Chapter 2
“A re you nervous?” I asked as we tore through some of the best sushi I’d ever tasted. Damn you, California. Sunday night had rolled around, and my mom and I decided to venture out for a nice dinner before her surgery in the morning.
“Not really,” she said through a mouthful of the house California roll. “You did a number on my breasts when you were a baby, and they never regained the same pizazz they once had. Not too bummed to see em go.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Forgiven,” she said with a swish of her chopsticks. I looked over at her, thinking of how besides our coloring, there was no denying we were mother and daughter. My dark brown hair and green eyes were my father’s, but my bone structure was all my mom. She had beautiful, wavy auburn hair that she styled the same way for as long as I could remember—shoulder-length cut with her signature fringe bangs. “Besides, Dr. Gremillion said this surgeon, Dr. Fridman, was the best on the West Coast.”
“Yeah, but it’s still scary to go under anesthesia.”
She shrugged her petite shoulders, and I wondered if she was putting on a brave face for me so I wouldn’t worry.
“It’ll be worth it to get a new pair of knockers. Did I tell you insurance is paying a hundred percent of the reconstruction? They’ll be perkier than Elle Woods on her first day at Harvard.”
“I think I’m finally starting to see the upside to breast cancer,” I joked.
She raised her glass, and I lifted mine to meet hers. “To the upside of breast cancer.”
“To a great pair of knockers,” I added. We cheersed our lemonades and spent the rest of the night laughing and catching up, trying to forget all about breast cancer and its many, many downsides.
The next morning, we got up around 5 a.m. and drove the fifteen minutes to the hospital. Marge was really sounding terrible, wheezing and groaning loudly every time I accelerated. The coast-to-coast drive did quite a number on her, and I was afraid I’d have to call in hospice soon. She was my dad’s car, which is why I was having trouble letting go. He died when I was eight, and I didn’t have much in the way of memorabilia, except for a few pictures my mom had saved and his beloved car, Marge.
When we reached the pre-op area, the nurse showed my mom the bathroom to change in. She emerged with a look of worry on her face.
“What is it?” I asked.
Her eyes were wide. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I’m just feeling like my end is in sight.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, a bit panicked. “Everything’s going to be fine, Mom.”
She turned around in her hospital gown and burst into laughter. I finally got the joke with her rear end showing through the split in the back of the gown. Tears were rolling down her face from laughing so hard. I smiled but refused to laugh at such a corny joke.
“I thought dads only made terrible jokes like that.”
“Well, that just goes to show you, your mom can do it all,” she said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.
“Except for getting off an escalator without tripping and falling when it gets to the bottom.”
“That was one time.”
“Twice!”
Dr. Fridman walked in, interrupting our argument. We’d flown out to meet him a few weeks ago and had our consultation for the mastectomy.
“Ms. Olivier, you’re going to be first up on the schedule this morning. Are you ready?”
The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed, and we both sobered up quickly.
She nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
I took her hand in mine and held it more to comfort myself rather than her.
“It’s a fairly straightforward procedure on my end. As we discussed before, I’m going to be removing all the breast tissue and possibly some lymph nodes. Dr. Hildenbom will take over after to perform the reconstruction. You can expect to be in surgery for around four to six hours total.” He said the last part while looking at me. I’m sure it was to let me know it would take a while.
“Any questions?” he asked, and we both shook our heads. “Alright, I’ll see you in there.”
He exited the room, and we both looked at each other, no longer able to put on our brave faces.
I hugged her tightly and whispered, “It’s going to be fine, Mom. You’ve got this.”
She pulled away, reaching out to wipe the tears from my eyes.
“I know that,” she said with a gentle smile. “You can’t kill bad grass.” She winked at me, and I forced a smile on my face.
Twenty minutes later, we waved goodbye as they rolled her to the back, and I spent the next seven hours pacing back and forth in the lobby, unable to stomach even a bite of food.
