Having Hope

“What’s going on?” asked a voice from the front of the chemo room. Sharon, the nurse closest to her, turned immediately, searching Judy’s pale face for signs of distress.

Seeing none, she asked, “Why? Is something the matter?” Judy had been hooked up for nearly an hour.

“No, I’m fine,” Judy reassured her. “I just noticed that the energy in the room had changed, and the volume. It seemed as if something was happening over by the door.”

Surprised by the astuteness of the blind woman, the nurse reflected on how to answer. “A new patient came in, someone who used to work for the hospital. Many of the staff know her.”

“That explains it then,” Judy said. “Thank you for telling me. Do you know her? What is she like?”

Sharon thought a minute. There was an issue of patient confidentiality involved, but then Judy wasn’t asking who the woman was, so she answered. “She is a strong woman, smart and confident . She was a manager until she retired last month.”

“Isn’t that sad, that she just retired and came down with cancer?”

“You know all about that, don’t you? Yes, it’s terribly sad,” Sharon replied, patting Judy's shoulder.

“Do people like her?”

Another perceptive question. “They respect her, but I can’t say they all like her.” That seemed fair enough.

***

Amanda’s smile was as radiant as ever, and she surveyed the room in a queenly fashion, looking about for staff members she recognized. Opening the door to the cancer center was like turning the page to a whole new chapter on her life. More than anything, she hadn’t wanted to open that door. Life had been fine the way it was.

“Oh my, Jane, isn’t it good to see you too!” she exclaimed. “Will you be my nurse today?” she inquired.

“No, I think Carrie will be taking care of you today,” Jane answered.

“Oh well, she’ll be good too, I’m sure.” Oh hell, she thought. I wrote her up for something once. What was it? Disagreeing with a doctor in front of a patient? I think that was it. Great.

Jane walked away, and another nurse approached as Amanda stood waiting by the door. No one had asked her to take a seat, she noticed.

“I’m Carrie,” the young brunette said. “Do you remember me?”

Careful. “You certainly look familiar,” Amanda said, trying to sound unsure.

“Please follow me. I’ll put you here near the front. That way you’ll be able to see everything.”

“I’m not sure that I want to be able to see everything,” she said with a laugh. I may as well throw my weight around as long as I can.

“Patients tell me it is very helpful to be able to see what’s going on. You’ll become acclimated more easily this way.”

“Still…” she said, ”I’d rather be at the back, somewhere more private.”

“Not today. Mondays are very busy, and I’m afraid there aren’t any back seats available. You’ll be all right.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said, smiling. “These chaises look so comfortable, I’ll probably sleep right through the session.”

“I’ll be back shortly to hook you up. Just try to relax,” Carrie said, and left.

Amanda draped her jacket across the back of the rose colored lounger and slid into the seat. It looks like a dental chair, she thought to herself, and suppressed a shudder. And I can certainly see everything—and be seen by everyone too. I wonder if it’s worth trying to get Jane to find a more private place. She watched Jane, saw her speaking to Carrie and then look over at her. She decided against it. A year ago, maybe she would have pushed it, but not now. She slipped the paperback out of her bag and began to try to read. It didn’t work. She couldn’t concentrate. She closed her eyes.

“Amanda, I’ll need you to wake up now, just for a few minutes. Then you can go back to sleep.” Carrie’s voice was gentle and kind. Amanda’s eyes fluttered open, and her face quickly adjusted itself into a smile. “I wasn't sleeping. I’m ready whenever you are,” she said.

Amanda felt just a flicker of pain when the IV needle was inserted. As Carrie taped it into place she explained the procedure. “First we’ll be giving you a bottle of saline solution, and when that is finished we’ll begin the chemo. It will take about an hour for this to run, and then another half an hour for the real stuff. You should be ready to go home after lunch. Would you like me to order you something to eat?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I don’t believe so,” Amanda answered.

“Are you nervous? You don’t look like it, but I know I would be. No matter how long you work on this side of the business, being on that side has to be scarey.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head and smiling. “I’m a rock!”

