The Mother's Promise(6)

Alice arrived at Mrs. Featherstone’s fifteen minutes early, and parked around the corner. Then she pulled her phone from her purse.

“I know it’s tempting,” Nurse Kate had said before she left, “but whatever you do, do not go onto Google.”

As she thumbed the words “ovarian cancer” into her iPhone Alice wondered how many people followed that advice. Alice wasn’t exactly a rebel, and yet she’d known, even in the moment, that it was advice she wouldn’t take. Could anyone? Knowing there was a world of information at her fingertips? She did know a thing or two about ovarian cancer, of course—her mother had died of it—but there hadn’t been Google back then. She’d relied on what the doctor told her—or rather, what her mother told her the doctor told her. Now she had a veritable glut of information at her fingertips.

She hit Search, and a Wikipedia link popped up. What is ovarian cancer? Alice hovered over it for a second or two, and then she tapped it.

Ovarian cancer is a cancer that begins in an ovary.

Helpful, Alice thought. She read on.

Symptoms may include bloating, pelvic pain, and abdominal swelling, among others.

Alice scanned the symptoms. Bloating, okay, but she was, after all, a woman. Pelvic pain, no. Abdominal swelling, well, wasn’t that the same as bloating? So the symptoms were … bloating? If that was the case, every woman she knew had ovarian cancer too, at least once every twenty-eight days.

There, she thought. It had all been a terrible mistake.

Alice scanned the links. Forums. Early warning signs. It was called the “whispering illness,” apparently, which had, to Alice, an almost glamorous ring to it. But having watched her mother go through it, she knew there was nothing glamorous about ovarian cancer.

Alice returned to Google and added the word “cure” to her search.

The screen filled again. She tapped a few links, recognizing some of the terms as ones that had been mentioned at her appointment. Salpingo-oophorectomy—that was the operation she was scheduled for on Monday. She tapped an article.

Salpingo-oophorectomy is the surgical removal of both the fallopian tube (salpingectomy) and ovary (oophorectomy). A unilateral salpingo-oophorectomy is generally performed on patients in the case where an ovary is unable to be preserved, such as: cases of ruptured ectopic pregnancy where hemostasis is unable to be achieved without removal of the tube and ovary; a tuboovarian abscess that does not respond to antibiotics; adnexal torsion where the ovary and tube are necrotic; or when no viable healthy ovarian tissue is able to be preserved if a benign ovarian mass is present. A bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy is usually one of three classifications: elective at time of hysterectomy in the case of benign conditions, prophylactic in women when there is an increased risk of ovarian cancer, or due to malignancy.

Alice read over the description again. She didn’t think the doctor had suggested a unilateral salpingo-oophorectomy, so she supposed hers must be a bilateral one. She wondered if she should read something into that. Did it mean it was bad if they had to take out both ovaries? Then again, why not whip them both out? She didn’t need her ovaries anymore, so why have them just sitting there, gathering cancer? Taking them both out was a good thing, she decided. It would sort it all right out, and then it would be over.

Good.

She put down her phone, and gave herself a little shake. Get it together, Alice—it’s time for work. At Mrs. Featherstone’s front door, she pressed the doorbell and then let herself in using her key. She was barely inside when a figure appeared in the wide hallway.

“Alice!”

Alice supposed she should be pleased that Mrs. Featherstone’s daughter, Mary, was happy to see her, but instead she felt an immediate sense of dread. Mary had been the one to hire Alice, saying that she couldn’t possibly take care of her mother, not when she had a family of her own (two grown married children and a retired husband) to take care of. Alice had expected that, in light of this, Mary wouldn’t be around very often. No such luck.

In the open-plan kitchen/living room, Mrs. Featherstone was seated on her usual chair. Alice sent her a wink, which she promptly returned. Beside her, Mary sank into the sofa. Alice slipped behind the kitchen counter and pulled a notepad from her purse.

“Well, it’s official,” Mary announced. “I hate him.”

Mrs. Featherstone raised her eyebrows at Alice—an apology. A lot of their exchanges were this way: silent. It was difficult to believe that someone as discerning with words as Mrs. Featherstone had birthed a talker like Mary. (Once, Mrs. Featherstone had said to Alice, “I love my children, but I do wonder, as a mother, if my job will ever be done.”)

Alice opened the fridge and bent to survey its contents. There were a tomato and a carrot that had seen better days—but they might be okay in a Bolognese sauce. “Waste not, want not” was Mrs. Featherstone’s motto. Alice added ground beef to her list, and an onion.

“I’m talking about Michael of course,” Mary continued.

As if she needed to clarify. Mary had complained consistently about her son-in-law, Michael, for the entire three years Alice had worked for Mrs. Featherstone. He didn’t sound so bad to Alice. There were no allegations of affairs or violence; he was just particular about personal boundaries. Which, with Mary as a mother-in-law, seemed to Alice a wise thing.

She checked the use-by date of the milk and yogurt.