Wish Upon a Star (4 page)

"I thought that's what Miranda was going to do."

"I can work with Julia when I'm unclear about hospital
protocol and similar things. I'll go to Randi for advice, like why
should I do this genetic testing Julia recommends, and just what the
hell is this MUGA scan I'm having on Monday."

I'd barely finished cleaning up after dinner when Annie
moved to the spare bedroom and got on the phone with Miranda.
They were still talking when I went to bed a couple of hours
later.

Miranda had convinced Annie the genetic counseling was
critical, so on Friday morning we found ourselves in an office at the
Breast Center. As near as I could figure, the genetic testing was
needed to help determine the likelihood of the cancer returning as
well as a potential link to ovarian cancer.

Good God, as if one cancer wasn't enough to think
about.

It turned out the Genetic Counselor, a tiny gal named Sue,
was another breast cancer survivor. She explained that the BRCA1
and BRCA2 genes are part of a class of genes called tumor
suppressors. A blood test could determine whether or not there was
a mutation in either of them. We needed to know if mutations were
present, because in addition to ovarian cancer, a positive test would
indicate that Annie was at a higher risk for other cancers including
pancreatic and melanoma.

Oh yeah, and if she was positive there was an increased
chance to pass the gene on if we had kids. No pressure.

Annie and Sue spent a good deal of time going over Annie's
family history to see if there was any history of breast cancer. It was
during this meeting I found out Annie had an aunt on her dad's side
of the family who'd been treated for breast cancer when Annie was
young.

"I want the test," Annie finally said, with her
decision-is-made nod. "Information is power, and I feel so powerless right now.
At least this will give me control over something."

We left the counseling session and went directly to the
hospital where Annie had blood drawn for the genetic test. After
that, she underwent a full-body PET scan that Julia had scheduled for
her. The scan took a head-to-toe picture of her to look for any signs
of cancer beyond what had already been found.

When the PET scan was finished, Annie dropped into the
chair next to me and put her head on my shoulder. "I am so ready for
a drink or five."

Her phone buzzed before I could respond. She looked at it
and typed in a few key strokes. "We're having dinner at Randi and
Ryan's. She wants an update, and promised me fried plantains in
return. We can pick up a bottle on the way."

When we arrived, Miranda gave me a hug and a smile. She
greeted Annie with what seemed like a special code they used when
speaking to each other. I got the sense from the way Ryan kept
looking at the floor and merely offered to take our coats that he
didn't know what to say, so he'd chosen not to say anything.

Annie stuck out her bottom lip when she handed her coat
over. "Don't I get a hug from you, too? I need all the hugs I can get
these days."

"Oh well, yeah, sure." Ryan's cheeks had turned fire engine
red by the time he wrapped an arm around Annie. "Sorry, I just
didn't know... Let me go stash these."

He turned, but Annie placed her hand on his wrist before he
could escape. "It's okay Ryan. You can say it. I have cancer. But I'm
not going to die. Unless Randi lied to me about the plantains, that
is."

Miranda snorted. "How dare you impugn my character? I'd
lie about a lot of things, but never about plantains."

That broke the awkwardness, brought a smile to Ryan's face
and pulled a laugh from me. As was always the case with a
Miranda-prepared meal, dinner was amazing. The Caribbean flair was a
welcome escape from sub-freezing February weather outside. Ryan
and I cleaned up while Annie followed Miranda into her home office
and closed the door.

When we were finished in the kitchen, Ryan pulled a couple
of beers from the fridge. We wound our way to the living room and
found a college basketball game to watch. During a TV timeout, Ryan
cleared his throat.

"So, Annie has cancer, huh?"

"Yeah." I took a drink. "They call it bi-lateral invasive ductile
carcinoma."

"What's that mean?"

"Hell, I don't know—"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry." Ryan put up a hand like he
was surrendering.

"No, it's okay man. I'm still trying to figure out the
terminology. It seems like every time we turn around there's another
test she needs to take before we can do anything. It's been constant
react mode."