You’re as hard as one, Carrie thought to herself. “Is there anything I can get you? A cup of coffee? A magazine?”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you. Black.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

Once she had the coffee in her hand, Amanda realized that she was chilly. She set the cup carefully on the floor, and then pulled her jacket on, tucking the hood closely around her neck. Reaching for the coffee, she saw that it had spilled. She must have set it partly on the jacket sleeve, or something. She sighed heavily, and decided to say nothing for the time being.

“Are you all right over there?” came a voice from the next chair.

Amanda looked over at Judy, noticed her unfocused eyes, and realized the woman was probably blind. She did not bother to smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“My name is Judy, by the way. I heard you stirring around, trying to get comfortable, and then the sigh. This is your first time, isn’t it?”

“How could you possibly know that?” Amanda asked.

“The nurse told me,” she said. “We’re like family here.”

“Well, ‘sister,’” Amanda said, “I’m all right now that I have my jacket back on. It is cold in here, don’t you think? And if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a nap.”

“They keep it a little cool on purpose. You know how it is to feel too warm if you have some nausea going on.”

“Please don’t talk about that. “

“I’m sorry. Go on to sleep.”

But of course sleep didn’t come. And now, damn it, I can’t even move without that twit next to me hearing me. She willed her neck to relax, her shoulders to come down but it wasn’t easy. Even so, she was on hyperalert, tuned to hear every laugh in the room, every whisper, every step that came near.

She opened her eyes to the sound of a new voice coming close. “Oh dear, you’ve spilled your coffee!” Maria said. Maria was a CNA who’d recently be placed in the cancer center. “Let me wipe that up and get you a fresh cup.” Amanda started to protest, but changed her mind. Just go with it, she told herself. Don’t make a scene.

The blind woman,--Judy ,wasn’t it?--appeared to be watching her. Well, who knows: maybe she could see a little. Just as she was thinking that, Judy spoke.

“Your jacket is a lovely shade of blue. Did you get any coffee on it?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” Amanda replied, looking for the first time at the hem and cuff. “Maybe a little, but it hardly shows. What else did the nurse tell you about me?”

Judy was quiet a minute. “She told me you used to work here, and that you just recently retired. That’s a bummer.”

“Yes, well…yes. So, do you mind my asking, how much can you see?”

“If it’s up close and bright, like your jacket, but not across the room.”

Maria brought her a fresh cup of coffee, and Amanda held onto it with both hands. I must remember to bring a cup from home she thought. May as well make this experience as pleasant as I can. That was a new idea to her, to try to make it pleasant. She’d mainly been in survival mode, survival and well armoured for it at that. She would not, absolutely would not let these “girls”– although several of them were her age— see how hard it was for her.

Her mother had died of breast cancer when Amanda had first gone off to nursing school. She had had a blind eye to what was happening to her mother, and was overwhelmed by the reality when her dad called her to come home. Mom had been so alive, so bright and quick, and over such a short time had changed so drastically. No hair on her head, and beneath that, a sluggish mind—chemo brain, they called it. She was confused at times, had no plan for the day, or even any sense of what day it was. She let others do everything.

Maybe the change had begun before Amanda left for Chicago, but she hadn’t noticed it. She’d been so full of her own life and all its promises, she’d barely remembered Mom was having more treatment after the lumpectomy. None of it had alarmed her. It was just something that was going on, and would be over soon, nothing to worry about, her mother had assured her.

And she had believed. Not so when her own doctor pointed out the spots on the mammogram. She would act as if it was nothing, but by now, with thirty-five years of nursing behind her, she knew better. This was a big tumor, with evidence that it had spread, and she was all alone.

“Your coffee’s getting cold.”

She glared at Judy, and then remembered the look would be wasted. “Oh, that’s all right.” she said casually. “I don’t care much about coffee anyway. “ That was a lie. She lived for her first cup of the morning, and this was Starbuck’s best. The cancer center was a classy place. “How could you tell I wasn’t drinking it?” What did this interfering woman want with her?

“You haven’t moved since Maria handed it to you.”

“Do you always stare at people like that? “

“If they’re interesting, and near enough for me to see anything at all.”