I hadn’t felt my father's absence so profoundly since his passing as I did in this moment. He and my mom had the same morbid sense of humor, and I knew he would have known the exact thing to say to ease the tension and make me feel like everything was going to be okay.
My father and I were different in so many ways, but what we did have in common was our unwavering love and devotion to the same three things in life: New York, music, and my mom.
His very first love was New York—the city that swept him off his feet in a whirlwind romance of uncharted dreams and endless possibilities. He would often say there was no other place in the world that you could go out at any hour, day or night, and never have to be alone.
I remember him telling me once that music was his best friend. It was a concept I didn't understand until much later in life, but now I understood perfectly what he meant. Music's the friend who knows your history, your dreams, and your fears—it never judges and is always ready to meet you wherever you are in life. Music knows all your soul's secrets and somehow, reflects them back to you in perfect harmony.
His love for my mom was an all-consuming type. Even as a young child, I could see their connection was deep and the love was unconditional. He once told me their souls would find each other in every lifetime, and I grew to appreciate its rarity. I knew I would settle for nothing less.
I was getting lost in the memories of my father whenDr. Fridman and Dr. Hildenbom finally emerged together from the OR area, and I practically tripped running over to them.
“Everything went great. Your mom is in recovery and will probably be there for a few hours. You’ll be able to see her once they get her up to the room.”
I breathed out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you both so much.”
“Good luck to you. I hope the rest of her treatment goes well.”
I felt like I was finally able to breathe again. I went up to the room she’d be staying in for the night and waited until they rolled her in.
She came in looking pretty drowsy but smiled when she saw me. Her hair was tucked into a surgery cap, and the smattering of freckles across her nose stood out more against her now paler complexion.
“Hey kiddo.” Her voice sounded gravelly.
“Hey, how do you feel?”
“Great. Linda here gave me the good stuff.”
The nurse named Linda smiled. “I gave Ms. Gail some strong pain medication that should hold her over for the next few hours, but call if she starts to feel any discomfort.”
“Thank you so much,” I said sincerely.
Mom fell asleep not long after she got to the room, so I got my makeshift bed in order and proceeded to stare at her for the rest of the night, looking for any signs that something was amiss. She mostly slept, waking only a few times in the night to ask for water or pain medication. The next morning, she seemed more rested and alert.
“You look like shit,” she told me first thing after waking up. I laughed because I knew it must have been true. I’d been awake for almost thirty-six hours, but I didn’t care.
“Thanks, you too.”
“Now, I know that’s a lie. I’m rocking a brand-new set of C-cups. I can’t wait to check them out.” She started pulling back the dressings on her bandaged chest, trying to get a peek.
“Easy there, tiger.” I pushed her hands away. “Why don’t you heal up first and then we’ll go bra shopping.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Yeah, yeah. Are you hurting? Do you want me to call the nurse for more pain meds?”
“No, I’m actually pretty hungry though.”
“Alright, I’ll go grab you something," I said, making my way towards the door. I turned back to give her a stern look. "But you better leave those dressings alone while I’m gone, or I’ll have Nurse Linda come in with the restraints,” I warned. She stuck her tongue out at me as I walked out the door.
I didn’t think mold spores would be brave enough to touch the food options from the cafeteria, so I walked right past it and got in my car to pick her up a smoothie and some quesadillas.
When I got back, I made her try the smoothie first to make sure she could hold food down. I wanted to wait a little longer but eventually gave in after she begged me for twenty minutes straight to give her the damn quesadillas.
The rest of her stay was thankfully uneventful. With her pain under control, and all her bloodwork coming back normal, she was able to be discharged a day earlier than we expected. While I’d miss sleeping next to the tranquil sounds of the overenthusiastic smoke detector disguised as my mom’s heart monitor, it was time to bid farewell to Casa de Jell-O. I started to gather up our things while my mom watched with a huge smile plastered on her face.
“What?” I asked when she was starting to creep me out.
“Can’t a mother smile at her beautiful daughter?”
