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Pea Sized
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Pea Sized |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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I heard the loud, incessant roar of the magnetic resonance imaging machine. I tried to picture myself lying in the grass at a park with a gardener close by, blowing leaves, and the summer smell of new mown grass and the sound of children’s voices. I didn’t succeed. The doctor explained how the M.R.I. worked, but I didn’t really understand anything except this machine could predict my future; if I had a future. I imagined the worst. As I sat in the doctor’s office waiting for him to tell me about what I thought I already knew, I felt hysterical. I tried to get a hold of myself. "Hello, Joan," the doctor said, as he walked into the room. "How are you feeling?" How do you think I’m feeling? I wanted to yell at him, then I looked at his warm, brown eyes and saw nothing but compassion there, and immediately felt ashamed of myself. "From what I was able to tell from the M.R.I.," he said, "you have a small, pea sized tumor, right here." He indicated an area on the back of my head. "It doesn’t appear to be malignant, but, I can’t know this for sure without a biopsy. Unfortunately, surgery in this area is not possible. I would like to start you on chemotherapy, just to be safe." I tried to picture something small and malicious under the soft brown curl of my hair, but couldn’t. I wanted to be safe—oh, God, how I wanted to be safe, but for me, the word chemotherapy did not sound safe at all. I remembered the fairy tale, --The Princess and the Pea. It had been my favorite. How could something so small, feel so big? Then I thought of my two sons. Who would love them ever, as much as I did? The rest of the visit passed in a fog. I left the doctor’s office, and as I drove I passed green trees and gardens. I passed a woman with a hose, young and shapely in shorts, watering the shrubs, roses and petunias of her normal, healthy life. I passed mothers with babies in strollers and parks full of baseball playing boys. I passed muscular men jogging down streets and old women in flowered dresses walking dogs. I passed young girls holding hands with pimply-faced boys—and started to cry. I told my husband, Bill, that night about my condition. He was very supportive. "I love you, no matter what," he said. We made love that night with the intensity of our early courtship. His callused work-worn hands moved across the soft plane of my belly and cupped my mother breasts that still leaked milk from the years of nursing, when I got excited. He licked the glistening drop from the tip of my nipple then moved to my cheek and kissed the salt of my tears and, for a moment, everything was all right. I knew what had happened to those carefree days of love-making that we once enjoyed: the humdrum, dull days, full of the damp-cheek needs of small boys, the energy-sapping eight hour work days; that had happened. We had bought a home in a nice town with a two car garage and two new cars to go in it and time had passed. Now my time was up. I tip-toed into Ken’s room. He lay on his pillow in the middle of the room, with no cover against the cold, away from those things that might offer him comfort when darkness tickles fear. But there was no fear on his face. As I covered him with a blanket and breathed in his warmth I was overcome by sadness. That summer night, with the window open and the crickets singing, I lay awake. I felt an aching loss. I knew I couldn’t stop the steady march of time through this night into a future, as dark and ominous as any monster in a dream. This dream was real and I was all alone. The night grew quiet, quiet as a tongue licking velvet cat paws, after the kill. The next day I began my first chemotherapy session. Bill wanted to go with me, but I insisted on going alone, because alone was how I felt. "You’re going to feel very tired and sick after it’s all over," Dr. Station told me. His words did not begin to describe how depleted I felt. When I got home, I went straight to bed. The next thing I knew, a peach sunset was drawing maps across the bedroom wall and a cool breeze gentled the curtained window. Downstairs I heard little boy sounds of laughter. The smell of something cooking made me feel sick to my stomach. I went into the bathroom and looked at my face in the three way mirror. It seemed like my face went on and on into the room. A crowd of me, I thought, and touched the cold glass. I washed the white mask of my face, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair. I applied fresh lipstick and some blush, then put on a flowered summer dress that Jack was especially fond of, and started down stairs. When I looked into the living room I saw Jay lying on the rug, methodically chewing a piece of gum. His straw hair, bleached in places by the sun, fell around his face unevenly. I had not done a very good job with the scissors. Every once in a while, he would