“What makes me interesting? Or am I just nearby?”

“You’re interesting all right. I can feel all kinds of energy around you.

“Oh no, you’re one of those mystic people too, I suppose?”

“No, not really. But when you can’t see, you develop your other senses, you know that. So I’ve developed my intuition. “

“What does it tell you about me?” She asked in a cold tone.

“You’re very interested in what people think of you, and you are very careful not to let that show. Maybe you’re letting me see it because I can’t see, because I’m not part of your world. “

Amanda was silent. What Judy said was true.

“What kind of cancer do you have?”

“I don’t think we need to get into that.”

“Breast?”

“How could you possibly know that? “

“Just a hunch. How far along is it? “

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you think it will go away if we pretend it isn’t there? “

“No! You horrid woman. Leave me alone!” Amanda knew she had gone too far now, and looked around the room to see if anyone had heard her. Maybe. She thought she saw an eyebrow go up here and there. Well, she would close her eyes and retreat into herself. What else could she do?

Still Judy persisted. “You know, I don’t have much to lose here, and you have everything.”

“What do you mean?” Amanda asked.

“I have stage four lung cancer, and this treatment is just to try to keep me as comfortable as possible. It’s not going to cure me. But you have something eating at you that’s just as dangerous as your cancer.”

“That’s enough! I’m going to ask to move to another chair. “

“Do what you want. Maybe they’ll find a place, since you’re an exec and all, but it won’t help. You can’t hide from everything. “

By now the nurses were aware of the heated exchange, and Carrie came swiftly toward Amanda. “As soon as you’re through with this bag, which should be any minute now, we’ll move you. We can arrange to move Frances, uh, that is, the woman in the back, to finish her treatment up here. Will that be all right?” Carrie’s voice was quiet, but she sounded anxious.

“Yes, dear, that will be good.” Amanda tried to regain her composure. “I don’t suppose there is a screen or something you could put up in the meantime?”

“No, nothing like that. But I’ll be happy to speak to Judy, if you’d like.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. Let’s just get me moved as soon as possible, shall we?”

A few minutes later Carrie came back. Crouching next to Amanda’s chair, she said quietly, “Our plan is not going to work. Fran—that is, the patient—has been having some back spasms and is unwilling to change chairs.”

Amanda groaned. “We’ll certainly have to do something. And, dear, I hope you’ll be more careful with my name than you have been with hers. I really don’t want the whole hospital to know I’ve come to this.”

Carrie bit her lip, then said smoothly, “If anyone outside this room knows you’re here, it certainly won’t be from me. And as for your privacy, I’m sorry that it isn’t possible. I have my iPod with me, if you’d like to immerse yourself in music and tune the rest of the world out, but that’s the best I can offer.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Amanda sighed. But once the earbuds were in place and the music turned on, she decided that it was not. She looked through the playlist and found absolutely nothing she cared to hear, so she turned it off. She left the earbuds in place; at least she’d look as though she was listening. She adjusted her jacket on her shoulders and stole a glance toward Judy’s chair. Judy’s eyes were closed, her head braced by a pillow. Good, she’s asleep. Look at that, she’s drooling! Amanda shuddered and looked away.

The minutes dragged on, and a choking sound from the next chair snapped her attention back to the blind woman. The pillow had fallen to the floor, and Judy’s neck was hyper-extended. She struggled to right herself, but was unable to and went limp.

“Nurse!”Amanda reacted automatically. She jumped out of her seat, and, being careful of her own IV line, supported Judy’s weight to prevent her from falling to the floor. The nurse ran immediately and took charge.

“Good work, Amanda. I’ve got her now,” Carrie said. The folding screen which she’d denied having was quickly pulled into place, shielding Judy from all curious eyes. She came back shortly, and explained that Judy was prone to seizures, but that all was well now. And it was time to begin the Amanda’s chemo.

