At Mama Mia's
It was a quiet Thursday night at Mama Mia’s. A few people sat at tables and talked softly. Lights were dim, as it was dark early now in the late fall. The parking lot was dark and windy and full of dry, rustling yellow leaves. The warmth and light of the restaurant welcomed me when I opened the big oak door. I threaded my way past the big wing back old fashioned chairs to a little table and set up my tape recorder and thought about the evening.
I was meeting with several cancer survivors and a couple of nurses who had also been diagnosed with serious health problems, and I needed to settle myself before we started. Being a patient myself helped a great deal, and gave me a perspective I wouldn’t had had other wise. I could listen to the silences better, to the words that weren’t said, the feelings that hung in the air. Writing the book was good for me, it made me think about the future in a positive way. But the Interferon injections I was taking slowed me down and made me crazy sometimes, tired and weak and flat. It was all they had to deal with melanomas now, but I didn’t feel like myself, most of the time, except when I was writing, and for that I was grateful. But I had to keep telling myself, ‘you can do this, it may take longer and go slower, but you can do it.’ .
I sat and thought about the people who were coming to talk about their experiences, and made sure I had enough chairs around the small table. Monica was coming for the first time, she was retired now and had been a nurse for 21 years in a nursing care facility. I met her through another friend, and she introduced me to someone else. Peg would be there soon, and Kate Emerson, who had just celebrated her one year’s anniversary of throat surgery for thyroid cancer. I had called Marie, and learned that her diabetes was under control, finally. Honoria was coming, too, also for the first time. It had been a rough few months, and we all needed to gather and take strength and joy from each other. There would be five (???) of us, mostly women who knew each other well or had worked together for a long time. Marie and Peg and I were old friends from the hospital wards, and Kate and I had gone to high school together. .
Peg and Marie walked in together, and behind them came Kate. Cold fall wind on clear desert air made their cheeks pink and ruffled their hair. Honoria came behind them, introduced herself and settled in the chair next to Marie and smiled at me. I didn’t know her well, then, but I was glad she came. I sat for a minute, savoring the sight of my friends, all a little older and a little grayer since the last time I saw them, and watched them take their coats off and settle into chairs and begin to talk. .
“Where’s the tape recorder, Fink?” Peg laughed. “Hope you brought plenty of tapes, I’ve got some interesting stories. It’s been hellacious this month.” .
“What is it about this month?” Kate was a tall slim woman, her long blond hair was streaked with gray. She worked at a lawyer’s office which handled many family and domestic problems. She told us how busy it had been. “Abuse cases way up,” she said simply. “All kinds of abuse. Don’t know what’s going on.” .
“The baby business is always busy, so there’s nothing new there.” Marie smiled, and I thought of her working among laboring mothers and tiny babies. She had found her place early on, and stayed there. So had Monica. .
“Tell us about your work, you were in that one place for a long time?” I asked. .
“I worked at the nursing care facility for twenty-four years.” Monica shook her head as if the years had become hours and flew past her like a couple of sunrises. She wore her white hair in a short bob, and her eyes were brown and kind. Peg whistled. .
“You’re a candidate for sainthood, that’s what,” she said. .
Monica laughed. “Let me tell you about some of those patients. They had all kinds of problems, many on my floor had Multiple Sclerosis. They shared the experience of being in the hospital but they had also shared war experience. Most of them had been in WWII, lots of them in combat. They used to take each other to physical therapy, make sure they got enough exercise, walking outside in the sunshine.” Monica smiled and added, “It was an old building, red brick, built during the Depression. We didn’t have a lot of the more modern new equipment that the bigger newer places had. But we had those patients, those wonderful patients. I’d go back in a heartbeat and work another 24 years. Just to watch those patients look after each other was a treat. One was an old nurse,” she looked shyly around at us, and we grinned. “She had been in the Army Nurse Corps all through WWII and was about seventy years old. Every morning she got up, put her old purple bathrobe on and went to the refrigerator at the nurse’s station. She set out the juices on a tray, all different kinds of juice for the different patients. She decided who got what.” .
I heard Marie snort and Peg put her head back and laughed. “You’ve go to tell Sybil and Pam that story!” .
Honoria laughed. “I know some nurses at the hospital that would understand that!” she said. .
“The patients came up in a line, and she gave each one their juice and made sure they drank it. They grumbled a bit at her, but they did what she said.” Monica smiled. “It was her job, you see. She needed the job, she wasn’t well but she was well enough to pass juice, just like she had passed medications years ago.” .
“People looking after people, that’s what it’s all about.” Marie said, comfortably. She shoved the sugar bowl away from her and drank her coffee black. “They used to call it ‘sugar diabetes’ when I was a girl, my mother had it. Now they leave the ‘sugar’ part out, that’s for sure,” she laughed. .
