Chapter 27 Good News
First thing Monday morning, I call Dr. Liam’s office. When I tell the receptionist who I am, she exclaims, “Emma, I’m so happy you finally called us back. We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for months. Why didn’t you call us back?”
“Uhm, I recently moved out of my house and I . . . I need to see Dr. Liam,” I say. “Can you squeeze me in as soon
as possible?”
“Of course,” she chirps. “Just hold on one moment.
When she gets back on the line, she tells me they’ve penciled me in for that Wednesday at 7:30 a.m., before
Dr. Liam normally sees patients.
I guess they don’t get to share good news with patients very often.
The office is empty when I get there, but Dr. Liam bursts in and leads me to an examination room.
She hugs me and then scolds, “Why didn’t you ever call us back? We’ve left messages at the number you provided but couldn’t leave any other information on the test results. We expected you would call us back.” Glancing at my boot and cast, she says, “And what in the world happened to you?”
I shrug and sheepishly say, “I fell on New Year’s Eve. I want to know if that was me just being clumsy or if it was MS acting up.”
“And the no call backs?” Dr. Liam presses.
“My mom mentioned the messages, but I ignored them. I moved out of my parents’ house and didn’t want to deal with reality yet.” I look directly into Dr. Liam’s eyes. “Are you sure it’s Lyme and not MS?”
“Well, let’s have a look.”
She goes through the normal checks of balance, reflexes, keeping up a steady stream of questions.
At the end, she remarks, “I don’t see any indication of physical issues.
The ones we noted in September have cleared up.
Your responses to my questions tell the same story.
No indication of MS symptoms. We both know that doesn’t guarantee they won’t emerge at some point, but for now, no MS is my diagnosis.
I think we can safely assume the antibiotics I gave you for the Lyme worked. ”
Dr. Liam regards me with raised eyebrows.
I am sure she is expecting me to be jumping for joy, but all I can muster is a wan smile as I feel the crush of my crazy decisions coming home to roost. What am I going to do?
I no longer have just the next few months to figure out and deal with .
. . suddenly I have my whole life, and that is overwhelming.
Being brave is much easier when you don’t have a future ahead of you.
I hug myself as fear and worry consume me, making breathing difficult.
Life is too scary; I just want to run back to my safe cocoon.
I realize without MS, I’m not sure I can stand tall.
A single tear makes its way down my cheek. Goddamn it.
I step out of Dr. Liam’s building. People are rushing around, heading to work, and on errands; the feeling of being disconnected from the world pervades my mind.
I wander through Central Park, sit on my favorite bench, but all the birds are quiet.
I try to think about my future, but it makes my head hurt.
Jake, my parents, everything keeps tumbling around and around.
Getting up slowly, I limp behind the bench and melt into the woods.
Ten feet in, my mind quiets, my body seems to reconnect with the world—this world.
Blindly, I reach with my one good hand and press it into the sturdy trunk of my tree.
My breath eases, my senses sharpen, and my mind clears.
The life I’ve been living is untenable, but that doesn’t mean I have to crawl back into my cocoon.
Maybe, just maybe, I can figure things out on my own.
The rough bark against my hand brings a sense of certainty.
I’m no longer lost. I can do this. I can make a life for myself.
My shoulders lift and I retrace my steps and reemerge behind my bench, no longer disconnected from the hustle and bustle of the people and the city.
With my head up high and a lopsided bounce in my step, I walk back to Vee’s.
Sitting on the couch after I get home, I contemplate what my new world could look like. I’ll move home, keep work-ing with Professor Montgomery, I’ll take some real college classes, I’ll work at the bakery on weekends, I’ll sign up for another three months of yoga . . .
I don’t realize Jake’s come into the room until he comes over and sits down next to me. He picks up my good hand in his larger one, and we both stare at our entwined hands. He places his other hand over mine and rubs it gently.
“Emma, what is going on? Please let’s talk. This seems like it’s about more than just what my bigoted mother said.”
I lock my eyes with him. The brown speckles glow with an intensity as well as a lovely sweetness. A smile starts to break out on my face, despite my inner turmoil. His eyes make me smile, even when my world is shifting beneath my feet.
But then I glance away. I’m not ready to tell him everything. He’s been very patient since the emergency room, but my future is starting to take shape, and I don’t yet have words to explain things. The bubble closes around me a little tighter. I’m hoping with time the words will come.
“Emma?”
“It’s okay, really, nothing is wrong,” I state, trying to keep my tone light. “I’m just trying to figure out some stuff.”
He shakes his head. “I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you like this. Maybe we should talk to Vee?”
Now I shake my head. “No. Really, I’m fine.”
Extracting my hand from the warmth of Jake’s grip, I go through the motions of getting dinner ready.
It’s a simple cacio e pepe, which Pinterest describes as simple but elegant.
I try to make small talk, but all I can think about is how my future won’t include this anymore.
I stir the white sauce staring at the black flakes of pepper.
I drift back into my head, losing the connection I found in my secret grove—I’m disconnecting again.