The following week Amanda was relieved to be escorted to a chair in the rear of the room. None of the faces were familiar, or even awake, and that was even better. She had made it through the first session without any more interruptions, and, though tired, had not felt as bad during the week as she’d expected. So far, so good, she told herself as she slipped into the chair. Maybe I’ll watch a little tv, she thought, and settled on a golf match. Just as Tiger Wood was lining up for his putt, she heard the tapping of a cane and looked up to see Judy coming toward her. She arranged her face as pleasantly as she could, for the sake of those around if no one else. “How are you feeling, today, dear?” she asked.

“I’m okay I guess. Much better for having not fallen on my head, and I hear I have you to thank you for that, “ Judy said.

“It was nothing,” Amanda answered, trying her best to end the conversation there by turning her attention back to the game.

“Nothing to you, I know that. But to me it meant a lot. I think you still have a chance. You have a good instinct to help, even if it’s only a learned reaction. It’s a start.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Amanda said stiffly.

“I’m talking about life,” Judy said. “However long or short it will be, living a life that matters.”

“My life matters,” Amanda snorted.

“To whom?” Judy persisted.

“To…me!”

“Why?” asked Judy quietly.

“That’s enough. That’s all I can take. I’m going to call the nurse.”

“No you won’t. You don’t want her, or anyone else, to see you have feelings. But you need to. You need to let yourself be real. To care about people and reach out to them for help. That’s the only way we make it through this.”

“You aren’t ‘making it’ you said,” Amanda scoffed. “What do you know?”

“Making it doesn’t mean to survive. It means to have a life worth living. I’ll leave you alone now. I just wanted to thank you, and to have you think about what I said.” Judy turned and minced her way to the waiting room, to sit until a chemo chair was available.

“Who does she think she is!” exclaimed Amanda, in a hushed tone as Carrie approached.

“Judy?”

“Yes, of course Judy! What’s the matter with her! She doesn’t know me from Adam.”

“She’s a one-of-a-kind, all right.” The admiration in Carrie’s tone was apparent.

“What do you mean?” Amanda answered indignantly.

“She used to be a family counselor in Seattle, had a thriving practice. People came from all over for her.”

“What’s she doing back here?”

“Her family was killed in a car crash, hit by a drunker driver. Her husband and two little girls, all killed. She stayed over there, kept on with her practice for ten years or so, then moved here to take care of her mother who was being treated for cancer. So we’ve known her for awhile. First her mother, now her.”

“How long ago did her mother die?”

“Oh, that was a long time ago. She just stayed on after the death. She was an only child, so she had to close up the estate, and then she started practice here. She just retired last spring.”

“So she doesn’t have anybody left either.” Her thought slipped out without her meaning to say it. If Carrie noticed, she didn’t show it.

“She has more friends than you can imagine. They’ve remodeled her house for her since the tumor started pressing on her optic nerves. She can live all on one floor now, no stairs to trip her up. They take turns staying nights with her, usually a week at a time.”

“Can’t she do anything for herself?”

“She does lots of things. She has a big cake party coming up. She’s done it every year she’s been here. She’s been baking cakes for months and freezing them. You’ve never had anything like one of her cakes. The party’s next month. You’ll get a taste. “

“I certainly won’t be invited to her party,” Amanda said.

“Oh yes you will. Everybody is. She has it here in the cancer center. “

“Why does she do it?”

“She never says. ‘It’s just a celebration,’ is all we know. We think maybe it was her daughters’ birthday. They were twins.” Carrie turned to go, then came back. “I won’t get in trouble for telling you all of this, will I?”

“No,” said Amanda. “And thanks.”

When Amanda showed up for her next appointment, she was wearing a wig. It was cut just like her own hair, and barring close inspection, it passed for the real thing. The cancer center staff might notice, Amanda realized, but certainly not anyone who mattered.

The oncologist had warned her that this drug would make her hair fall out, and that it would happen soon. It would come out in disgusting clumps, shedding all over her pillow, her favorite chair, and her coat collar. Right after the second session she’d called Jennifer, her beautician, and asked if she ever made house calls. At first, Jennifer sounded puzzled, but at the mention of chemo, she understood.

“It will be much easier to start off with a shaved head,” Jennifer said. “Trust me.”

“I trust your discretion too, right?” Amanda said, and Jennifer agreed. She would
keep Amanda’s secret.

