6. Ben
ben
. . .
H ealthcare is a joke. I completely understand that everyone thinks their issues are the most critical ones because let’s be honest, they are. However, when someone calls their primary care doctor and says, “hey, I think I found a lump on my testicle,” you’d think the office would squeeze you in for an appointment.
Nope.
It’s been two weeks since I found the lump, or what I think is a lump. Fourteen agonizing days of what amounts to me playing with myself, checking to see if it’s still there and trying to mentally measure the damn thing. Apparently, if it’s under pea size, I don’t need to worry . . . as much.
The waiting room chairs are uncomfortable. I sit. I stand. I pace. I read every display case, pick up every magazine, and read the jokes in Reader’s Digest. Every time I sigh heavily, the receptionist gives me a warning. I’m probably on her last nerve being as I’m on my own, but I’m too young for this shit. To me, this is an emergency, and could affect my entire life in ways I don’t even want to imagine.
Finally, after a couple more dramatic sighs and some severe eye twitching from the receptionist, the nurse calls my name. She makes idle chit chat until we get to the scale. I stand on it and watch her fumble with the weighted dials. The nurse looks at my chart and then makes another adjustment.
“It looks like you’ve lost some weight.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
Without making eye contact, she says, “Not in your case.”
And what case is that, exactly?
I’m sick?
Depressed?
Should I tell her I’m not eating because I’ve broken up with the love of my life, and while I’m the one who said things are over, I’ve been miserable since Elle left? Or should I say that since finding the lump, all I’ve done is drink beer to numb the thoughts running through my head?
I choose to nod, step off the scale, and follow the nurse to the examination room. She tells me to sit in the chair while she adds the blood pressure cuff to my upper arm. Every so often she glances over and smiles.
She’s noted my blood pressure, which I guess is normal, since she had nothing to add. “Any recent life changes?”
Does the copious amount of alcohol I consume count as a life change?
“I guess. I’m not sure what constitutes a life change.”
“Lost job? Relationship status?”
Wow, going for the juggernaut.
I rub my hands over my legs and think about how much I should tell this woman. I should keep some part of my life private, even though I know once Elle is photographed without her ring on, everything about me will be front and center on Page Six. The break-up will be my fault, of course, and the headlines will be something along the lines of how I couldn’t hack it in her world. The editors won’t be wrong, but they’re not necessarily right either.
“My fiancée and I recently split. Things have been a bit rough, which likely equates to my weight loss, and then I found the lump.” I can’t look at the nurse when I say this and can only hear her typing away. “Oh, and I quit all my freelance jobs and took a corporate one for health insurance, which I guess is a good thing.”
The nurse and I look at each other at the same time. The discernable frown on her face gives me pause. Something I’ve said isn’t sitting right with her. I’m afraid to ask what’s wrong because I’m not sure I want to know.
“The doctor will be in shortly. Undress and put the gown on, open in the front. You can leave your socks on.” She gets up and leaves.
“Just my socks. Got it,” I say to the empty room. Before I change, I glance around the room, missing the days when my pediatrician had dinosaurs and the ABCs for the border wallpaper. Now, it’s dated flower wallpaper which has muted in color over the years. Same with the wall paint. It was probably stark white, but now it’s dingy and yellowing. No amount of bleach is going to save it.
I undress, put the gown on like a bathrobe, and sit on the crinkly paper. This stuff is supposed to protect people from germs, but I don’t see how a roll of very thin paper can do that. While I sit there and wait, I count the flowers. I get to forty when the door opens and my doctor walks in.
“Hi, Benjamin.”
Benjamin. My name, and yet no one ever really uses it. “Hi, Dr. McNally.”
McNally is probably Harrison’s age, with a full head of gray hair. We’re about the same height and he’s been my doctor since I moved to California for college. Other than that, I know little about the man, except I think he’s good at his job. He holds my chart in his hand, reads today’s notes, and then flips through to my other appointments and then back to the first. He frowns. This isn’t a good sign. He sets it down on the counter and takes a seat on the stool.
McNally clears his throat. “You found the lump two weeks ago?”
“Yeah, and I called the next morning. Today was your first available appointment.” It’s a little jab, but he should know how anxious I’ve been and didn’t want to wait—not for something this important.
He nods, stands, and tells me to lie back. This is the uncomfortable part: the examination. He pushes and asks the same question repeatedly. “Does this hurt?”
“Nothing hurts,” I tell him. “I found the lump while showering. I feel fine, mostly.”