We sat under the green glass bottles in the chandelier with their little winking lights and watched Harry bring green chili cheese pizza, fragrant from the kitchen. He put it down on the table and winked at us, and of course we each stood up and let the aroma tempt us. For a minute there were no words, only sounds of enjoyment. Then Peg sat back and sighed. .
“I need to tell you about last week at the cancer center.” She looked down at her glass of wine and moved it around and we were quiet, listening. “It’s been really bad, you know those weeks.” She looked at me with those bright blue eyes and I nodded. I remembered; who could forget? .
“Sometimes there seems to be a run on a certain type or age of patient,” Peg continued. “These past few weeks it’s been young people, and that’s really hard. There’s one man, Paul, about 35, who came in with his fiancee. He’s a musician, played guitar in a band, really nice guy. The young woman was an accountant, working in a bank, and they kidded around about how different they were. Different maybe, you could see they were in love.” Peg was quiet for a minute. Then she cleared her throat and went on. “He was diagnosed with cancer in his throat, a dentist found it. Right in the middle of their wedding plans they had this very serious problem to deal with. The young lady, her name was Kathleen, sat in the chair and watched me hook Paul up to about five hours worth of chemo and antibiotics. She told me that just a week ago her biggest problem was choosing the colors of the flowers for the wedding.” .
We all took a deep breath, and looked at Peg. .
“And now,” Honoria said softly. .
“And now, the wedding is on hold, and the flowers are still important but not as much as they were before.” .
“Before. B.C. Before cancer.” Kate put some sugar in her coffee and wiped her eyes. “We always date everything like that, don’t we? It’s changed our lives, sometimes for the best, because we got rid of a lot of superficial nonsense, but it’s still always ‘before’ or ‘after’ the way people think about their lives before a big flood or an earthquake.” .
“You got that right, and it doesn’t have to be cancer.” Marie pushed the sugar bowl away and grinned. “Anything that comes along and takes you by the scruff of the neck and shakes you up can do it. You just aren’t the same again. Life is different; everything is different.” .
“One thing I’ve noticed about patients is that if they have a chronic disease, everything that happens could be a sign of it either recurring or getting worse. If a cancer patient wrenches her back and hurts, she’s afraid it’s spread to her bones.” Peg sighed. .
“Or if you get a cold and cough a lot, you know you have lung cancer.” Kate laughed and then stopped and wiped her eyes again. “We’re just all nuts.” .
“You also don‘t have a lot of patience with the superficial things in life.” I said. “I watched an ad for some anti-wrinkle cream the day after I got home after the surgery when the melanoma came back the first time. I was really angry. Here was this beautiful model complaining about some wrinkles, and I was sitting there with a recurrence of a cancer, couldn’t walk, and hurt like hell.” I laughed. “And here she was, whining about some wrinkles that weren’t there.” .
Marie nodded. “I know the feeling. I’ve gotten real good at just being blunt and not constantly running for other people. Like all the committees at work, they wanted me to join all of them. I joined two and I saved some time for me.” She shook her head and drank her coffee, and added, “It’s about time, too.” .
Honoria took a sip of coffee and said, “Amen to that.” .
We all looked at her and she nodded. “I have something to say that you all need to hear, and some other people need to hear, too.” She took a deep breath and continued. “I had a double mastectomy, about six month ago.” There was a deeper silence at the table. “It was fine, it was my choice because the kind of cancer I had made it very possible that it would spread, and it probably would have. But two weeks ago I got a call from the surgeon’s office. The same surgeon who did the mastectomy. His office staff person called and asked me to bring my mammogram results with me when I came to see the doctor next week.” There was more silence at the table. Mammorgram? I looked at Peg and she closed her eyes. Honoria nodded. “Yes, how could I have a mammogram with no breasts? I asked the young lady that, and before the cancer I couldn’t have handled it. But now I can.” Honoria put her chin up and said, “I figured that was that, after I told them to put a note on my chart or something so no one else would call.” She looked around, and there were some horrified looks on our faces. “Sure enough, the day before I was to see the doctor I got another call, to make sure and get the mammogram results to bring with me.” Peg put her head on the table and Marie whistled. .
“No one paid any attention to what I said. No one flagged my chart, no one did anything but make me sad.” She looked down, and we all sat there, also feeling sad. .
“You know that’s a simple error, a clerical error, and so unnecessary.” Kate was sitting next to Honoria and took her hand. .
“I hope you gave someone hell when you went to see them.” .
Honoria nodded, with little smile on her face. .
“I made a sign with big block letters in bright red Crayon, that said .
“Double Mastectomy patient. No mammogram.” And told them to put it in my chart.” We all laughed, with tears in our eyes. “The office manager and the doctor had the grace to apologize for the staff, but I still think that was unforgivable.” .
Marie chewed her pizza and asked, “Would you have done something like that before you got cancer?” .
