Appearances by Sondra Helene

Author:Sondra Helene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2019-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

On Iressa, Elizabeth has more energy than she ever had on chemo. She swallows a pill each morning and makes the pilgrimage to Beth Israel once a month for a blood test with Dr. Varghas to assess the drug’s efficacy. Otherwise, she’s back to life as usual, managing cancer as a chronic disease. Sitting near the fish tanks for her first monthly appointment, however, she simmers with anxiety.

“I don’t look like her, right?” she asks, gesturing discreetly to a pale woman with no eyebrows, wearing a scarf.

“Of course not,” I say. Amazing how the inside of the body doesn’t translate to the outside. Today Elizabeth wears tight jeans, a pale pink sweater, and navy Chanel flats. She has fringed her blue eyes with strokes of mascara. Although her natural hair is still thin and wispy, she looks chic. “You don’t even look sick,” I say.

Elizabeth smiles. “Let’s go to London, see a show.” We were scheduled to go with our mother, but we canceled after 9/11, and we never rescheduled when she got sick.

Scanning the waiting room, my habit, I can’t help but fixate on a wheelchair cradling an emaciated old man. I look away and land on a young white woman with ashen skin and hollow eyes, chemo’s signature, sitting with her “chemo club” support group. Her friends wear false smiles and muster up overzealous laughter in their efforts to deny her certain death. I understand how they feel. Because I am a chemo club of one. Today, however, my sister is the image of health: glowing skin, bright eyes, and regained weight—very much at odds with her surroundings.

I can tell from our first moments with Dr. Varghas that he will be discreet about our encounter at Starbucks. I watch my sister’s oncologist more closely than usual as he scans his computer and examines the scans, mentally replacing his dress slacks and white coat with red running shorts.

“Looks good, looks good,” the doctor assures us. “There is very little cancer now in your lungs. Iressa is doing its job. You could run a marathon if you wanted.”

Elizabeth and I look at each other and smile.

“Guess we should start training,” I say, which makes Elizabeth laugh. As much as we both like to exercise, a marathon has never appealed to either of us.

“This is fabulous news,” I say more soberly, catching Dr. Varghas’s eyes. “As for the marathon, we’ll leave that to David, our brother.” He’s run two marathons, competed in a dozen triathlons and, until Elizabeth got sick, was training for an Ironman.

“How long do you think Iressa will keep working?” Elizabeth asks. “Will a pill cure the cancer in my lungs?”

Dr. Varghas touches the tips of his fingers, considering Elizabeth’s question. Answering carefully, he says, “It would be highly unusual for a complete remission. But you’re stable, which is excellent news. Let’s take it month by month.”

After a long, uncomfortable pause, my sister relents with a quiet “okay.”

Leaving the hospital, I realize that neither Elizabeth nor I wants to accept less than perfection.

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