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“Good,” I lied. “I’ve been keeping busy.”
“Me too,” Helen said, but she fell quiet as we drove. The medical center wasn’t far from her house, but it felt like the longest car journey I’d ever done. I racked my brain for something comforting to say, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw the news footage of those murder scenes again. I sat in silence, hoping that it wasn’t uncomfortable for Helen, and felt a rush of relief when we pulled up at the center.
The blonde-haired woman behind the counter checked Helen’s details and told us to take a seat. There were other people in the waiting room, reading books or scrolling through their phones. None of them paid much attention to us as Helen and I sat together beneath the window. Xavier chose a seat far away enough to give us privacy, but close enough to jump up if Nathan came running through the sliding doors.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Helen.
“Nervous,” she said. “But I’ve beaten this thing before. I can do it again.” She set her jaw firmly and stared straight ahead at the receptionist, who was on the phone. “How about you?” She glanced back at Xavier. “Really?”
I couldn’t lie anymore.
“Not so good,” I admitted. “I’m afraid of my ex.”
Helen glanced over at Xavier, who looked like a professional bodyguard in his dark clothes.
“I wondered if that’s why your friend joined us.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s why he’s here.”
A man in a suit with a clipboard walked into the doorway and read Helen’s name without looking at her.
“Helen Williams?”
The color drained out of Helen’s face as she stood up.
“Yes?”
“Right this way, please.”
“Would you like me to come with you?” I asked and squeezed her hand. Helen hesitated, squeezed her eyes shut, and said, “Yes, please.”
I glanced back at Xavier and he gave me a grim nod.
The man led us through the doorway and down a long corridor that had doors along both sides. Most of the doors were closed, but one was open, and there was a huge MRI machine in the middle of the room that I recognized from my mom’s hospital visits.
They’d asked her to lie on a padded bench that reversed itself into the huge donut-shaped machine, and the donut whirred as the mechanism spun. I was twelve, old enough to understand that the doctors were trying to help my mom, but still young enough to be scared, especially when the only part of her I could see were her legs. After a few long terrifying moments of watching from behind the glass, convinced that the machine was ripping mom apart, the bench slid itself out of the donut and I ran to my mom, relieved that she was okay.
The office the man led us into looked like an ordinary doctor’s office, with a desk, a bed, and medical charts and equipment. Helen sat next to the desk, and I took the chair next to her while the doctor read through his notes. His name badge saidDr. N. Russo.
“So Helen,” he said, ignoring me. “We’ve done an MRI and a biopsy, and unfortunately, your cancer is no longer in remission.”
I squeezed Helen’s hand. I could tell she’d been preparing herself for this information, from the stiffness in her back and the way she barely reacted, but her heart was breaking.
“What does that mean?” she asked. “More chemo?”
The doctor didn’t move.
“Well, yes, if we can’t remove all the cancerous cells. But I think we can, and a mastectomy is the first step.”
“You mean removing my breasts? Not just the cancer?”
Helen’s voice sounded flat.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “I know you’ve been reluctant to go down that path, but I think it’s our best shot. We’ll put our most experienced surgeons on it, and by removing all the breast tissue, hopefully we’ll stop the cancer from reoccurring.”
Helen looked crushed, and I didn’t blame her. I’d be crushed if I was told my breasts had to be removed too. They were sexual, feminine, and there whenever I looked in the mirror. They represented so much of my identity as a woman.
“We should be able to do an immediate reconstruction while you’re in the operating theater,” the doctor said, more gently. “That means inserting implants as soon as we remove your breast tissue, and they’ll look and feel more or less the same. The only difference is that we won’t be able to reattach the nipples.”
