Fine things (16 page)

Chapter 17

“I don't give a damn! I
won't!”
She was almost hysterical.

“Listen to me!”
He was shaking her, and they were both crying as they walked along. “I want you to come to New York with me …” He tried to fight for calm, for air …they had to be sensible …cancer didn't always have to mean the end …what the hell did this guy know anyway? …He himself had recommended them to four other specialists. A bone man, a lung man, a surgeon, and an oncologist. He recommended a biopsy, perhaps followed by surgery, and then radiation or chemotherapy, depending on the advice of the other doctors. He admitted that he himself knew too little about it.

“I won't have chemotherapy. It's horrible. Your hair falls out, I'm going to die …I'm going to die …” She was sobbing in his arms and he felt as though his guts were going to fall out. They both had to calm down. They
had
to.

“You're not going to die. We're going to fight this thing. Now calm down, dammit, and listen to me! We'll take the kids to New York when I go, and you can see the best men there.”

“What'll they do to me? I don't want chemotherapy.”

“Just listen to them. No one said you had to do that. This guy isn't sure what you need. For all you know, you have arthritis and he thinks it's cancer.” It would have been nice to believe that anyway.

But that wasn't what the lung man said, or the bone man. Or the surgeon. They wanted to do a biopsy. And when Bernie had his father call them, he said to go ahead. The doctors in New York would want that information anyway. And the biopsy told them that Johanssen was right. It was osteosarcoma. But the news was even worse than that. Given the nature of the cells they'd found, and the extent of it, metastasized in both lungs they discovered now, it made no sense to operate. They suggested brief and intense radiation, followed by chemotherapy as soon as possible. And Liz felt as though she had fallen into a nightmare and could not wake up. They had said nothing to Jane, except that Mommy wasn't feeling so great after the baby and they wanted to do some tests. They had no idea how to tell her what had been discovered.

Bernie sat up late at night talking to Liz after the biopsy came back, and she sat in her hospital bed with patches over both breasts where the biopsies had been done. And she had no choice now, she had to wean the baby. He was crying at home, and she was in the hospital, crying in Bernie's arms, trying to express the sorrow she felt, the guilt, the regret, and the terror.

“I feel … I feel as though I would poison him if I would nurse him now …isn't that terrible? Think of what I've been giving him all this time.”

He told her what they both knew anyway. “Cancer isn't contagious.”

“How do you know? How do you know I didn't catch it from someone on the street…some crazy goddamn germ that flew into me …like in the hospital when I had the baby …” She blew her nose and looked at him and neither of them could believe the gravity of the situation. It was something that happened to someone else, not to people like them, with a seven-year-old and a baby.

He was calling his father five times a day these days, and he already had everything lined up for her in New York. Bernie talked to him again the following morning before he went to pick her up at the hospital.

“They'll see her as soon as you get in.” His father sounded grave, and Ruth was crying beside him.

“Great.” Bernie tried to pretend to himself they'd have good news, but he was frightened. “Are they the best?”

“Yes, they are.” His father sounded very quiet. His heart was grieving for his only son and the girl he loved. “Bernie …this isn't going to be easy … I talked to Johanssen myself yesterday. It seems to be pretty well metastasized.” It was a word he hated. But it was new to Bernie. “Is she in pain?”

“No. She just feels very tired.”

“Give her our love.” She needed that. And their prayers. And when he hung up the phone, Bernie found Jane standing in the bedroom doorway.

“What's wrong with Mommy?”

“She's …she's just real tired, sweetheart. Like we told you yesterday. Having the baby just made her get pooped.” He smiled, choking on a lump in his throat the size of her elbow, but he put an arm around her anyway. “She'll be okay.”

“People don't go to the hospital because they're tired.”

“Sometimes they do.” He gave her a sunny smile, and a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Mommy's coming home today.” He took a breath. It was time to prepare her. “And next week we're all going to see Grandma and Grampa in New York. Won't that be fun?”

“Will Mommy go to the hospital again?” She knew too much. She'd been listening. He could feel it, but he couldn't face it.

“Maybe. Just for a day or two.”

“Why?” Her lip trembled and tears filled her eyes. “What does she have?” It was a plaintive wail, as though she knew, as though some spirit in the depths of her knew just how badly her mommy was ailing.

