The Trip Of A Lifetime

Globe at our house on Lake Superior

Friday evening -  TGIF to us all, she thought as she fumbled through her purse for her house key. And please let the result of my mammogram be on my voice-mail, she added out loud to herself. Betty said she'd call today and leave a message. So please be there!  

The anxiety she'd held at bay since Tuesday was manifesting into a full-scale eruption. The mammogram had been ordered by Dr. Cooper because of a "suspicious spot" he’d felt on the left side; probably nothing, but let's make sure, etc. Yeah, well, OK, so long as I know the result by the end of Friday so I won't have to worry about it all week-end, thank you very much.

All at once kicking off her shoes and hurling at the sofa her purse, her briefcase full of legal briefs to review over the week-end, and the mail, she muttered out loud: "OK, girl! Here it comes!" She headed straight for the phone and nervously dialed in for her messages.

She was wriggling her arms out of her coat sleeves with the phone wedged between her right ear and shoulder when she heard: "This call is for Natalie. This is Betty, from Dr. Cooper's office. Please call Dr. Cooper back at soon as possible to discuss the results of your test."  

Staring at the receiver while shaking it as if to forcibly extract more information out of it, she yelled "What??? That's it? Are you kidding me?"

Her mind struggling to make sense of the onslaught of emotions generated by the message she had just heard, she slammed the phone down. She started pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living-room. They called at 3:30; it's now 5:45PM; and, of course, they are closed for the week-end. No, no, no, they can't do this to me. How dare they? 

Collapsing on the sofa, Natalie grabbed one of the big throw pillows, and hugged it with fierce energy. More like a series of punches, really. Betty had  promised she'd have the results by the end of Friday. Now she had to wait until Monday morning. That was 60 hours away! I don't believe this is really happening, she thought angrily. 

Shuddering with frustration, she sprang off the couch and headed for the kitchen to pour herself a glass of white wine. I have to think, she decided. Returning to the sofa and burrowing into its pillows, she stared at the Oregon coast photograph which hung over the fireplace. She had bought it last year at the Sun Valley Art Festival because she knew that nature, whether the real thing or in a photograph, always helped her relax and focus. After a while, she decided in favor of keeping her date with Andy that night. Better try to enjoy the comedy they had planned to see, than to stay home and drive herself into a frenzy of helpless anxiety. 

When she slipped into bed later that night, she knew she had been right to go out with Andy. Not only the play was hilarious, but not bringing "it" up with Andy -- better wait till I know for sure to hit him with it --, had jointly helped her stay off the treadmill of obsessive worrying. Her last conscious thought was "56 hours to go..."

Saturday - The first sunrays of this fresh, crisp and bright Connecticut October morning peeked through the vertical blinds of her bedroom window and played hide-and-seek with her pupils through her closed lids. Her mental gears instantly whirring, what had lurked around her subconscious all of last evening and during her sleep now exploded into her first stream of consciousness with uncanny details. Why did Betty say I had to call "to discuss" the results of the test? Why do I have to speak to Dr. Cooper personally? Something is wrong! A jolt of acute awareness shook the rest of the cobwebs away, and brought into focus the answers to these questions. 

She suddenly bolted upright. They must have found a tumor. And now they have to tell me personally, instead of on my voice-mail. I have to have an ultra-sound, or a biopsy, or both, to find out if it's positive. Of course! What other reason could there possibly be for their leaving that cryptic message on my voice-mail? If it were negative, they'd have just said "Everything's OK."

She tried to sort out her feelings as she started her morning routine. First, put on warm-ups and go for her daily morning walk, her best and most fruitful "thinking time." She stepped out of her front door and headed for the wooded trail surrounding her apartment complex. I have cancer, she decided. She thought of her childhood friend who had died of breast cancer eight years earlier. It's my turn, now...

"Hold it, now!", interrupted her inner voice, starting one of their familiar inner dialogues. "You are running away with yourself"

"I know my time is up. This is it."

"Didn't it occur to you that you might be jumping to conclusions?" 

"What possible other explanation could there be for their not leaving a message on my voice-mail?"

"Maybe they don't leave detailed messages." 

"All they had to say is 'Everything is OK' or 'All is well'!"

This started a morning-long, rapid-fire dialogue, with Natalie always at the ready with internal retorts, arguments and comebacks like racquet balls bouncing off walls, and her inner voice asking for equal time on the side of calm and reason.

Back from her walk and on with breakfast, change her bed sheets, start the laundry, make her shopping list, pay bills. Today, she found great relief in the reassuring familiarity of her Saturday routine. It was a welcomed contrast with the fierce tennis match going on inside her head: I have cancer. You don't know that yet. I am going to die. No you won't. Yes I will. 

Out for errands to the pharmacy, the post office and the dry cleaners. By the time she reached the supermarket, her inner battle was raging. When she returned home, Natalie's fears had won the war and her inner voice had reluctantly conceded defeat.

