Day 98

Up at 4:00 a.m., we had to be at the hospital by 5:45. With a 45 minute drive to get there, we didn't have much time to acclimate to the day. Just as well, Bill couldn't have coffee, or anything else to eat or drink. I surreptitiously sipped tea and ate a piece of banana bread while Bill sat staring into space. We were both nervous. The test today would reveal whether or not the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes. So much hangs in the balance. The ride from Moscow to the hospital in Lewiston was tense. I am not used to driving in the dark. It makes me feel old and sad to realize that I am already become one of those people. Once at the hospital, we are ushered into a room where Bill is instructed to undress and given a paper gown to change into. Somehow in taking off his clothes, I fear that he is being stripped of his identity. He looks so vulnerable laying there in the narrow bed. Soon they will wheel the bed to an operating room where they will anesthetize him and do God knows what. Bill and I are both lost in fearful daydreams when Brenda comes into the room. She is a tiny woman with a generous smile, a shock of black curls and sparkling eyes. Her badge says: RN. She asks a series of medical questions, the same questions Bill has answered dozens of times in the last few weeks. The repetition can be tiring but Brenda's tone is conversational. She immediately puts us at ease. As she completes the routine medical tests, she asks about our lives and tells us about her love of gardening. We talk about the approach of springtime and our shared aversion to new technologies. Bill tells her the story of how the cancer was discovered and she says: "Wow, you've had a difficult month, haven't you?" No apologies, no platitudes, just empathetic understanding, pure and simple. I have heard it said that our problems always come bearing gifts. Brenda must be one of those gifts.