“We just have to love her very much,” Bernie said through his own tears as he held the child. The tears fell into his beard as he held her. “Very, very much, sweetheart….”

“I do.”

“I know you do. So do I.” She saw him crying and dried his eyes with her little hand. They felt like butterflies on his beard.

“You're a wonderful daddy.” It brought the tears back to his eyes again and he held her for a long, long time. It was good for both of them, and they had a special secret that afternoon when he picked her up. The secret of a special kind of closeness and love and courage. She was waiting in the car with a bouquet of pink sweetheart roses, and Liz clung to her all the way home, as she and Bernie told her all the funny things Alexander had done that morning. It was as though they both knew that they had to help her now, that they had to keep her alive with their love and their jokes and their funny stories. It was a bond that laced them even tighter than before, and it was an awesome burden.

Liz walked into the baby's room and Alexander woke up and let out a squeal of ecstasy when he saw her. His little legs shot out, and he waved his arms, and Liz picked him up and winced as he hit the spots where the biopsies were.

“Are you going to nurse him, Mommy?” Jane was standing in the doorway, watching her, the big blue eyes wide and worried.

“No.” Liz shook her head sadly. She still had the milk he wanted but she didn't dare feed him anymore, no matter what they said. “He's a big boy now. Aren't you, Alex?” She tried to fight back the tears that came anyway as she held him and turned her back to Jane so she wouldn't see them. Jane walked back to her room quietly and sat holding her doll, staring out the window.

And Bernie was in the kitchen cooking dinner with Tracy. The door was closed. The water was on. And he was crying into a kitchen towel. Tracy patted his shoulder from time to time. She had cried herself when Liz had told her but now she felt she had to have strength for Bernie and the children.

“Can I get you a drink?” He shook his head and she touched his shoulder again as he took a deep breath and looked up at their friend.

“What are we going to do for her?” He felt so helpless, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Everything we can,” Tracy answered. “And maybe a miracle will happen. Sometimes it does.” The oncologist had said as much, maybe because he didn't have much else to offer. He had talked to them about God and miracles and chemotherapy, and Liz had insisted again that she didn't want it.

“She doesn't want chemotherapy.” He was in despair, and he knew he had to pull himself together. It was just the shock of it. The incredible brutality of the blow that had been dealt them.

“Can you blame her for not wanting it?” Tracy looked at him as she made the salad.

“No …but sometimes it works … for a while anyway.” What they wanted, Johanssen had said, was a remission. A long one. Like fifty years maybe, or ten or twenty … or five … or two … or one….

“When are you going to New York?”

“Later this week. My father has everything arranged. And I told Paul Berman, my boss, that I couldn't go to Europe. He understood perfectly. Everyone's been wonderful.” He hadn't been to the store for two days and he didn't know how long he'd be gone, but his managers had promised to take care of everything for him.

“Maybe they'll suggest something different in New York.”

But they didn't. The doctors there said exactly the same thing. Chemotherapy. And prayers. And miracles. Bernie sat looking at her in the hospital bed, and she already seemed to be shrinking. The dark circles had darkened and she was losing weight. It seemed incredible, like an evil spell that had been cast on them, and he reached out and took her hand. Her lip was trembling terribly and they were both frightened. He didn't hide his tears from her this time. They sat and held hands and cried, and talked about what they felt. It helped that they had each other.

“It's like a bad dream, isn't it?” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and then realized that it wouldn't be there soon. She had agreed to start chemotherapy when they went back to San Francisco. He had been talking about leaving Wolffs and coming back to New York if they wouldn't bring him back, so she could get care in New York. But his father told him that in truth it didn't make any difference. The doctors were just as good in San Francisco, and it was familiar to her. There was a lot to be said for that. She didn't need to worry about finding an apartment, or a new house, or putting Jane in a new school. And right now they needed to cling to what they had …their house …their friends …even her job. She had talked about that with Bernie too. She was going to keep on working. And the doctor hadn't objected. She was going to get the chemotherapy once a week at first, for a month, and after that once every two weeks, then once every three. The first month would be horrible, but after that she would only be sick for a day or two, and Tracy could substitute for her. The school was willing to let her do that. And they both thought she'd feel better if she didn't sit home moping.

“Do you want to go to Europe with me, when you start feeling better?” She smiled at him. He was so good to her. And the crazy thing was that she didn't feel bad now. All she felt was tired. And she was dying.