The cancer center people handled it with their usual aplomb. “Your hair looks beautiful today!” is what they said, giving her the opportunity to disclose or keep the secret as she wished. She acknowledged the compliment graciously and let it go at that.

In some ways it was getting easier to go there every week. She was comfortable with the staff now, given the intimacy of their roles; familiar with their undaunting cheer, which she’d suspected would wear thin, but it hadn’t. It was a good façade to hide behind, for all of them. This is a place of smiles and love and healing, it said. She wondered, momentarily, what it would be like to be there and be dying. Invisible? Perhaps. She caught herself thinking about those others and was surprised. There were others, though, she knew. They sat in the back or lay on beds for their treatment. They didn’t say much, just came and went, colorlessly, until they quit coming.

In other ways, each trip grew harder. The chemo was taking its toll, not just with her hair. Her whole body ached with fatigue and, well, pain. No place in particular hurt, except the port through which she received the chemo. Just everywhere. And with the tiredness and the discomfort came the dread that each treatment would be worse than the last. Wigs were an easy disguise, but next week it would be her eyebrows and lashes that she’d lose. There’d be no making up for them.

She tried to think, as she sat there during the first hour, the part she stayed awake for, of what her mother had gone through. There hadn’t been anything like this, certainly. Chemo? She didn’t think so, but some drugs; and no appetite, just wasting away. And pain. She had avoided it all she could, leaving the care to her dad and her mother’s friends because she, after all, was away in college. How could I have done that? she thought. Her throat tightened, and her eyes stung, but tears didn’t come.

Her fourth session was the hardest. She had been okay for two days, then could barely get out of bed to retch. She placed towels and plastic dishpans on the floor and on the table near the bathroom door, in case she could make it no farther. She used them many times.

If her phone rang, she let it ring, then read the caller ID when she felt like making her way across the room. If someone came, she didn’t notice. A basket of flowers was delivered from the Human Resources department at the hospital. She found them on her porch when she picked up the morning paper. They must have been there all night without any extra water, and they looked a little sad. She gathered them up and put the basket on her immaculate dining room table. With some cutting, discarding and rearranging, they would have looked presentable, but she didn’t have the energy.

When she missed her appointment with the oncologist, the nurse herself called. When there was no answer, she looked up the name of next of kin. Everyone thought she was married, but no one was listed. Wondering where to turn next, she called the hospital chaplain. Sr. Annette came immediately, and offered to drive to Amanda’s house before they did anything else.

When there was no answer at the door, Sr. peered into the garage window. Amanda’s BMW sat there, sleek and quiet. Next, Sr. went to the neighbors. “Have you seen any sign of Amanda?” she asked.

No one had seen her. “How about her husband?” she asked.

“He’s gone a lot, on fishing trips,” one neighbor offered. None of them remembered having seen him in months.

“Do you, by any chance, have a key to her house?” Annette tried.

The people in the first house didn’t, but the couple across the street had one. “We’d forgotten we had it, until you mentioned it,” they said. “She gave it to us when they first moved here and were going away for vacation.”

“How about her husband?”The woman glanced at her husband. “I haven’t seen him in years. How about you?” He agreed. “They used to go places together, had parties, went on fishing trips. We kept their dog for them a few times when the kennel they used for boarding was full.”

“There was a dog?”

“Not recently. She used to walk him, but either he died or the husband took him.”

“Is something wrong?” the wife asked.

“She didn’t show up for a doctor’s appointment, and we haven’t been able to reach her. Would you mind letting me use the key?”

“We’ll come with you.”

They found Amanda in the kitchen. The barstool lay on its side near her, a cup broken on the tiles, the tea bag still clinging to a piece of the saucer. She was alive, conscious, but dehydrated, weak and confused.

***

“What happened to her hair?”Jean Jacobs gasped.

“She’s been taking chemo,” Annette said.

“She has cancer? “ Jean’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh the poor dear, and all alone. Why didn’t she tell us?” She paused, and then continued, “On second thought, we hadn’t ever been close friends. Why would she? But what a shame, to have that going on right in the neighborhood and not knowing it. Maybe we could have helped some way.”