Natalie nibbled distractedly at a tuna sandwich, tried to read the cooking column of the paper -- her favorite; it should have kept her mind distracted but it didn't. She finally decided to meditate.

Stretching on her bed, she stared in her mind at the flame of the candle she always visualized to access her inner sanctuary and eliminate all thoughts. At first, her anxious ranting was only replaced by images of tumors, of mastectomy, of going bald from chemotherapy. However, further focusing on the flame caused those images to finally give way to the soothing waves lapping on the deserted beach of her inner sanctuary. 

OK, she asked herself, so now what am I going to do with myself for the rest of the week-end? There is no way I can concentrate on those briefs I brought home. Too bad, they'll just have to wait. 

Her inner voice grabbed this opportunity to resume the dialogue: "Walking isn’t the only thing that helps when you’re anxious. Swimming and cooking have also worked for you to relieve tension and restore peace. You've already walked, so go for a swim, and then cook up something new and scrumptious."

Thirty minutes of laps in the gym pool took care of the rest of the afternoon. To keep her mind busy while swimming, she repeated affirmations: I have a healthy mind and a healthy body. Serenity comes to me easily and naturally. My inner sanctuary is a place of total peace and safety.

Back in her apartment, she soaked her bathing suit in soapy water before heading for the kitchen. How safe it felt to perform routine motions which required no thought and generated no anxiety. Walking, check. Swimming, check. Step three, cooking, coming up.

A familiar oldie would do the trick today. She really didn't have anybody to cook for any more since she and Patrick had divorced three years ago. But cooking was a creative outlet for her, and she still cooked on a large scale, freezing everything in single or double portions.  How about a beef bourguignon?

She buried herself in the familiar rituals: cubing the stew meat, washing and chopping the onions and mushrooms, sautéing it all in butter, adding the red wine, and setting the timer for the required two hours of slow cooking.  During that time, she sipped on two (or was it three?) glasses of wine while trying to do crossword puzzles, another one of her favorite pastimes.

She ate with less gusto than usual, a sure sign of preoccupation since eating was always one of her most cherished pleasures in life. She popped "Grumpy old men" in the DVD player, and watched it curled up on the sofa, tightly hugging one of the throw pillows for comfort and reassurance. When she finally called it a day, her last conscious thought before slipping into the oblivion of sleep was: What am I going to do if...?

Sunday - God, why couldn't I sleep in, just for once, so I wouldn't have so many hours to be awake and think and worry, she thought, unwilling to face yet another day of not knowing. She buried her face in her pillow to avoid the first morning sunrays peeking without mercy through the window. 36 hours down, 24 more to go.

She never knew what would surface from that mysterious place where her mind processed, digested and resolved what her conscious had absorbed during the previous day and night. Today, the first thought that popped into her mind was like that first ray of light coming through her window, an awakening, an epiphany. She would sell her portfolio, take a six-month leave of absence and spend it all traveling for the few months that she had left. It would be her trip of a lifetime.

Traveling had always been her foremost passion in life (outside of Patrick, who now was history). A long, adventurous and expensive trip was the answer. And planning it was just what she needed to keep her mind absorbed for the rest of the day.

Energized by that thought, she leapt out of bed and was quickly out of the door for her morning walk. Losing herself in the cadence of her steps, Natalie heard her inner voice: You have no control over neither the disease -- assuming you have one, nor the speed at which it will progress, nor the amount of time you have left. But you do have control over what you do for and about yourself in the meantime. Indulge, please yourself, make yourself happy, do what gives you the most pleasure while you can. Now is the time for the trip of your life. How about a world cruise?

Back in her apartment, she decided to skip breakfast, grabbed the Travel section of the Sunday newspaper and spread it out on her coffee table. She remembered how, when she was a part-time travel agent while in college, she had envied her clients all those adventures she was selling them, lamenting that she could’nt afford any of them.

Well, she could now, if she sold all her liquid assets. Not the condo or her car, of course, because she'd still need a place to live till the end. She'd been a hard-working attorney for 20 years, and had invested wisely. With no children to inherit her portfolio, why should she hang on to it at this point? What good will it do her after she's gone? She always thought that when her time comes, she'd go out in style. Well, it looks like now is the time.

So many cruise lines. So many different itineraries. Europe? South America? The Greek Islands? The Caribbean? India? The Panama Canal? China? The Pacific Islands? One extended trip, possibly even six months around the world, in upscale accommodations, a private stateroom, with a balcony. Should she sail from a U.S. port, or fly to Paris or Rome and start a cruise from there?

Now hungry, she fixed herself a mushroom and tarragon omelet and a tomato salad. She was taking the last bite of an apple when the grandfather's clock in her study rang noon. Without even so much as putting her dirty dishes in the sink, she grabbed her coat and car keys, and drove to a travel agency which she knew was open on Sunday afternoons.

