Chapter 78

Closing her phone, Cilla shifted her gaze out the window watching the world slip by. She had just hung up with Jon. He and the kids were having a fantastic time frolicking along the shores of Greece. They were coming back the next day then she Jon, and his two oldest children would be leaving for New Orleans Friday morning.

She sighed. She was in a stifling cab making her way to her doctor’s office; definitely not her idea of fun. She had known for weeks that something wasn’t right with her. Now, it was time to find out exactly what was going on. She only hoped it wasn’t anything serious.

The cab stopped in front of the medical building on 75th Street. Cilla got out and paid, looking up at the building. “Here we go” she thought to herself as she went inside.

The waiting room was empty and still Cilla had to wait. She thumbed through an ancient magazine. She had other things to do this afternoon. Would they ever call her back?

Finally a woman about her own age dressed in a floral scrub top and shocking pink pants came and took Cilla back. She was weighed, had her blood pressure taken, peed in a cup, all the usual checkpoints on the nurse’s chart. The nurse left her alone in the exam room.

Wearing only the worthless paper gown Cilla sat on the edge of the table. The room wasn’t cold but, glancing around at the charts and posters on the wall and the counter, her nerves started to get the better of her. Please don’t let anything be wrong she silently prayed. Rubbing her arms she picked at the paper cover on the table while she waited.

Relief washed through her when she finally heard the quiet knock and the door open.

“Good morning Cilla. How are you today?”

Dr. Shortle had been Cilla’s doctor for several years and she felt immediately at ease. “You’ll have to tell me because I’m not really sure.”

Dr. Shortle washed her hands and came to stand in front of her. “What seems to be the problem today?”

Cilla went through her list of symptoms, the fatigue she couldn’t shake, the ache in her lower back, the frequent trips to the bathroom, feeling bloated and achy, the recent discomfort after having sex. She frowned slightly at that last one. She hadn’t mentioned it to Jon, hoping it would pass, but it hadn’t.

Dr. Shortle noted everything down in the chart. “Okay Cilla, lay back and we’ll have a look and see if we can’t find out what’s going on.”

Cilla stared at the ceiling, counting the dots, trying to distract herself from what the doctor was doing. She hated this part.

When the doctor stood and pressed on her abdomen she let out an involuntary yelp. “Oh.”

She moved along, getting the same response as she manipulated both ovaries. “I don’t like that Cilla. How long have you had this sensitivity?”

Cilla shrugged her shoulders, “a few weeks I guess. Maybe a month. Why?”

The doctor snapped off her gloves and patted Cilla’s leg. “I want to do an ultrasound, get a better idea of what might be going on, okay?”

When the doctor left to get the machine Cilla laced her fingers together and rested her hands high on her stomach, suddenly wishing she hadn’t come alone.

~

Leaving the building Cilla didn’t know which way to go. She took a step, and was knocked back, the sidewalk busy with the late afternoon crowds. The muttered “sorry” went unheard. She walked for blocks, unaware if she was heading uptown or downtown. She couldn’t even think right now.

The doctor’s words were still swirling in her head -- pelvic mass, ovarian cysts, tumors, biopsy, oophorectomy, laparotomy, laparoscopy, hysterectomy --

Cancer.

God, cancer? She couldn’t have cancer. Just the word made her nauseous. She had watched her mother and grandmother lose their battles with it. This couldn’t be her fate too, could it?

She walked on blindly, not caring where she was going. She just wanted to get away from there.

Finding a subway entrance she descended the stairs, the sweltering heat and humidity of the platform stealing her already shallow breath. Unconsciously she boarded the train, the coolness of the car not registering. She was just trying to hold on until she got back to her apartment.

She clutched her bag to her, trying not to think about the papers she had shoved in it. This couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be happening. There must be a mistake. The doctor had to be wrong.

Mechanically she left the train, trudging up the steps back into the oppressive heat and blinding daylight. Squinting she looked around trying to determine where she was. Only a couple more blocks to go.

Rounding the next corner she saw her shop. Her shoulders drooped and a tear leaked down her face.

Sid.

She slowed her steps as she grew nearer and noticed the place was closed, locked up for the night. She heaved out a silent thank you. She couldn’t handle that right now.

Sid would know immediately that something was wrong. As much as she loved her best friend, she wasn’t ready to deal with his dramatics on top of everything else. She wasn’t ready to face anyone, wasn’t ready to tell anyone what she couldn’t come to grips with herself.

Staggering up her stairs she crossed straight to her bedroom. Dropping her bag she looked up, her gaze landing on the poster over her bed.

Jon.

The dam inside her broke and the tears flooded her face. Her life had been going along great until today. She had survived her first marriage, gotten out of it with a few scrapes and bruises, but she had moved on. Her business was ready for expansion. Her best friend was getting married. The best man she had ever known loved her.

How could it all be going so horribly wrong now?

She dropped to the bed. If this, whatever this was turned out to be the worst case scenario, how would she ever tell him? Glancing up at the poster again, she wiped her eyes.

She wouldn’t tell him.

She would go to New Orleans with him, root for his team with him. Laugh with him. Love him. And, when they came back, she would find some way to tell him she couldn’t see him anymore. There was no way she was going to let him watch her go through this. She couldn’t do that to him. She had seen how Richie had been affected by watching his dad go through his ordeal with lung cancer. She wouldn’t do that to Jon. She couldn’t bear the thought of him falling into the deep pit like Richie had. It wouldn’t be fair to him. No, the best thing for her to do was to let him go. It would be better this way. He’d be upset, hurt, but better now than...

She curled up in a ball. She didn’t even want to think about it.

Better for him to suffer a little hurt now. He would get over her. He would move on. He would be fine.