“What doesn’t feel fine?” he asks as he continues his assessment of my body.
I shrug, not that he’s looking at my shoulders or my face. “Just not dealing with a break-up very well, and now this.”
“Have you been eating?” he asks. “I noticed a considerable decline in your weight.”
“Not really.”
McNally pulls his hands away, takes his gloves off and tells me I can sit up and close my robe. I do as instructed and wait while he writes something down and types on the computer in the room. “I’m ordering some tests. They need to be done today. If you have plans, please cancel them. You’re going to be here for a while. As far as your weight loss is concerned,”—he turns and looks at me—“the questionnaire you filled out when you arrived shows you’re dealing with some depression, which makes sense if you’re going through a break-up. I’m going to prescribe you an antidepressant, and I want you eating. If I don’t see weight gain by our next appointment, I’m going to put you on some supplements.”
“Okay.” What else am I supposed to say?
“Is there someone you can call to accompany you today?”
I shake my head slowly. “Not really.” The only people would be Elle and Quinn, and neither of them need to know about this. Just another stab in the gut when it comes to my life—they’re all I have.
Had .
“I’ll be fine,” I tell my doctor. “I can go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat.”
He eyes me suspiciously and for good reason. “It’s important, Ben.” I nod and fight back tears when he stops and places his hand on my shoulder. “Get dressed. I’m going to send someone in. They’ll stay with you during your testing. You don’t want to do this alone today.”
I say nothing out of fear. I’ll choke on my words. As soon as the door closes, tears fall from my eyes. I don’t wipe them away, there’s no point. More follow. By the time the knock sounds on the door, I realize I’ve sat there and bawled my eyes out. I clear my throat and ask for a minute, and then dress hastily.
On the other side of the door is an older man in a UCLA ball cap. He smiles, extends his hand, and tells me his name is John. “I’m a retired firefighter and volunteer at the hospital. Doc says you would like someone to keep you company today.”
I didn’t say that, but I can’t stomach the thought of turning this guy away. “I’m Ben. Dr. McNally is ordering me some tests for today and I can’t leave.”
“Yep, I gotchu. We’re going to take the skywalk over to the hospital. I’ll give you a tour of all the secret passageways, as long as you don’t tell anyone, and then we’ll hit the cafeteria for lunch. My favorite chef, Beulah, is working today, and she will make us whatever we want, whether it’s on the menu or not.”
“Nice perk.”
“It’s all about the charm,” he says. “Are you ready?”
Nope. “Yeah.”
John talks the entire walk to the hospital. He’s popular and we stop often to chat with the people we run into. He introduces me each time, as his friend, and for some odd reason, this makes me feel like I matter. I like him instantly.
We start the tour in the basement. Not ideal, since this is where the morgue is. Thankfully, John only shows me the door and we don’t actually go in there, even though he says he’s friends with the staff. Not surprising.
He weaves us through a series of tunnels, which were used mostly back in the heyday of Hollywood to hide celebrities who came for medical care. This was long before tinted windows were a thing. John says even now, some celebrities use the tunnels to hide from the paparazzi, even though they’re not allowed on the premises. They’ll sneak in and use their phones or some other Inspector Gadget type device to capture the elusive proof.
Before we even make it to the cafeteria, my phone rings and I’m summoned to report to the lab to have my blood drawn, and then I’m to go right to ultrasound. Everything seems easy, yet my heart races with fear. John holds true to his word and stays with me through both my appointments, except he stands outside the ultrasound room during the procedure.
We finally make it to the cafeteria, where I meet Beulah, who makes me spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread. John orders the same, and when our meal is ready, Beulah brings it out to us.
“I’ve never been served in a hospital cafeteria before.”
“Oh, believe me, she doesn’t do this for everyone. If she doesn’t like you, she’ll tell you she’s busy and to scram. She’s a feisty one, but I bring her flowers every week to make her smile, and those seem to do the trick.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
John’s fork stills. “Next time, huh? Are we going to make this a weekly thing?”
I shrug. “I’m not very optimistic.”
“That’s a shame. My daughter says you have to manifest the outcome you want. I want to grow a full head of hair, but that never seems to happen. She manifested her raise, though, so it does work.”
I chuckle. “That’s awesome.”
“What do you do for work?”
“I’m in advertising. I focus mostly on brand management, graphics, and work directly with marketing on products.”
“Fun job?”
“Meh.” I shrug. “I love it, but it’s not overly challenging until a diva client comes in and then it’s like playing a game of hide and seek. How long were you a firefighter?”