One hour later, she drove back with an armful of brochures from various cruise lines, each more expensive and luxurious than the next, from Cunard to Seabourn, Princess to Norwegian, Regent to Holland America, Oceania and Silversea. She settled once more in the security and warmth of her sofa nest. Surrounded by brochures, maps, atlases and travel guides, she lost herself in planning the trip of her life, which she would book to-morrow. After she'd talked to Dr. Cooper.

Having turned in for an early night, and drifting into sleep after a hot bubble bath, her last thought was: I'll know in less than 12 hours...

Monday - Awake at 5:30am, Natalie was out the door at 7:45. Dr. Cooper's office opened at 8:30. She intended to be there as Betty unlocked the waiting room door.

At 8:31, Betty, her coat still on, opened the waiting room outside door and seemed puzzled to find Natalie standing in the hall, her back stiff and her face tight.

"I need to talk to Dr. Cooper right now, please!" Natalie snapped. Two whole days and three whole nights of waiting and worrying and agonizing and wondering and doubting and fearing and waiting, had taken their toll. The pitch of her voice and the intensity of her tone testified to that fact.

"He just walked in, Natalie, I am not sure he is ready to see patients just yet" answered Betty cautiously.

"I don't really care whether he is ready or not!" exploded Natalie. She resolutely entered the waiting room and stood, towering over the short Betty who started to slowly retreat behind the nurse's desk.

"What's going on, Betty?" said Dr. Cooper poking his head around the corner, his coat still on. "Oh, hello, Natalie", he smiled hesitantly, when he caught sight of her.

"All I need right now, Doctor", said Natalie, her voice dripping like liquid ice, "is the result of my mammogram. Which, by the way, Betty was supposed to leave on my voice-mail by the end of Friday. Instead, I just got a cryptic message to call you, which left me hanging all week-end!"

"Oh, don’t worry! The results were negative. Just a false alarm. Nothing's wrong. It must have just been a cyst that I felt when I examined you." Dr. Cooper was smiling, happy to dispense such good news to a patient.

It's negative!, Natalie thought. I am OK. I don't have cancer. I am not going to die. Not just yet, anyway. She heaved a huge sigh of relief and took a very deep breath. 

But wait, she thought, this is not over yet! She noisily exhaled two days' and three nights' worth of anxiety and torment, and collapsed on the waiting room sofa. With all the controlled calm she could muster, she continued”:

" I am delighted to hear it, Dr. Cooper, really I am." Natalie paused before continuing, her voice rising a notch. "Did it, however, occur to both of you that, since there was nothing to discuss because it was negative, you could have simply left a short voice-mail message stating 'All is well,' or something to that effect?"

" I am sorry, Natalie, but we never leave the results of a test on a patient's voice-mail. All we can do is leave a request for a return call" replied Dr. Cooper in his most soothing voice.

"Maybe so, Doctor, but it would have spared me three nights and two days of freaking out because of not knowing!" she blurted.

"Surely, you can understand that leaving anything more detailed would be a breach of privacy if someone else picked up the message" he answered, now slightly on the defensive.

Taking a deep breath, Natalie continued slowly:

"Let me try to make YOU understand something, Doctor. Have you ever suspected you had a terminal illness? Did you ever experience, after waiting several days for the results of a test, being told by a recorded voice what meant that you'd just have to wait another three to learn whether or not the course of your life had been altered forever, and please call again? Do you have any idea what it's like to wait seven days to be finally told that it was just a false alarm after all, and have a nice day? 

“Well, Doctor, I have, I did, and I do. And I suggest you try to imagine how you would react to this scenario if you were at the receiving end. It will also make you a better physician!"

Without giving Dr. Cooper or Betty a chance to reply, Natalie yanked the office door open and stormed out. On her way to the stairway door, she forced herself to slow down to calm her nerves, her mind, her stomach and her heart. She then walked town the three floors to the street instead of riding the elevator.

Once in the driver's seat of her Honda, she just sat motionless, her head on the neck rest, staring blankly through the windshield with both hands clasped on the steering wheel. After a long while, a smile slowly spread on her face. She didn’t have to sell her portfolio after all, but she surely needed a vacation. She laughed happily as she turned the key in the ignition. Carpe diem. Yes, why not?

Sitting across the travel agent at the cruise desk, Natalie showed her the Panama Canal brochure she had chosen yesterday.  "I have decided on a top deck suite. I see the next departure is the first Wednesday of next month from Miami. That will be perfect. Would you mind taking care of my airline reservation as well? Please let me know when I can pick up the travel documents. Here are my business and home numbers." Standing up, she added “I'll go plastic all the way” while handing her Visa card to the agent, and walked out with a smile and a spring in her step.