"My grandma had breast cancer when I was ten. Mom totally
freaked out. It was bad around the house for a while, since my mom's
always been a panicker. You should have seen her the morning of
our wedding." He chuckled. "Grandma made it through, but I don't
know many of the details."

"You were a kid. You were probably busy playing ball."

"Actually, busy with Legos. I was always building something
with those blocks. Grandma said I was born to be an architect."

"So how old was she, when she, you know..."

Ryan scratched his head. "Don't know exactly. Early sixties, I
think."

"Annie's in her early thirties." The implication hung in the
air between us, unsaid but understood.

"How about another beer? Second half ought to be starting
in a minute." Ryan was out of his seat and headed for the kitchen
before I had a chance to say yes.

We kept the conversation focused on the ball game until
Miranda and Annie joined us. Annie's eyes were red and a little puffy,
so I knew there'd been some tears shed behind that door. I didn't
press, just took her hand in mine when she sat next to me on the
couch. When the game ended, Annie bumped my arm with her
shoulder. It was time to go.

On the way home, she told me her pow-wow with Miranda
had been fruitful. Miranda had confirmed our positive feelings about
Dr. Furman. Within the medical community, she was regarded as
both highly skilled and very compassionate.

Among the names of the hematology oncologists the
Navigator had given Annie, a Dr. Mary Hill had landed on the top of
the list. Dr. Hill was in her mid-thirties, which Annie said was
important to her. She thought someone that age would be able to
relate to the challenges she was facing in having breast cancer at
such a young age.

The last member of the medical team Annie had decided on,
whom we wouldn't meet for a number of months, if at all, was the
radiation oncologist, Dr. Margaret Francis. Miranda's mom had
worked with Dr. Francis and had apparently insisted that Annie
work with her. Of course, the hope was that the cancer had been
caught before it had spread to the lymph nodes. If that was the case,
radiation wouldn't be needed.

I sent a silent appeal to Mom and Dad that we'd caught it in
time.

"So that's who my team of doctors will be. At some point, I'll
need to meet with a plastic surgeon to handle the reconstruction, but
I'll think about that another time. On Monday, I'll call Julia so she can
get an appointment with Dr. Hill set up. All that's left is the MUGA
scan on Monday and then I get the port put in next Wednesday."

"Is that all?" The sarcastic tone of my question struck me as
funny for some reason, and I chuckled. "I'm sorry. How are you
holding up?"

"I'm all right, for now at least. Sitting down with Randi was a
huge help. She helped me process a lot of the information from this
week. Having her in my corner's huge. Not as huge as having you
there, though. I couldn't do this without you, you know."

"Sure you could."

When I didn't say more, she nudged my shoulder. "How are
you doing with all this?"

How was I doing? I was scared to death. Annie was my
North Star, my guiding light. I was the luckiest guy in the world for
having met and fallen in love with her on that cross-country train
ride. Against all the odds, she'd fallen in love with me, too. The
thought of her in pain shattered me to the very foundation of my
being.

The past couple of nights, I'd woken up soaked in sweat
from the same nightmare. I was in a dark suit, standing over a
grave—her grave—in a driving rain. I couldn't bear the thought of her being
sick, much less losing her. I'd have sold my soul in a heartbeat to be
able to trade places with her.

But I couldn't tell her that. The last thing I wanted was her
worrying about me. I'd promised myself I'd be her shoulder to lean
on. I'd never show weakness. I sure as hell wasn't going to break that
promise now.

"I'm okay. Getting up to speed on all this medical lingo's a
challenge." I redirected the conversation away from me. "I hope you
realize that if one of the docs prescribes you EPO, you'll have to sit
out any triathlons that do blood testing, at least until it's out of your
system."

Annie snorted. "Oh lord, you would think of something like
that. You are such a dork."

"Yeah, but I'm your dork."