“I'm so sorry to do this to you … to put you through all this. …”

He smiled through his tears. “Now I know you're my wife.” He laughed. “You're beginning to sound Jewish.”

Chapter 18

“Grandma Ruth?” Her voice was very little in the darkened room as Ruth held her hand. They had just said a prayer for her mommy. Bernie was spending the night at the hospital, and Hattie, Ruth's old housekeeper, was helping with the baby. “Do you think Mommy will be okay?” Her eyes filled and she squeezed Ruth's hand. “You don't think God will take her away, do you?” She let out a horrible gulp as she sobbed, and Ruth bent down to hold her, her own tears falling onto the pillow beside the child's head. It was so wrong, so unfair …she was sixty-four years old, and she would so gladly have gone instead of her … so young, so beautiful, so much in love with Bernie …with these two children who needed her so badly.

“We just have to ask Him to leave her here with us, don't we?”

Jane nodded, hoping that would do the trick, and then she looked at Grandma Ruth again. “Can I go to temple with you tomorrow?” She knew that their day was Saturday, but Ruth only went once a year, for Yom Kippur. But for this she would make an exception.

“Grampa and I will take you.” And the next day, the three of them went to the Westchester Reform Temple in Scarsdale. They left the baby at home with Hattie, and when Bernie came home that night, Jane told him solemnly that she and Grandma and Grampa had gone to temple. It brought tears to his eyes again, but everything did now, everything was so sweet and sad and tender. He held the baby in his arms and he looked so much like Liz, Bernie almost couldn't stand it.

And yet, when she was back with them again, things didn't seem so tragic. She came back from the hospital two days later, and suddenly there were the same bad jokes, the throaty voice he loved, the laughs, the sense of humor. Nothing seemed quite as terrible, and she wouldn't let him get maudlin. She was dreading the chemotherapy, but she was determined not to think about it before she had to.

They went into New York for dinner once, and went to La Grenouille in a limousine he had rented for them, but he could see halfway through dinner that she was absolutely exhausted. And his mother urged him to cut the dinner short and take her home. They were quiet on the way back, and that night in bed she apologized again, and then slowly, gently, she began touching him, and fearfully, he reached out and held her, wanting to make love to her, but afraid to do her any harm.

“It's okay …the doctors say we can …” She whispered to him, and he was horrified at himself when he took her with force and passion, but he was so hungry for her, so hungry to hang onto her, to pull her back to him, as though she were slipping away slowly. And afterwards he cried and clung to her, and then hated himself for it. He wanted to be brave and strong and manly and instead he felt like a little boy, nestled at her breast, needing her so badly. Like Jane, he wanted to cling to her, to make her stay, to beg for a miracle. Maybe the chemotherapy would do that for them.

Grandma took Jane to Schwarz once before they left and bought her an enormous teddy bear and a doll, and she had her pick out something she thought Alexander would like. Jane selected a big clown that rolled and made music. And when they got home, he loved it.

Their last night together was warm and comfortable and touching. Liz insisted on helping Ruth make dinner, and she seemed in better shape than she'd been in a long time, calm, and quiet, and stronger. And afterwards, she touched Ruth's hand and looked into her eyes.

“Thank you for everything….”

Ruth shook her head, wanting not to cry with her, but it was so difficult. After a lifetime of crying for everything, how could one stop for what was really important? But this time, she knew she had to hold back. “Don't thank me, Liz. Just do everything you have to.”

“I will.” She seemed to have grown older in the last weeks, more mature somehow. “I feel better about it now. I think Bernie does too. It won't be easy, but we'll make it.” Ruth nodded, unable to say more, and the next day she and Lou took them to the airport. Bernie carried the baby, and Liz held Jane's hand, and she walked onto the plane unaided, as the elder Fines struggled not to cry. But once the plane was gone, Ruth fell sobbing into her husband's arms, unable to believe their courage, and the evil fate that had befallen people she loved so much. Suddenly it wasn't the Rosengarden's grandson … or Mr. Fishbein's father … it was her daughter-in-law …and Alex and Jane …and Bernie. It was so wrong and so unfair and so unkind, and as she cried in her husband's arms she thought her heart would break. She couldn't bear it.