stop chewing, and slip his tongue between his lips in concentration. His blue jeaned legs moved up and down, keeping time to some other rhythm, while his fingers worked with crayon on paper. Except for the fleeting looks of concentration on his face, he could have been a baby sleeping; brown lashes brushing soft, pink cheeks, instead of the eight-year-old he was. The chocolate ice cream around his mouth, the ink drawings on his arm and the grass stains on his knees were evidence of a life apart from this one of quiet. I was transfixed by the beauty of this child of mine. Jay looked up. "Mom, hi," he said. "I’m making a picture for you cause Dad said you don’t feel good." Bill came out of the kitchen wearing an apron, followed by Ken, who said, "I helped Daddy cook our dinner, Mom." When he smiled, there was a gap where his front teeth had recently been. "How’d it go today, honey? How are you feeling?" Jack asked, as he kissed me and put his arms around me. The boys jostled each other and looked up at me with their father’s green eyes. Before the tears that were threatening, spilled down my cheeks, I squeezed Bill’s shoulders. "I’m going to be just fine, now," I said. I looked at these three people and thought; they are a part of me—my family—my life. I smiled instead. |
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| © Copyright 1999 Martie Odell Ingebretsen - All Rights Reserved | |||
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JennyLee Senior Member
since 1999-09-01
Posts 1461Northwestern, NJ. |
{{{{hugs}}}} What a story of great courage and a loving family. It speaks to my heart of strength and the honesty of knowing that there is a higher purpose,even if we do not understand it at the time it is happening. I pray many blessing to be dropped into your life. So elegantly told.  Jenny Lee |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Thankyou Jennylee and just to set things straight, this is a work of fiction. I am glad it sounded so real to you. That's what first person does. |
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JennyLee Senior Member
since 1999-09-01
Posts 1461Northwestern, NJ. |
You did an excellent job then as,I was sucked right into the story LOL..... Jenny BTW I do alot in first person so should've know heehehe. Jenny |
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Watcher666 Senior Member
since 1999-10-13
Posts 1606 |
This was wonderful.You captured the fear and anger so well.Loved it! ------------------ Illusion...what we see and what we do...it's all up to you. |
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Marilyn Member Elite
since 1999-09-26
Posts 2621Ontario, Canada |
I am very impressed Martie. I know that this is cyberspace and anything is possible but I thought you were male..lol. You depicted a females perspective very well. Now I am confused (and they say gender confusion is for the individual to struggle with). |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Marilyn, how funny. I am a woman. I have found the same problem here with some writers, so don't worry. Thanks for your comments. |
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PhaerieChild Senior Member
since 1999-08-30
Posts 1787Aloha, Oregon |
This is so poignant! Brought a flood of tears just reading it. Very well done! Had a hard time believing it wasn't a real event. It was depicted so realistically. ------------------ If you love me like music, I'll be your song. ~Heart~ Dreamboat Annie |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
Well now, Martie, Look what I found. Peace.  If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Peace, AND hugs... |
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Jeffrey Carter
since 2000-04-08
Posts 2367State of constant confusion! |
Amazing peice of writing here Martie. The fact that is fictional makes that much more impressive. My hats off to you! |
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merlynh Member
since 1999-09-26
Posts 411deer park, wa |
Some of the better stuff I've read on a writer's forum in a while. You show promise as a writer, it's apparent you've be at it a while. |
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Sadelite Member Elite
since 2003-10-11
Posts 2519 |
Martie, I've been dipping down to this portion recently to get my mind off of things and try to find/write a little humor into my life. When I saw your name, I had to open it because I knew of your quality... Well, enough for the humor, you almost had me in tears again! Shame on you!!!! Thank goodness you left for a happy ending... Gee, the power of the pen will never cease to amaze me! I enjoyed this a lot. Sadelite |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Once again...a worth of wealth to be read again... and again. |
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lgina Member
since 2004-07-20
Posts 52 |
Martie girl, Totally amazeing. This had me hooked. You are a very intuitive writer.Thank for being so readable. |
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