Honoria laughed. “No, I probably would have just tried to forget it and not say anything to rock any boats.” She grinned with a nicely mischievous look on her face. “I’m getting lots better at rocking boats now.” .
Marie made a signal with her right fist extended and grinned at Honoria. “Join the crowd!” she said. .
“You know what else,” Honoria said quietly, looking off into middle distance. “Other things get crazy, too, after cancer. B.C., before cancer, things were just things. You know,” she looked around at us. “A purse is just a purse, right? Those little fanny pack things for instance. Just a convenient way to carry stuff so it frees up your hands.” We all nodded, but Peg was very still. She had been there, she was Honoria’s nurse. .
“Well, I thought a purse was just a purse but then I had to carry some very strong chemotherapy medication around in it for several weeks at a time. It made me very sick. It went from the fanny pack somehow through the catheter up into my neck and through my body and it made me very sick.” She closed her eyes, remembering nausea and illness, and Peg nodded. .
“And now I need something like that fanny pack to take on a camping trip and I can’t wear it.” She opened her eyes and looked stricken around at all of us. “I just can’t, I have this terrible feeling about this silly little purse so I have to figure out a way to put it on so it doesn’t remind me of all that medicine. Isn’t that ridiculous?” .
We all sat in silence and then I suddenly understood something. It must have showed on my face because Honoria peered into my eyes and said, “and you….”.
I took a deep breath. “I’m afraid of the sun.” I felt the fear in my bones when I said it. “I’m afraid because the sun causes skin cancers and melanoma is the one I have…and I wear hats and sun screen everywhere and duck inside to be out of the sun.” I looked around at my friends, astonished at myself. “I want to move to Seattle.” .
“Living in New Mexico it’s hard to be afraid of the sun!” Peg smiled, knowing exactly what I meant. “It’s the number one place in the country for skin cancer, number two in the world right after Australia. And you used to be sun worshipper, a long time ago!” .
I snorted. “That’s over, forever. Never should have happened, but what did we know in the 40’s and 50’s? It was so healthy to have a tan, the sun was so good for us.” I shook my head. “Now we know better, but I’m still afraid. Deep down inside, I’m scared.” I turned to Honoria. “And you know, before you said what you did about fanny packs, I couldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t ready to be said. .
“Choking,” Kate said, clearly, looking into middle distance. We all stopped and looked at her. She looked up at the ceiling and repeated the word. “Choking. When I woke up with that tight bandage around my throat after the thyroid surgery, I felt like I was choking. That’s scary.” .
The tape recorder clicked and stopped and I turned it around and punched the button again. “I think in terms of seasons now, “ I said. “watching the turning of the year. Each one, each season, is like a gift.” .
“Kate stirred her coffee and said “Isn’t it wonderful that we’re all part of that order? The sun comes up, the moon sets, the stars come out, and people come and go; it’s kind of a wonderful plan.” She looked down for a minute, shy and withdrawn. Kate was quiet and never said much, but when she did, people listened. Hers was a quiet accepting sort of philosophy, but she asked plenty of questions. .
Peg passed some more pizza around and looked at Kate. “Did you tell them about it, about the award?” She was grinning and Kate blushed. .
“No, I didn’t. You got one last year, you tell them.” .
Peg laughed and told us about the “People Caring” award that she and her co-worker Tracy had gotten last year from the People Living Through Cancer group. .
“It’s a really wonderful award, it’s for service to people, for giving time and energy and making things better for those with cancer. Tracy and I got it because we’re nurses and we just do a job, but Kate got it for volunteering and leading a support group.” .
“All I did was talk to a few people once a week,” Kate’s cheeks were red and she sat with her napkin balled up in her hands. “I just told them how I felt, and how important it was to listen to the Universe and find the order. How important it was to look after each other, that’s all.” .
That was all. We all smiled at her and she stirred her coffee, and I felt again in the silence how bravery comes in many different costumes, sometimes with medals and trumpets, sometimes with gray hair and quiet words. We let the comfortable evening noises of the little restaurant flow around us, and I gathered the tapes from the recorder and labeled them. Peg and Kate and Honoria watched me while the others talked among themselves. .
“What do you think people will say when they read this, what we’ve said?” asked Kate. .
“That there are some pretty important people sitting at this table, that’s what.” Peg said, emphatically. “Wise and important and wonderful.” .
“I hope they listen,” Honoria said. “Listen well.” .
“We’ll come back, won’t we? We’ll do this again and you’ll tape it?” Marie stood up and put her coat on. I nodded. .
“Of course we will, there’s more to say.” .
Kate smiled and said, “There’s always more, and we’ll have more stories to tell when we meet again, I’m sure.” .
It was cold and dark outside when we left, to our separate cars, our separate lives. I put the satchel with the tapes and the recorder in my car and rubbed my hands to get the circulation going. The coffee and the pizza and the wonder of my friends warmed me all the way home. .