“Come on, Ruth. Let's go home, sweetheart.” He took her gently by the hand and they went back to their car, and suddenly she looked at him, realizing that it would be them one day.

“I love you, Lou. I love you very much….” She began to cry again and he touched her cheek as he held open the door for her. It was a terrible time for all of them, and he was so damn sorry for Liz and Bernie.

When they arrived in San Francisco, Tracy was waiting for them with their car, and she drove into the city with them, chatting and laughing and holding the baby close to her.

“Well, it's good to have you guys back.” She smiled at her friends but she saw easily that Liz was exhausted. She was to go into the hospital the next day to begin the chemotherapy.

And that night, as she lay in bed, after Tracy went home, Liz rolled over, propped her head up on her elbow, and looked at Bernie. “I wish I were normal again.” She said it like a teenager wanting to wish away pimples.

“So do I.” He smiled at her. “But you will be one of these days.” They were both putting a lot of faith in the chemotherapy. “And if that doesn't work, there's always Christian Science.”

“Listen, don't knock it,” she said seriously to him. “One of the teachers at school is a Christian Scientist, and it really works sometimes …” Her voice trailed off, thinking about it.

“Let's try this first.” He was, after all, Jewish and the son of a doctor.

“You think it'll be really horrible?” She looked scared, and he remembered how frightened she had been, and in how much pain, when Alexander was born, but this was very different. This was forever.

“It won't be great.” He didn't want to lie to her. “But they said they were going to give you stuff to knock you out. Valium or something. I'll be right there with you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You know, you're one of the last great husbands.”

“Oh yeah? …” He rolled over and slid a hand under her bed jacket. She was always cold these days, and she wore his socks to bed. And he made love to her gently this time, feeling all his strength and love go into her, wanting to give her a gift of himself, and she smiled sleepily afterwards. “I wish I could get pregnant again. …”

“Maybe you will one day.” But that was too much to ask. He would have settled for her life in place of another one, and it made Alexander even more precious to them now. She held him in her arms for a long time that next morning before she went to the hospital, and she had made Jane's breakfast herself and packed her favorite lunch for her. In a way, it was cruder to be doing so much for them. They would miss her more, if something happened.

Bernie drove her to the hospital, and they put her in a wheelchair when she checked in. A student nurse pushed her upstairs as Bernie walked along, holding Liz' hand, and Doctor Johanssen was waiting for them. Liz undressed and put on a hospital gown, and the world looked so sunny outside. It was a beautiful November morning, and she turned to Bernie.

“I wish I didn't have to do this.”

“So do I.” It was like helping her to the electric chair as she lay down, and he held her hand, and a nurse in what looked like asbestos gloves appeared. The stuff they used was so powerful that it would have burned the nurse's hands, and they were going to put that inside the woman he loved. It was almost more than he could bear but they gave her the IV of Valium first, and she was half asleep when the chemotherapy began. And Johanssen stayed to supervise the treatment. When it was over she lay sleeping peacefully, but by midnight, she was throwing up and desperately ill, and for the next five days her life was a nightmare.

The rest of the month was just as bad, and Thanksgiving was no holiday for them that year. It was almost Christmas before she felt halfway human again, and by then she had no hair and she was rail-thin. But she was home again, and she only had to face the nightmare once every three weeks now, and the oncologist promised it would only make her sick for a day or two. After Christmas vacation she could go back to school to teach again, and Jane was like a different child once she was home, and Alexander was crawling.

The last two months had taken their toll on all of them. Jane cried a lot in school, the teacher said, and Bernie was barking at everyone at the store, and constantly distracted. He was using babysitters to help take care of the baby all day long, but even that wasn't working out. One of them got lost with the baby, another never showed up, and he had to take the baby to a meeting, none of them knew how to cook, and nobody seemed to be eating except Alexander. But as Christmas approached and Liz felt better again, things slowly returned to normal.

“My parents want to come out.” He looked at her one night, as they sat in bed. She was wearing a kerchief on her head to cover her baldness and she glanced at him with a sigh and a smile. “Do you feel up to it, sweetheart?” She didn't, but she wanted to see them, and she knew how much it would mean to Jane, and even though he wouldn't admit it, to Bernie. She thought of only a year before, when they had taken Jane to Disneyland and given them a chance to celebrate their anniversary. She had been pregnant then …and their whole life had been directed to living, not dying.

