The Whitney Chronicles

Now, I’m not all that crazy about mammograms myself, but I recently had a baseline done. My dad’s sister had breast cancer years ago and my doctor recommended it. My mother didn’t help a bit. She likened the test to lying on a cold concrete garage floor and having someone drive over the targeted area with the wheel of an automobile. My attitude was not good going in, but as it turned out, everything went fine.

To my dismay, Kim didn’t want me to leave her side. I knew she was going to be fine as soon as I saw the hot-water bottle warming the X-ray equipment. These people knew what they were doing. Fortunately, the nurse shooed me back into the hall before the actual procedure.

As I paced back and forth in front of the door, an incredibly good-looking blond man in a dark suit, crisp white shirt and, incongruously, a Popeye and Olive Oyl cartoon tie, walked up to me.

“Is something wrong? Can I help you?” He looked so genuinely concerned that I actually felt tears scratching at the backs of my eyes, the tears I’d wanted to cry for Kim and didn’t dare.

“No. My friend is having a mammogram and we’re both a little nervous, that’s all.”

“I see.” And I believe he actually did. “If either of you needs anything, just say so.”

Frantically, I searched my mind for something, anything, I needed. Of course I came up blank.

“I hope your friend’s test turns out well.” His eyes were a kind of inky yet brilliant blue, like a brand-new crayon fresh from a box of sixty-four—indigo, I think. When he smiled, gentle, pleasant lines radiated from the corners. The term “golden boy” must have been coined for this guy. But before I could think of something intelligent to say, he tipped his head and turned away.

I wondered if he was an administrator at the clinic—he was definitely a great asset to public relations. But what did I know? Most everything I know about health I’ve learned from my mother, the medical encyclopedia of misinformation.

The door opened and Kim appeared next to me. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. How was it?”

“Fine. Easy. It would have been a breeze if I could quit conjuring up worst-case scenarios.” She sighed. “I asked the technician how things looked, and she said the doctor would tell me. I wouldn’t have asked her if I wanted to wait for that. Don’t tell me she hasn’t looked at enough of those things to see what’s going on in there.”

“Think of it this way,” I soothed her, “by noon tomorrow, you will have seen the doctor and this will be over.”

“I hope so,” Kim said gloomily. It was weird, but I felt chilled all the way to my bones as she spoke, as if she knew something I didn’t.

Feeling troubled, I decided to stop at my parents’ house. My dad is always able to calm me down when I’m upset. It’s his quiet, self-effacing way, the mild-mannered exterior of a man with so much wisdom and love for me that I choke up just thinking about it.

Dad was in the yard. He’d paused with his hands resting on the top of his rake to look out at the flower garden. When he saw me drive up, his face broke into a grin. I felt better immediately.

“Hi, Daddy, how’s it going?”

For once he didn’t just say, “Fine.”

“I had to get outside for a bit. It’s a little—” he paused for just the right word “—‘twitchy’ in there.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Your mother never ceases to amaze.”

“What’s she up to now?”

“Oh, she’s looking for the money I gave her to buy herself some new clothes.”

“What do you mean, ‘looking for’?”

“She put it someplace ‘safe,’ somewhere no robber would think to look.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Apparently no one would think to look in her hiding place—including her. So far she’s been through all the drawers, three closets and half the kitchen with no luck. If she doesn’t locate it by bedtime, I may have to sleep at your house. She’s not going to stop until she finds it.”

“What if it’s lost forever?”

I’m almost positive he shuddered.

“Tough week?” I asked with all the sympathy I could muster, which was plenty. “Has Mom been moody?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Snappish?”

“Like a turtle.”

“Unfocused?”

“Have you been eavesdropping on us, Whitney?”

“No, but I do read women’s magazines. There isn’t one in existence that isn’t discussing the topic. You know how it was for Grandma when she was in what she euphemistically called ‘The Change.’” There had been apocryphal stories about that time whispered around the family for years.

I rubbed his shoulders and was surprised at how small he felt. When I was a little girl, he was a giant…and now he’s just a man.

Dad and I were walking arm in arm toward the house when Mother burst through the front door waving a wet Baggie full of money.

“I found it! Oh, Frank, aren’t you glad?” She was panting a little, and her hair looked as if it had been electrified, but it occurred to me how attractive my mom is. If she hadn’t been my mother, I would have marveled at how young she looks. As it is, I take her for granted much too often.

“Why is it in a Baggie? And why is it wet?”

“You know I wanted to put it where no one would think to look for it. It was a stroke of genius, really. I bagged it up and put it inside the toilet tank. It’s been there all along. All I have to do is dry it out a little, and I can go shopping….”

“You put it in the toilet?” my dad said.

“Not the bowl, Frank, the tank. No one would think to look there!”

“Including you, Mom.”

“I’m good, aren’t I?”

We followed Mom to the house and watched her dry her money with a hair dryer. As we talked, I told them my news. They were very upset about Kim as well, but Mom tried to accentuate the positive.

“This is a disease that can be caught in time now,” she assured me. “Why, there must be a dozen or more women at church who have had breast cancer and are doing marvelously today.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it less scary. And, of course, Kim thinks of Wesley.”

“I’ll notify our prayer chains at church and bring it up at Bible study,” Mom promised. “The couples’ group is meeting at the Bakersfields’ tonight.”

Dad perked up. “Really? Isn’t she the one who makes peach pie?”