“Thirty years. Best job of my life besides being a dad, of course.”
“Of course,” I say. “How’s retirement?”
John sighs, but it sounds more like a groan. “Boring, which is why I volunteer here. At first, it felt like I was on vacation, but after a few weeks, I became stir crazy. I started working at an animal shelter, but after bringing home my third dog in as many weeks, I thought I needed to find something else. I knew a lot of the emergency room staff and one of them suggested I work here.”
“Is this all you do? Show people around?”
“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll pick up lunch for staff or deliver flowers to rooms. Sometimes I’m the greeter at the front desk or playing in the kids' room. Wherever I’m needed.”
My phone rings and my heart sinks. I answer and tell the nurse I’ll be right there. John and I clean up and make our way across the skywalk and into the building where most of the offices are.
“Want me to come in with you?”
His question gives me pause. I barely know this man, but in the short time we’ve spent together today, I like him. “I’d like that,” I say.
The nurse takes us to Dr. McNally’s office, and I brace myself for the news. If it was nothing, I wouldn’t be here. I grip the arms of the chair . . . and wait.
By the time I get home, I’m numb. Nothing makes sense anymore. A knock on the car window startles me. Quinn stands there and motions for me to get out of the car. I do, but it takes a massive effort on my part.
“Hey.” I’m nonchalant in my greeting, hoping Quinn thinks he didn’t just walk up on me sitting in my car.
“What are you doing?”
“Just thinking.”
“I was standing here for ten minutes, dude. What’s going on?”
I shake my head and tell him to come inside. Every house on this road has cameras and listening devices. The last thing I want is for my neighbors to hear my business. Inside, I ask Quinn if he’d like something to drink. He asks for a water, and the bottles of beer mock me as I stare in the refrigerator. I’m not supposed to drink, but with what I’m going through, should I really care? I’m not sure I should.
I bring Quinn his water, and sit down. He twists the top, takes a drink, and then asks me again what’s happening.
“I have cancer.” Saying it aloud sucks just as bad as hearing it from my doctor. “Fucking cancer.”
“What?” Quinn’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen.
I stare down at my legs, unwilling to look at Quinn. “I found a lump a couple of weeks ago. The doctor ran some tests and it’s cancer. Doc thinks it’s at least stage two, whatever the hell that means. I have to go to an oncologist at the end of the week, and I’ll have surgery. I don’t have much more than that.”
“Did you call Elle?”
Now, I look at Quinn. “Why would I? I don’t want her pity, and I definitely don’t want yours. I have enough to deal with. Elle left. We’re done. This is my issue. It’s not news you can share with others. That’s the last thing I want. Hell, I don’t even know why I told you, except I have a feeling you wouldn’t leave me alone until you prodded the shit out of why I’m so fucking depressed.”
Quinn stares, his expression unreadable.
“Fuck,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. I’m just frustrated?—”
“And scared?”
“So, fucking scared. I’m too young for this shit, man. They’re going to take my testicle, limiting my chances of being a dad. Of feeling like a man. Like why? What did I do to deserve this?
“That’s not how cancer works,” Quinn states the obvious. “If it was, the world would be rid of all evil.”
“I know,” I mumble.
“Do you have someone to go with you to your appointment?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I hung out with a volunteer today. He’s pretty cool. Stayed by my side when I got the news and made sure I made it back to my car. He gave me his number and I’m supposed to call him when I know my appointment times, and he’ll be there.”
“What about your mom or brother?”
“I don’t plan to tell them. Anytime I talk to her, she wants money. The last thing I want is for them to come here and live off me while I’m going through treatment.”
“Makes sense. What about my parents? You can trust them to not tell Elle if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I shrug. “That would feel odd. They’re her parents, not mine.”
“My mom doesn’t think that way about you, Ben. You know this.”
I nod, but I won’t call them. I can do this alone.
“Nola and I will be there whenever you say the word. We’ll take you to all your appointments, sit with you during chemo or whatever, just say the word. I have nothing going on.”
“You have a career.”
“Eh,” he says with a shrug. “I have a best friend who needs my help. He’s far more important than a couple of song lyrics on a piece of paper. There isn’t a tour on the horizon, and aside from a few days in the studio to record, I’m free.”
“Okay.” I finally relent. “Thank you.”
When Quinn gets up to leave, I walk him to the door. What I don’t expect is the bear hug he gives me before he leaves. “You’re like a brother to me, Ben. You’re not doing this alone.”