"Yes you are, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * * *

Despite the fact that neither of us had nine to five type jobs,
it seemed like we were busier than ever the following week. Amidst
the MUGA scan, the port procedure and a barrage of test results, we
resigned ourselves to the fact that Annie's career was going to be put
on hold for a while. Since she'd never replaced the personal assistant
she'd fired just before we'd started the concert tour, I'd become her
de facto assistant.

While she and her agent Ira dealt with the loss of a film role
she'd been interested in, I kept her manager, Samantha, updated on
test results. A handful of magazines had contacted Samantha with
requests for interviews and she couldn't understand why Annie
wasn't interested in any of them.

Things got hot between Samantha and me during a phone
call one day while Annie was out for a walk. "Annie's just not ready
to talk about this publicly. She needs more time."

"Dammit E.J., how much more? If we keep ignoring these
requests, we'll lose the ability to control the message." Things went
downhill from there until Annie's return forced a compromise.

"Her first chemo treatment's tomorrow. I'll get her to write
a statement after that. That's the best I can offer you."

I ended the call, convinced the low point of the week had
been hit. Annie had lost a film role because she couldn't meet the
production schedule. I'd pissed off her manager, who was also a
friend. The procedure to put her port in had gone flawlessly, but
Annie still hurt like hell from it.

The cold, gray weather was a perfect match for my black
mood.

It turned out that I was wrong about the low point being my
argument with Samantha. After dinner that night, Annie growled and
tossed the copy of
Fighting for Our Future
she'd received from
the Young Survival Coalition on the floor. "This is pointless. Maybe I
should just forget about treatment and run away to a tropical island
and live on the beach while I let the disease take its course."

I turned off the college basketball game I'd been watching
and took a minute to work on a response. This wasn't like her. She
was many things—film star, recording artist, astute
businessperson.

But she wasn't a quitter.

"Annie, listen to me. I know this is hard. But quitting is not
an option. You have too much yet to give to this world to wave the
white flag. We'll get you better and then pick up where you left off.
Right now, you have to be brave, even if you don't want to be. You're
my North Star—"

"Oh Lord, don't give me any of that North Star crap. You
know what I am? I'm one in eight, twelve percent. That's what the
literature says. I'm nothing more than a freaking statistic." She
picked the book back up and threw it across the room. It bounced off
a wall with a thud and landed face up, as if it was mocking us.

Annie slumped on the couch, head in her hands.

Tears escaped from eyes that she'd squeezed shut.

I sat next to her and placed my hand on her shuddering
back. "You're not one in eight. You're one in a million. And we'll get
through this. Together."

She reached out and took my hand in hers, gripping it
tightly. It was wet from the tears. "I've never been this scared in my
life." Another shudder went through her.

Using a light touch, I stroked her back. "So this is more scary
than my driving in Europe during the tour?"

She sniffed and glanced at me through watery eyes. "Nice
try." Her hand went to the star-shaped pendant on the necklace she
was wearing. I'd given her the necklace to show how I truly saw her
as my North Star, my guiding light. "Do you remember Christmas
morning, when you gave me this?"

"I'll never forget it."

She swallowed and sniffed again, while tears streamed
down her face. Her anguish left me feeling worthless. I wanted to
strike out at something—a wall, a window, anything I could put my
fist through. But I couldn't do that. I needed to be the harbor to
shelter Annie from the storm raging inside her.

"I remember after I opened the box, you made me stand up
so you could put it on me. And then you took it in your hands, and
stepped behind me. You draped it around my neck." She snickered a
little. "And you couldn't get the clasp to work. But on the third, no
fourth try, you got it. You let go and wrapped your arms around me."
She was gazing at the star in her hand.

"Then you kissed me on the neck and whispered 'Merry
Christmas, Annie. I love you.'" She took my hand in hers.

It was ice cold.

"Did I ever tell you how I'd felt at that moment?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. I should have, so I'll tell you now. At that
moment, I felt like a princess in a fairy tale, a princess with her
Prince Charming, on the verge of her happily ever after." She leaned
her head against my shoulder. I put my arm around her and held her
tight.