She said as much to him and he looked at her angrily. “It is now too.”

“Not exactly.”

“Bullshit!” All his impotent rage was suddenly directed at her and he couldn't stop it. “What do you think all this chemotherapy is about, or are you giving up now? Christ, I never thought you were a quitter.” His eyes filled with tears and he slammed the door as he walked into the bathroom. And he came out twenty minutes later, as she lay quietly in their bed, waiting for him. He looked sheepish as he came to sit next to her and took her hand in his. “I'm sorry I was an asshole.”

“You're not. And I love you. I know it's hard on you too.” She touched the kerchief on her head without thinking. She hated feeling so ugly, and her head was so round and bumpy. She felt like something in a science fiction movie. “This is awful for everyone. If I was going to die, I should have been hit by a truck, or drowned in the bath-tub.” She tried to smile, but neither of them thought it was funny, and then suddenly her eyes filled with tears. “I hate being bald.” But more than that, she hated knowing she was dying.

He reached for the kerchief and she ducked away from him. “I love you with or without hair.” There were tears in his eyes, and hers as well.

“Don't.”

“There is no part of you I don't love, or that's ugly.” He had discovered that when she gave birth to their son. His mother had been wrong. He hadn't been shocked or disgusted. He was touched, and he loved her more, as he did now. “It's no big deal. So you're bald. One day I will be too. I'm just making up for it now.” He stroked the beard and she smiled.

“I love you.”

“I love you too …and this is about living too.” They exchanged a smile. They both felt better again. It was an hourly battle to keep their heads above water. “What'll I tell my parents?”

“Tell them to come out. They can stay at the Huntington again.”

“My mother thought Jane might like to go away with them again. What do you think?”

“I don't think she'll want to. Tell them not to be hurt.” She was clinging to Liz for dear life, and sometimes cried when she left the room now.

“She'll understand.” His mother, who had been a tower of guilt all his life was suddenly wearing a halo. He talked to her several times a week and she had a depth of understanding he had never found in her before. Instead of torturing him, she was a source of comfort.

And she was once again when they arrived just before Christmas and brought mountains of toys for both the children, and his mother touched Liz to tears when she brought her the one thing she wanted. In fact, she brought half a dozen of them. She closed the door to their room, and advanced on her, carrying two huge hat boxes.

“What's that?” Liz had been resting, and as always, tears had slid from her eyes to her pillow, but she wiped them away quickly as she sat up and Ruth looked at her nervously, afraid that she might be offended.

“I brought you a present.”

“A hat?”

Ruth shook her head. “No. Something else. I hope you won't get angry.” She had tried to match the lovely golden hair she remembered but it hadn't been easy, and as she took the tops off the boxes, Liz suddenly saw a profusion of wigs, in different cuts and styles, and all in the same familiar color. She started to laugh and cry all at once, and Ruth looked at her cautiously. “You're not mad?”

“How could I be?” She stretched her arms out to her mother-in-law, and then pulled out the wigs. There was everything from a short boyish cut to a long page boy. They were beautifully made, and Liz was touched beyond words. “I've been wanting to buy one, but I was afraid to go into the store.”

“I thought you might be …and I thought this might be more fun.” Fun …what could be fun about losing your hair from chemo? …But Ruth had made it better.

Liz went to the mirror and slowly pulled off her kerchief as Ruth looked away. She was such a beautiful girl and so young. It wasn't fair. Nothing was anymore. But she looked up at Liz now, as she stared into the mirror in one of the blond wigs. She had tried the page boy on first and it suited her to perfection.

“It looks wonderful!” Ruth clapped her hands and laughed. “Do you like it?”

Liz nodded and her eyes danced as she looked in the mirror. She looked decent again …better than decent. Maybe even pretty. In fact, she felt gorgeous—female again. She suddenly laughed, feeling healthy and young, and Ruth handed her another. “You know, my grandmother was bald. All orthodox women are. They shaved their heads. This just makes you a good Jewish wife.” She gently touched Liz' arm then. “I want you to know …how much we love you. If love could have cured her, she would have had the remission they wanted so badly. Ruth had been shocked to see how much weight she'd lost, how thin her face was, how deeply sunk her eyes, and yet she said she was going back to teach after Christmas.