14
Monday, December 16
8 days until the wedding
Gwen
Iwipe damp palms on my thighs, hoping no one’ll notice. My heart beats fast, like I’ve just run a race rather than sat in this stuffy hotel ballroom for the past three hours, listening to lectures on chemotherapy regimens. Helen is next to me, bathed in the pale glow of the projector from the front of the room.
When I walked into the conference on the first day, she had been sitting quietly by herself, with her eyes downcast and her fingers nervously twining in her lap. I had called her name and almost laughed at the expression of surprise on her face.
When I asked if she would like to sit with me, Helen hesitated and said, “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.” It had taken a fair amount of convincing to get her to move to the front row with me, but eventually, after some thought, she agreed. That’s when I first learned that Helen doesn’t do anything willy-nilly. She’s cautious, a bit of an overthinker, carefully assessing each situation.
I turn to her and admit, “I’m scared. What if the microphone stops working but I don’t realize it, so I talk for the whole hour without anyone being able to hear me? What if I go over my time limit, and I don’t get to finish my presentation? What if there’s spinach in my teeth, but no one has the guts to tell me, and the audience doesn’t hear a word I say because they’re too busy staring at my mouth?” I spew out all of my worst fears in under a minute.
Helen holds up her hand, stopping me before I can spiral further. Calmly, she says, “Your teeth are fine. Your microphone just got checked by the sound crew and it works. Remember, we set the timer on your watch. Put it next to your laptop so you don’t go over your limit. You won’t make a mistake. You practiced this for me at the lunch break, and it was flawless.”
“Okay. Okay.” I nod like I heard her, when in reality I only absorbed half of what she just said.
Helen sighs indulgently. “It’ll be great, Gwen.”
Soon, it’s my turn to walk up to the stage. As I make my way through the crowd, murmuring “Excuse me” when people pull in their chairs to let me pass, I could swear I hear Caleb’s name being spoken by several different voices. When I stop and look up, no one is talking. It must be my imagination, just me wishing he was here for moral support. I reach the podium and place my watch next to the laptop waiting there for me. A click of the button on the side starts my timer.
“Hello.” I smile at the crowd, feigning confidence. “My name is Gwen Wright.” A murmur spreads through the audience, one I don’t remember hearing when other doctors presented this morning.
The room is full, with no seats left. Some doctors stand along the walls.
Strange.
It wasn’t standing room only for the other lectures.
After the rumble of the crowd dies down, I continue, projecting my voice loud and steady. “The fight against cancer is very personal to me. Eleven years ago, my father passed away from colon cancer at the age of 45. I was in high school at the time. I vowed then to become a doctor and to do anything I could to stop this devastating disease.”
My heart pounds as I focus on the people in front of me. Helen is there, smiling encouragingly. I also see the head of our Oncology Department, whom I’ve worked with closely while developing my project. A couple of doctors from Manhattan are scattered in the audience.
My adrenaline spikes. There’s an urge to perform, to not let them down. If I mess this up, everyone at home will find out. It was bad when the truth about me and Caleb came out—the whispers and stares in the hospital hallways. It’ll be worse if they’re talking about me because I failed here today.
I swallow nervously and move the cursor on my screen, highlighting slides that discuss the stages of colon cancer. “As we all know, colon cancer is the third most common cause of cancer deaths. Early detection is key for improving a patient’s chance of survival, which is why in medical school, and now in my ER residency, I developed a protocol for screening.”
“All patients over the age of 45 who come into our Emergency Room are offered a free test. We use stool samples to determine if the patient has cancer. The test is cheap, easy to administer, and noninvasive. It scans for specific biomarkers in the stool, including methylation markers and fecal hemoglobin. If a patient is positive, then colonoscopy is used for confirmation.”
“I tested over 16,000 ER patients and found 139 subjects who tested positive for cancer. Consistent with known colon cancer incidence, half of the positive cases were in women and half were in men. Colon cancer is on the rise in patients younger than 55, with this group accounting for one-third of the deaths. This was true in our patient population as well. I’m most proud of the fact that the majority of positive patients in my study had early disease, which predicts a five-year survival of over 90 percent.”
I pause and gather myself for the conclusion of my lecture. This is the important part. My chance to make a difference. “Although these statistics are impressive, we must remember that behind each positive test is a patient and their family, whose life will be irrevocably changed by their cancer diagnosis. When I was compiling the results, I couldn’t help but think about my own father. If he had been diagnosed earlier, could he have survived?
“If we institute free screening in not just primary care offices but also in our Emergency Rooms, I truly believe we will find more cancer and catch it sooner, leading to more lives saved. I ask that the data I’ve presented here today guide you in your own practices.” I close the computer, relieved the most frightening part of my lecture is over. My watch says I have five minutes left.
