked. "I mean, I'd make an appointment of course." She didn't want Gold to think she was hoping for a freebie.

"Um, I don't think that's a good idea," he said. "But I can refer you to someone excellent."

"Oh, okay. I understand." Maybe asking him to give her a breast exam was like stopping Annie Leibovitz on the street to snap her picture. "I know you have much more important things to do."

"No, it's not that," he said. "Let me give you the card of the doctor I typically refer to. But really, I wouldn't worry. Given Bette's age, I doubt there's a genetic component to her illness."

Evie relaxed, taking the card he produced from his desk and putting it in her bag, which was a giant tote from Columbia Law School that she used to lug her textbooks in. She hoped Gold noticed it because she felt like she'd said some pretty foolish things during their meeting.

"As I'm sure Bette told you, the surgery is scheduled for three weeks from today-October sixth. It's my first opening."

"So far away?" Evie asked, surprised. "There's no one available to do it sooner?" Dr. Gold seemed quite competent, and he certainly was a pleasure to look at, but didn't it make sense to get the tumor out as soon as possible?

"Bette interviewed a few surgeons, but chose to go with me. Unfortunately, I have surgeries scheduled back to back and I'm taking a week's vacation in between. Don't worry-Bette is perfectly safe to wait three weeks to have the tumor removed," he said. "Patients often choose to wait if they want a certain doctor or even because of their own work schedules."

His last point made Evie think about Patricia Douglas, the litigation partner from Baker Smith who made partner after only seven years as an a.s.sociate and was the youngest member of the firm's management, partnership, and recruiting committees. Her rise in the firm's ranks was nearly apocryphal. Would Patricia, were she handed a diagnosis of breast cancer, wait for a case to settle before scheduling her surgery? Almost definitely. That thought alone made Evie glad to be done with the place.

"Okay then, Dr. Gold, I guess I'll see you in October," Evie said, though she remained anch.o.r.ed in her seat. She wasn't ready for their conversation to end but couldn't think of any reason to prolong her visit.

She supposed she just yearned for the company of men. She missed the guys from her office-the ones she mock flirted with for sport and who often flirted back. She even missed dating, not that she was particularly great at it. Conversation with friends was a breeze for her, and the give-and-take of sharing opinions and stories was second nature. But on dates, especially first ones, she often found herself unsure of how much to say and ask. Sometimes she set out on a fact-finding expedition, and her dates looked like suspects cooking under the hot lights in an interrogation room. Other times, she'd ramble, orally presenting her memoirs to a glazed dinner companion. Neither proved a winning formula.

By now, it had been a few months since she'd summarized her life story to a perfect stranger. She hadn't sat side by side with a guy at a noisy bar or across from one at some happening restaurant waiting to feel the spark that never seemed to ignite. Normally she'd return home from a date feeling exhausted, climb into bed and review her mistakes. From the antic.i.p.ation to the preparation to the conversation to the instant replay at home, the whole process could be excruciating.

How was it that in spite of the h.e.l.laciousness of the dating world, she found she longed to be a part of it again?

The doctor stood up.

"I've got rounds to do now," he said. "But here's my card. Contact me any time with any questions."

"Thank you so much. I'd actually like to request that you keep me in the loop on everything-any updates and any decisions that need to be made. I don't think my grandmother will object."

"You got it. It was really great meeting you. Sorry it's under these circ.u.mstances, but I'm looking forward to talking again."

"I appreciate your time, Dr. Gold," Evie said.

"Edward, please," the doctor said, his sizable dimple making another grand appearance.

Back in her apartment, Evie found herself thinking about Dr. Gold. She was surprisingly intrigued by him, so much so that she'd actually forgotten to ask him a number of questions she had about Bette. She didn't know how long her grandmother's treatment would be, or if that was even known at this point. They'd never gotten around to discussing the survival rates. Maybe she'd subconsciously avoided asking him.

She decided to call Stasia at the lab. Stasia was doing Alzheimer's research but certainly would know more about breast cancer than Evie. Evie dialed her at work, but her research a.s.sistant said she had called in sick that morning. Evie tried her at home and was surprised when Rick answered.

"Evie, hi. Nice to hear from you. How are ya?"

"Been better. Is Stasia there?"

Rick paused before answering and Evie heard the tapping of shoes around the apartment.

"No, she's visiting her sister in Boston."

"Oh, okay. The lab said she was sick. Whatever. Wait-what are you doing home in the middle of the day? n.o.body's sinuses need draining anymore?"

Rick didn't skip a beat. "Just home because I forgot some patients' charts that I was reviewing last night. Heading back to the office in a few. You don't sound good, Evie. Can I help?"

She hesitated. Talking to Rick without Stasia present was new for her, though hardly inappropriate.

"It's my grandmother, Bette. She has breast cancer. I'm pretty freaked-out. I know she's already older, but still I can't imagine losing her." Evie felt tears well up in her eyes, but she forced herself to stay composed. "You know I lost my dad in college. I feel like I've had to deal with enough loss already. It's not fair."

"First of all, I'm sure your grandmother is going to be fine. This isn't my field, but honestly, I think it's generally treatable if detected early. I'm here for you if you need anything."

