Page 118 - In Five Years

“There are fertility options,” Dr. Shaw tells her, gently. “But I wouldn’t
recommend them, or waiting. The hormones can sometimes exacerbate the
cancer. I think it’s critical we get you into surgery as soon as possible.”
“How is this happening?” Bella asks. She drops her face into her hands. I feel

nauseous. Bile rises to my throat and threatens to spill out onto the floor of this
Park Avenue office.

Dr. Shaw rolls forward. He puts a hand on her knee. “I know it’s hard,” he
says. “But you’re in the best hands. And we’re going to do everything we can for
you.”
“It’s not fair,” she says.

Dr. Shaw looks to me, but for the first time I feel at a loss for words. Cancer.
No children. I have to focus on inhaling.

“It’s not,” he says. “You’re right. But your attitude matters a lot. I’m going to
fight for you, but I need you in here with me.”
She looks up at him, her face streaked with tears. “Will you be there?” she

asks him. “For the surgery.”
“You bet,” he says. “I’ll be the one performing it.”
Bella looks to me. “What do you think?” she asks me.

I think about the beach in Amagansett. How was it only three weeks ago that
she was blushing over a pregnancy test—glowing with expectation?
“I think we need to do the surgery now,” I say.

Bella nods. “Okay,” she says.
“It’s the right decision,” Dr. Shaw says. He slides over to his computer. “And
if you have any questions, here is my direct cell number.” He hands us both a

business card. I copy the number down in my notebook.
“Let’s talk through what to expect now,” he says.
There is more talk then. About lymph nodes and cancer cells and abdominal

incisions. I take precise notes, but it is hard—it is impossible—for even me to
follow everything. It sounds as if Dr. Shaw is speaking in a different language—
something harsh. Russian, maybe Czech. I have the feeling that I do not want to

understand; I just want him to cease speaking. If he stops speaking, none of it is
true.
We leave the office and stand on the corner of Sixty-Third and Park.

Inexplicably, impossibly, it is a perfect day. September is glorious in New York,