Arcadia's Gift(27)

"What was it?"
"Well, there was a mass on her right lung. I was able to remove it completely. I'll have to wait for the pathology to be completed before we’ll know if it was malignant or benign, but I have high hopes. Lucy is only three years old, so even if it’s cancer and we have to do chemo, she has a very good chance at a normal life."
A bit of the weight resting on my shoulders lifted.
"Cady," Dr. Kristy's tone turned hesitant, "I still would like to know how you were able to feel the tumor. Mark and I are going to do some research on it. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. I'm curious too. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before."
"Good. I'll let you know what we come up with."
After hanging up the phone, I showered and got ready for my appointment. What did one wear to see a psychologist? Would the doctor form opinions about me based on my clothing choices? You know, some sort of fashion Rorschach test? I wished I knew what kind of clothes crazy people wore so I could avoid them. I decided to go as safe as possible —dark jeans, an olive-green sweater and my hair slicked back into a ponytail.
When I finished, I walked quietly down the hallway to my mother's bedroom. If she wanted to go with me to my appointment, she’d have to start getting ready. I rapped at the door softly.
"Mom?" I called. There was no answer. "Mom, are you coming to my appointment with me?"
"Wha...?" she said groggily.
I opened the door and stepped inside. "Mom, if you want to come with me to the grief therapist —" I couldn't finish my thought. Sadness dropped on me like an iron anvil falling on Wile E. Coyote in the old Looney Tunes cartoons. My palms went clammy and my pulse jumped. My heart broke in my chest all over again. I rubbed my eyes to keep the tears from spouting.
With great effort, my mother propped herself up on the edge of the bed. Her hair was a nest of tangles, greasy from lack of washing. On her night stand were several prescription bottles and an empty bottle of Gray Goose vodka. Not. Good. The room stunk of neglect and depression. What was it about this room that sent me into an emotional spiral? I’d felt fine two minutes ago. Now, I couldn’t get my hands to stop shaking.
"Cady, hun, can you run a bath for me?" my mom asked. She was bent at the waist with her elbows propped on her knees. She rubbed her eyes with her fists so hard I worried for her corneas.
Steeling my shoulders, I pushed through the gloom. I didn't have time today for a breakdown. Forcing one reluctant foot in front of the other, I made my way to the bathroom. I plugged the tub and turned on the hot water, dumping a heaping dose of bubble bath into the swirling water, sending the scent of cucumber and melon swirling around the room with the steam.
I sat down on the closed toilet lid. The gloom was less intense in here, but no less depressing. Dirty pajamas and underwear were balled up in a heap behind the door. The towels were soiled and spots of water dotted on the mirror. These things just didn't happen in my mother's house.
Crossing over to the linen closet, I found a set of fresh towels and replaced the ones on the rack. I then scooped up the dirty laundry and piled it in the hamper, squishing it all in to fit. When we were expecting company or planning for an occasion, my mother occasionally would hire a maid to come in to clean. She received a discount because she referred the maid service to her clients for their open houses. I made a mental note to look up the woman's name in Mom's planner and have her come in, at least until Mom was back to functioning like a normal adult.
I blew my nose on a wad of toilet paper and took a couple of deep breaths.
"Mom," I said, leaving the bathroom. "I'll make some sandwiches for lunch. You should eat something. You look like you've lost twenty pounds."
She stood in front of her dresser, fingering a pair of socks like she couldn't figure out what they were for.
"Do you need any help?" I offered.
She looked up at me as if seeing me for the first time. Lately, that was how she always looked at me. "Oh... no. I'll be down soon."
"Don't forget the bath water. It's still running, and you don't want it to overflow."
She nodded, selected a pair of socks and closed the drawer.
By the time I reached the kitchen, my sadness had begun to abate. Maybe it was just the horror of my mother's depression that was triggering it. She was supposed to be seeing a therapist as well. She'd gone to two appointments so far, one while I was still in the hospital. Obviously, it wasn't working.
I slapped together a couple of double-decker PB J's and set them on the table with an open bag of potato chips. I was almost done eating by the time Mom stumbled down the steps dressed semi-normally in wrinkled slacks and a sweater which fit her fine a few weeks ago, but hung on her now. Her breasts had shrunk so much, they were practically invisible under the fabric.