Hearing those words-"Evie, I'm here for you"-made her ache for the type of comfort she really sought in the larger picture. Strong hands to rub her back. An ear that was always at the ready. Her lip-biting and lump-swallowing were starting to fail her. She forced a deep inhalation.

"It wasn't detected early," Evie said, at last yielding to the tears. "She didn't get a mammogram for three years because she was worrying about me."

"I'm sure that's not true. Listen, Evie, you shouldn't be alone. You're on the West Side, aren't you? Off Columbus Avenue? I can come over in a little while. Or Stasia can, when she gets back in town."

At least she was more to him than his wife's college friend who sometimes tagged along on date night. Still, she resisted.

"Thanks, that's really sweet. But I'm fine. Honestly." He protested and she almost decided to have him come over, but then his beeper sounded, and while he placed her on hold she decided she was better off alone.

"Okay, I'm here," Rick said. "Though I do have to get back to the office. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Actually, there is something. What do you know about Dr. Edward Gold? I just came from his office and he said you know each other."

"Gold? Yep, the surgeon. He led a small group of us in a laparoscopy rotation. Really smart guy. He gets crazy grant money. I am pretty sure he was even short-listed for the President's Council of Advisors on Science. Bette is lucky he was able to fit her into his schedule."

It felt strangely intimate to hear Rick say her grandmother's name. It must be that whole bedside manner thing that doctors pride themselves on. Stasia told her there was actually a cla.s.s on this in medical school. It made her feel less special about the way Dr. Gold had treated her. That was just pro forma, she supposed, making patients and their families feel comfortable. At least she understood what the phone call Dr. Gold took was all about. He must have received another grant.

"Gold is terrific," Rick went on. "I actually remember that his wife and baby sat in on his lectures a few times. It was very cute."

"Well that's great to hear," Evie said, even though for some reason she got an icky feeling inside when Rick mentioned Gold's spouse.

"Listen, I'm going to head to the office, but Evie, take down my cell number."

She grabbed a pen and a sc.r.a.p of paper and jotted it down, unsure that she'd ever use it. "Thanks, Rick."

"Of course. Oh, and I'll tell Stasia to call you back."

Rick couldn't have been kinder, but she felt worse than ever when she rested her kitchen phone back in its cradle. All she could think about was how getting through her grandmother's illness, and her professional troubles, would be so much easier if she had somebody constant to support her. Stasia had Rick's shoulder available whenever anything went wrong, be it a missed promotion at the lab or even something really trivial like losing a new earring on the subway. Evie had her friends, but she couldn't rely on them indefinitely, could she? What if their busy lives juggling jobs, kids, and spouses eventually started to eclipse the strength of their college bond? Then what would happen to her, she just didn't know.

Chapter 8.

Days pa.s.sed, and Stasia did not return Evie's call. That, coupled with her absence from the lab and her revelation at Paul's wedding, got Evie thinking. Stasia must be pregnant. Evie had been expecting it for a while. Actually, preparing for it was more like it.

Now it all seemed obvious. Rick was home in the middle of the day to care for his wife. Stasia hated her pa.s.sive-aggressive sister in Boston. There was no way she'd visit her midweek for no reason. Rick didn't bring home charts to study at home. They were home midday because Stasia was brandishing a fetus and she and Rick needed to visit the doctor and read baby name books on the couch and have mock fights over nursery wallpaper choices.

How foolish she felt for even considering having Rick visit. He was busy with Stasia-holding back her straight, but not too flat, blond hair while she puked into the toilet. Rick was probably rolling his eyes during the call in a gesture to show Stasia he couldn't get Evie off the phone.

Once Stasia came clean about her pregnancy-she would likely keep it private until the first trimester pa.s.sed-that would make it official. Not only would Evie be the only single one and the only jobless one, she'd also be the only childless one. Caroline already had two little girls and a baseball team of stepchildren. Tracy was due in November. She calculated that Stasia would have her baby in the spring. What a way to celebrate turning thirty-five in May. Her birthday would probably fall on Stasia's baby's christening or on one of Caroline's girls' birthday parties. While everyone else was enjoying cake and smiling for pictures, Evie would be in the corner using a plastic knife to cut vertical lines into her wrists (although Caroline and Jerome usually rented the Plaza Palm Court for birthday parties, Eloise-style, so she'd probably have access to a real knife).

Evie took a deep, solemn breath. It wasn't that she necessarily ached for a child at this moment. But she knew it was something she did want in the not-too-distant future. If she'd married Jack, she'd happily have started a family by now. It was better to do it young anyway when the risks were lower. Evie thought back to something she'd seen online several years ago, before she met Jack. She was at work, perusing Match.com, when a pop-up ad exploded on her monitor. "FREEZE YOUR EGGS!" it said. Her instinct was to click it shut, but something compelled her to read the smaller print: At the time, Evie was outraged. How dare this company, obviously in cahoots with Match, scout her profile and target her for some sketchy egg-freezing scam? What were they going to do when she needed her "good" eggs-nuke them in the microwave? But now that it was three years later, and she was no closer to starting a family than she had been that day, she wished she'd found out more about this service. With her luck, by the time she got married and pregnant, her eggs would have salmonella.