“Not when you look like you’re about to say,‘ Whyyy sooo seriousss ?’”
“Oh Hadley, I just had a successful operation without any major complications. I’m feeling high on life.”
“You’re high on Vicodin.”
“Beep! Paging Dr. Buzzkill. Dr. Buzzkill, come in please. Beep! Oh look, they’re calling for you, dear.”
“The pain medication has deluded you into thinking you’re a laugh riot.”
The nurse came in to give us our discharge paperwork and helped my mom into a wheelchair, and we headed home.
I drove us back to her house where I’d spend the next four weeks helping her recuperate. She was an absolute trooper, as I knew she would be. The first week was a little rough trying to keep her pain under control, even though she tried to hide it. After that initial bumpy week though, she seemed to get stronger with each passing day. When she started making Dolly Parton jokes, I knew the worst was behind us.
We spent the rest of our time together lying in bed, watching movies, and just vegging out. I’d essentially hit the ‘out of the office’ button on life. I just needed to figure out an automatic reply for those pesky life responsibility queries that adulting admin kept sending me.
We’d made it through the first leg on the road to remission with this surgery behind us. Next step was a few months of chemo, possibly longer depending on how her body responded to it. She was healing nicely though, and both surgeons gave her the all clear to resume her normal activities at the four-week mark. It was definitely a relief, because I was set to begin my new job next week and wouldn’t be available to her 24/7 as I had been.
I wasn’t expecting to find a job so quickly. California would seem like the land of opportunity for someone in the music biz, but San Jose wasn’t exactly a music mecca. Los Angeles was really the place with the most job prospects, but it was over six hours away and would defeat the whole purpose of me moving here. So I settled for a job doing something I had absolutely no experience in and would probably fall flat on my face trying—teaching.
I had gotten a job as an adjunct musical composition professor at Stanford University. I knew my old friend and roommate from college, Sarah Samaha, worked there, so I called her up, and she graciously helped me get an interview.
I had my interview over a Zoom call with the director of the department, William Abel. He was in his late sixties, completely bald on top, but going for that classic look that ladies loved—leaving the hair to grow on either side of his head. He was overly friendly and managed to make me uncomfortable even three thousand miles away. He would stare at you with his eyes set just a fraction too wide to be considered normal after attempting to make a joke and smiling with his mouth slightly open, waiting for your response. I gave him the laugh he wanted, however fake it was, and he offered me the job at the end of the interview.
On the surface, the job seemed perfect. There weren’t a lot of hours required, so I’d be able to make most of my mom’s appointments. It was close to her doctor, and the pay was much better than I expected. The only problem was my teaching experience lacked a certain… existence. I had, however, seen Dead Poets Society , so if I had to resort to standing on Stanford’s furniture to get it right, I would.
“I have that welcome banquet for the faculty on Friday night. You think you’ll be okay to be on your own?” I asked my mom as we drove home from her follow-up visit.
“Looking forward to it, actually.”
“Thanks a lot,” I replied, brimming with sarcasm.
“You really should get a life, Hadley. Spending every waking moment with your mother for a month straight is not a good look.”
“Stop getting cancer, and I’ll think about it.”
“Deal,” she affirmed with a nod.
“So, you’re really going to be okay?” I asked, feeling the need to double check.
“You heard the doctors. They both cleared me to go back to my normal daily activities.”
“What are you going to do without me?”
“I might go cruise the town looking to pick up a handsome gentleman to spend Friday night with.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of guy are you looking for?” I asked, playing along.
“I guess someone who’s not intimidated by a woman with perfect breasts, maybe loves to cook, or at least enjoys eating late night snacks in bed together.”
“Oh, I just thought of the perfect caption for your dating profile: Single and Ready to Pringle .”
“Outstanding. Sign me up!”
When we arrived back at her house, I watched her get out of the car, grab her purse, and close the door with perfect ease. I relented that she might be ready to be on her own… but was I?