“Maybe you still can,” said Annette.

Amanda wakened in a hospital bed when a familiar nurse came in to check on her. “I see you’re awake. Are you feeling any better?” she inquired. “I hear you gave Sister a scare.”

Embarrassed, Amanda ignored the comment. “Which room am I in?” she wanted to know. “This doesn’t look like the med/surg floor.”

“No, this is Women’s Health. The rooms are quite pretty aren’t they? Not so plain vanilla. We have you down as a confidential patient; I hope that’s all right. You can probably go home tomorrow. ”

“Why do I have to stay at all?”

“The doctor wants you to have some more fluid, and to see if we can get some food down you first.”

“I could be doing that at home.”

“You’ll get your chance, just not today. And the doctor wants you to have someone stay with you at night, at least for the first night. And probably when you get your next treatment too. So you’ll have a little time now to arrange for that, okay? Now, is there anything I can get you? I’ll send in a fresh pitcher of water. Do you need Sister to get an address book for you or anything, so you can make some calls?”

“No. But you could ask her to come by, if you would please.”

“She’ll be glad to hear you’re awake. She’s been here twice while you were asleep, incidentally.” The nurse gave her a wink, and left the room.

What will I do now? How stupid of me to let this happen! She searched her mind for excuses for why she needed to go home, or why she didn’t need anyone’s help. There were no good answers.

When the nun arrived at her room at the end of the shift, Amanda had made some decisions. “First of all,” she said, “I want to thank you for finding me, I think.” Realizing that sounded strange, she amended it. “It’s not that I’m not glad to be alive, I just hate to have put you to the trouble.” There, that sounded better.

Sister laughed. “Are you worried about what you looked like when we found you?”

“We?” Amanda was alarmed.

“Yes, your neighbors, the Jacobses and I. They had a key to your house. I thought that would be better than to have the police break the door down, especially since I didn’t know whether you were even there.”

“Was I…”

“Dressed? Yes, you had sweats on, but your wig had come off.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry you had to see that. But then, I don’t have it on now either, do I? Did anyone bring it? I would feel much better with it on.”

“I’m sorry,” said Annette. “I should have thought of that. You have a nice bald head though.”

Amanda smiled.

“I have this problem,” she said after a minute. “I don’t have many friends. I guess you’ve found that out.”

Annette nodded. “It seems that way.”

“Can I be frank with you? It isn’t that I don’t like people, exactly; it’s just that I never had the time. I worked, and I took work home. And when I played, I played with Herb. Until he left, that is. I guess I didn’t take time to play enough.”

“You never told anyone?”

“I was ashamed. I’ve always been too proud. ‘Too proud for your own good,‘ my mother would say, and she was right. But that’s just the way I am.”

“Do you want to change?”

“No, not really. It sounds much too hard at this stage of the game, but maybe I’ll have to.”

Sister Annette was debating about whether Amanda would accept a hug when the pager went off. She leaned over the bed and gave Amanda’s shoulders a little squeeze, then said, “Well, I’ve got to go. I’ll be by in the morning. Sleep well.”

“Wait. Who can I call to spend the night with me tomorrow when I go home?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that, but it’s a good idea! Maybe I can. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Amanda got up and walked carefully to the hall. So far, so good, she thought. Partway down stood the coffee pot on a cart near the nurses’ station. She poured herself a cup, and was gingerly making her way back to her room when Jean Jacobs got off the elevator and headed toward her, looking for room numbers. Quickly, she began to turn her back to the visitor, in an effort to hide, but then changed her mind. It probably wouldn’t work, and she should make the effort to see the woman. Try to act appreciative, she told herself as she went to meet her.

At least she had enough sense not to stay long, Amanda thought later. And I’ll have a ride home now, if Annette can’t do it. She felt relieved about that, but still apprehensive that somebody might spend the night.

Annette could, and did do both. And, although Amanda could hardly believe it, they had fun. Annette had brought a DVD for them to watch together, and they ate popcorn and laughed. In some way, Amanda felt better than ever.