“Are there any questions I can answer?” I ask into the microphone.
A hand shoots up in the third row. “Yes?” I point to a man, who sports a scraggly mustache.
“Did your fiancé help fund this research?” he asks.
“Excuse me?” I shake my head, certain I heard him wrong.
“Caleb Lawson?” he asks, this time louder. “Did he give you money for your study?”
“Um, no.” I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “I hadn’t met Caleb when I began this project.” The man nods.
Another hand is raised behind him. It’s a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair streaked with silver. I call on her.
“Congratulations on your success,” she begins. My shoulders, tense from the first question, slowly relax into their normal position. They tighten again as she asks, “Do you worry that your work will be discredited now that you’re famous? That even if your data is valid, it will be disregarded because of who you are?”
I laugh nervously, and the sound echoes in my microphone. “I’m not sure I understand the question. Who am I? I’m an ER resident in my last year of training. I have tested thousands of people for colon cancer. That’s who I am.”
The woman shakes her head at me. “Speculation about your wedding is on the front page of every magazine. How do you anticipate that changing the trajectory of your career?”
“Oh, uh. . .” My mind frantically searches for an intelligent answer and comes up blank. “I’m hoping it won’t change much. I mean, I’m still a doctor. I still want to help people.”
The woman raises a doubtful eyebrow and frowns.
“When are you getting married, anyway?” someone shouts. A murmur of agreement follows. I bring a hand up to shade my eyes from the bright light of the projector, trying to figure out who spoke.
“Well? Do you have a date?” a new voice calls out from the back of the room. I squint but can’t make out any individuals. The people merge into one demanding mass as my vision blurs.
“Uh—I—um,” I stutter, completely thrown offguard.
Helen, of all people, stands up and faces the audience. She raises her arms wide and says, “No more questions. Thank you.”
I stumble down the stairs of the stage, away from the podium and the crowd. Bursting through the double doors of the ballroom, I practically run out of the conference area and into the hotel lobby.
Helen follows. She points to a pair of large wingback chairs tucked in the corner of the room, next to an unlit fireplace. “Let’s go over there.”
I walk after her blindly, my mind whirring with the echo of the audience’s questions.
Caleb.
Wedding.
Who am I?
We sit. Helen hands me a bottle of water, which I swig back, draining it quickly. I hadn’t realized how parched I was. When I’m done, I screw the cap on the empty bottle and let out a bitter laugh.
Helen cocks her head at me, waiting quietly.
“For a long time, I only thought of myself as one thing,” I tell her. “A doctor. That was it. All I believed I could be. Then with Caleb I became so much more—a painter, an organizer of the art therapy program at the hospital, and a better friend, sister, and daughter. But now, it’s like everyone, those strangers,” I hook a thumb toward the conference room, “want me to be only one thing again. Caleb’s wife. That’s it. It makes me feel as if I have to choose him or my career. It’s not fair.”
Tears choke the back of my throat. I swallow around the lump of them. “Why can’t I be both? Why can’t I be more? Why do we put ourselves in these boxes? Force these impossible choices? Career woman or devoted mother. The stern parent or the fun parent. The adventurer or the homebody. Aren’t we all of those things at different times?” I dash away the tear that dares to trickle down my cheek. I’m heartbroken and furious all at once.
“People like to keep it simple,” says Helen. “It’s easier for them if they can categorize you as one thing. They’ll always pick the biggest thing. For them, that’s your relationship with Caleb. You’re right. It’s not fair.” She graciously ignores my tears, directing her gaze away as I attempt to pull myself together. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe you have to choose, but you’ll probably have to work harder. To prove that you’re more than just a famous man’s wife.”
Her words depress me even more. I sniffle, a sinister doubt growing in the back of my mind. “Do you think that’s why they asked me here to lecture? I’m the only resident speaking at this conference. Everyone else has already graduated from their medical training. Is Caleb why I’m here? Not because of my accomplishments?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t make any assumptions. Your research is strong, and it’s important. You’ve found another path to identifying cancer before it has a chance to spread.”
I meet her eyes, trying to see if she’s humoring me, but she’s not that type. Helen doesn’t sugarcoat what she says. “You really believe that?” I ask, relieved my message reached at least one person.
A decisive nod from her. “I do. So much that I’m going to recommend it at my hospital when I get home. We can easily replicate the program you’ve created.”
I straighten, a little of my gloom lifting. “That’d be great.”
“I doubt I’m the only one. I bet quite a few of the doctors in that room will go back and suggest cancer screening for ER patients in their institutions.”
Her words help. Today didn’t go as I planned. Not at all. But if I can save just a single family from what I went through when I lost my dad, then it’ll all be worth it.
“I hope so,” I tell her. “I really hope so.”