After we finish dinner, sleep pulls at me. Even though it is only 8:30 p.m., I head to bed and immediately fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. I don’t even wake when Jake comes to bed.
My zombie state continues. Jake shares that he’s making good progress on his thesis and I smile, but the smile doesn’t reach my eyes or my heart. I try, but I can’t feel the emotions I did before.
On Friday morning, my cell rings. Vee. Picking it up, I feel more grounded as soon as I hear her voice. She sounds relaxed and happy.
“How are things going down there?” I ask.
“I’m going to meetings every day, and I feel free,” she says.
“It’s so liberating to attend these meetings.
All these people are so wrapped up in staying sober and trying to fix themselves, they don’t have time to care or even notice that I’m a model or even beautiful.
They see the broken person inside me, and don’t notice the outside person.
We are all the same on the inside. Remember my yoga religion?
Well, I found a place to worship it, and it’s AA. No masks allowed.”
“Seriously,” I warn her, “you will be struck by lightning.” But I don’t really mean it.
Vee snorts a laugh, replying, “Someday you will find your nature church you described that day, and you’ll see the wonder in it too.
But really, I’ve never felt like this before: not special because I’m beautiful or tall or thin.
God, I love it. They see the real me and the real me is fucked up.
I’m not the face with airbrushed cheekbones, you know what I mean? ”
“No, I’m not sure I do,” I admit. “But you sound happy, and that’s what matters.”
“So, what’s going on up there?” she probes.
“Just to be straight with you, Jake called me and asked me to talk to you. He’s worried about you.
He told me about stupid Aunt Carol and her comments.
So, what’s up? If I’ve learned anything through rehab, it’s that talking really does help. It helps with everything.”
“I know you’re right.” I pause and take a deep breath, “First, I don’t really care about Carol and what she said.
She’s miserable and so self-centered. What hurt was that Jake didn’t say anything or stand up for me.
” I sniff loudly and fight back tears. “I know I’m just a fake fiancée, but still. But that isn’t the real issue.”
“Not the real issue?” Vee questions.
“The real issue is . . .” I inhale. “I thought I had Multiple Sclerosis. I told you my mom has MS, and back in September I was sure I had it too. Even my mother’s specialist thought so.
MS can be genetic. Well, after that doctor’s appointment, I decided I would give myself six months to live a little before I start the treatment. ”
I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. Saying it out loud does help, and it actually doesn’t sound as crazy as I thought it would.
“Oh, that’s why,” Vee interrupts. “Now I finally get your fixation on six months! But MS . . .” Her voice goes somber. “That’s really bad, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “There’s no cure, and the medications you take for the symptoms are dreadful, so I decided I would be okay with my sucky destiny if I could live a little first. And that was right when you and Jake came along and handed me a life.
It was the answer to my prayers, and I can never express what you guys did for me.
” I gather myself, taking a deep breath.
“But I just found out I don’t have MS. It was Lyme disease, and it’s all cleared up now. So now my plan is ruined.”
“Emma, wow!” Vee says slowly. “That’s heavy. But I’m thrilled you don’t have MS. Aren’t you?”
“I know I should be really happy, but I’m just confused and very lost. I know it’s crazy, but now I have to live my whole life instead of just six months—and I’m not sure how to.
MS meant my parents had to take me back after my little rebellion and the church would too.
Now I’m not sure either will take me back, and .
. . What will I do?” Tears spring into my eyes.
“Okay, slow down. You don’t need to figure out everything right now,” Vee says firmly.
“This is what I’ve learned down here. Take it little by little.
Start with the positive. First, you have a job; you have a place to live that isn’t with your parents.
You don’t have to squeeze yourself back into that shell of an old life.
The small box you were living in isn’t fair or right. You deserve so much more.”
Shaking my head, knowing she can’t see it, I whisper, “I don’t deserve anything.”
I’m not sure if Vee hears me. She states emphatically, “Emma, what about Jake? He really likes you; I know it.”
“It’s all fake, Vee, remember? All so he could get away from his parents for a little while. I’m not even good enough to be a fake fiancée. Jake needs someone real like Jessica, not me.”
“That is bullshit.” Vee says emphatically. “Jake needs you more than you know.”
I reply quickly, “I’m just a smelly, dirty Pollack and no one needs that.”
“Well, we’re back where we started. Carol is a snob and a bigot, but Jake isn’t.”
A flash of energy surges through me. “Jake needs to stand up to Carol and Oliver—not about me or my family, but for himself,” I blurt.
“He needs to stand up to them and tell them he won’t work at the firm.
He should do what he wants. Gosh, he’s almost thirty, and he’s going to cave and end up being just as miserable as they are. ”
I’m shocked at my bold words, but Vee is right. It feels good to get them out into the open instead of holding them inside letting them twist and turn in my head.
Vee responds eventually, “Yes, Jake does need to do that, but we can’t control others. We only control ourselves, our actions, and reactions. So, let’s focus on you and what you want.”
“But I don’t know,” I implore.
“Think about it. Really think about it and we can talk again.”
I feel lighter after we hang up. Not back to normal, but a little more part of the world.