When she arrived at her next chemo appointment, she could see the flurry of activity in the kitchen area. Judy was there, two cake carriers in hand and several more on the table in front of her. The nurses were a little more differential to her now, following her hospital stay, and they were ready to usher her straight to a seat in the back. “You’re a little early, and we don’t have the drugs up for you yet, but you can get comfortable anyway, even if we can’t get started for a while,” Carrie said.

Not wanting to sit any longer than necessary--it seemed to sap her strength as much as the poison itself she sometimes thought—Amanda asked if she could help with the Cake Party.

“So you’ve heard of it!” the nurse said. “Yes, if you want to help you could make some signs to put on each cake. Judy will tell you what each one is. Then you could get out paper plates and things out of the cabinet on the left. And then, if you wanted to, you could go around and take orders. Or we’ll do that, if you don’t want to.” She gave Amanda a big smile.

“I think I can do that,” Amanda answered, and picked up a stack of name tags and a marking pen. “Okay, Judy, what kind of cake is this dark one in the blue enamel cake pan?” As they reached the last variety, Judy said, “Are you the lady who sat next to me a few weeks ago on your first day?”

“Yes, I’m the one.”

“You’re feeling better, aren’t you? You sound much more positive. Are you making some new friends here?”

“Not here, but yes. The chaplain here has been very good to me, and a neighbor has offered some help too.”

“Did it hurt?”

“To accept help? Just my pride.”

“That’s okay. It’s expendable.” Judy laughed, then asked, “Could we sit in here and talk a minute? They aren’t ready for either of us yet, and it’s too early for cake, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure it’s ever too early for cake. Why? What do you want to talk about? I don’t think I’m up for a therapy session yet.”

“I’m trying to help the cancer center by giving them some impressions of the care they give. Don’t worry. You’ll be anonymous. You have an astute eye for things, and I would value your input.”

“All right,” she said, taking a seat across the table from Judy. “What do you want to know?”

“First, what was your first take on the atmosphere here?”

“You mean the sugar-y sweetness? It’s hard to say what it feels like to a patient when they first come in, because I’ve seen it for years from the other side. It’s effusive. Gag-gy to me. But now that I’m here, I appreciate it more. I always thought it was just a specialized kind of professional face. I wore one too, but mine was directed to being a manager and trying to get people to cooperate. These girls—I’m sorry, these women—are the real thing, the genuine article. It’s still a little much sometimes, but what’s the alternative? Reality might be a little too heavy. People have to have hope.”

“Why’s that, do you think?”

Amanda contemplated the question. “People stand a better chance of getting well if they’re hopeful.”

“What about the ones who probably aren’t going to get well anyway? Is it just a game? “

“I wondered that too. I’m in that category myself, maybe. But that’s a big word, ‘maybe.’”

“So you’re feeling hopeful?”

“Somehow I’ve suspended my cynicism. I’m letting myself soak up the atmosphere of hope, and I think that isn’t so bad after all. If nothing else, the time I have left will be happier.”

“That’s what I think too,” said Judy. “Is there any way I can help you?”

On her guard again now, Amanda said, “What do you mean? Help me what?”

“What we were just talking about. Help you accept life as it is each day, and your place in it, without making judgments about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Amanda answered, “but that’s about all I can take for now. I’m not in the habit of so much inner reflection, or whatever you call it. It’s getting a little too, uh…well, I’ve had enough anyway. Let me know when you think it’s time to pass the cake.”

The rest of the day went by swiftly. The cakes were shared, and the patients and their families were delighted with them. Amanda was tired, not only from the chemo, but from the thinking she was doing. Judy’s friends were gathering up the cake plates, preparing to take her home. Amanda waved one down, and summoned her over. “I have something to tell Judy. Could you tell her for me please?”

“Certainly,” said the friend.

“Tell her I don’t know how she could help, but I know what I need to do, and she helped me find it myself.”

The following Wednesday, Judy overheard the nurses’ pleased greetings to someone coming in the door. “Look at you!” “Don’t you have a pretty head!”

She smiled because she knew it was Amanda.



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