In Chapter Four, we found Dr. Taylor beginning a courtship, while Sally's breast lump biopsy is positive. Meanwhile she realizes her husband Mark is living a wild life with Singapore women, and she yields to temptation with the boys Maria traditionally "entertains." Due to the positive biopsy, Sally naturally assumes she has breast cancer. She is only 23. Such a diagnosis at her young age does not bode well. This is where we join the story.
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I was still crying when I woke up so I called into work to say that I could not go in due to illness. I was hung over anyway, and I dared not try the cocaine cure since I had to see Dr. Green at 2pm. That's when, I was sure, he was going to recommend a radical mastectomy, probably for both breasts. I didn't care if Angelina Jolie did it and seemed happy. My breasts were part of my identity, they were part of me. Besides, my legs are good, but my boobs are the biggest male attraction I have. Sometimes I think Mark married me for my boobs (and my pussy, of course, and what I did with it).
I spent the morning reading testimonials I had found on line of women who faced and lived through the traumas I knew Dr. Green was going to force me to face head on. "Let's talk, man to boob," I imagined him saying. I could not bear it. This was when I needed drugs! Alcohol, cigarettes, weed, whatever. I needed a crutch. I just dared not. I had to get through this on my own. Even my husband was in fucking Singapore. It was evening there. He was probably fucking some Asian tart while his beloved wife was crying her heart out. This sucked. This really sucked.
I suck too, I thought, and I giggled. Why just yesterday I sucked off all three of Miguel, Duane and Ravi. Especially Ravi. Maybe tonight I could suck off Jack? I hunted down my dildo which was still right where I had hidden it when I did not want Jack to see it. I took it out and decided to practice my deep throat skills. Well, why not? It gave me something to do besides crying and feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to be in tip top form for my date tonight with Jack.
I had the feeling the champagne was to celebrate the consummation of our budding affair, or in plain talk, our fucking. That's why Jack waited to tell me, and he's still waiting, hee, hee. Well I might as well get all the whoopee I can before my breasts go into recycling, right? Bad thought - now I'm crying again, dammit.
I removed my nightgown and lay naked on my bed. I began to fondle my boobs, gently caressing every square millimeter of them, squeezing them and enjoying them to the maximum amount possible. This memory of my boobs, original equipment on the defective model that is me, is going to have to last for the rest of my life.
As I lovingly caressed my boobs, every part of them, just like a man would do, my hands tended to focus on my nipples. I played with them, teased them by stroking the skin close to my nipples, and I began to get aroused. Then something unprecedented happened, to my great surprise! I felt it building, so in some sense it was not a surprise, but the idea that I could cum just from fingering my breasts and nipples was new to me. Yet I did. My orgasm was lovely.
I slipped the dildo inside me, since I was now good and wet, and it went in easily, all the way up to its plastic balls. I then repeated the loving I had earlier given my boobs, and sure enough the same thing happened a second time: Another orgasm! My goodness this was strange. Well, live and learn, I thought, and then I began to cry.
Finally, it was time to go the doctor's office. It was in the Columbia University Hospital, also known as New York Presbyterian Hospital, which is way uptown. I took the A train; it goes right to it. I got there an hour early and brought a novel to read with me. I must have read the same page twenty times. I was hopelessly nervous. They had a Kleenex box on the counter. They should have had a candy dish filled with Xanax!
Dr. Green was twenty minutes late. That's not too bad by doctor standards. He began banally enough. He had boxes of Kleenex all around his office. He'd done this before. Of course, he had.
"Thanks for coming up here," he said.
"Of course," I replied. My voice was shaking.
"Well Sally, as you know from the positive biopsy, you're sick," Dr. Green said, trying to sound gentle. There's no way to be gentle with that news, but if there were, Dr. Green would have found it.
"Yes," I said.
"You don't have cancer, however," he said.
"What? What do you mean? I have a lump, the biopsy is positive? Am I missing something?" I said, partially in shock, I think.
"Yes, that's all true. The biopsy is positive, but it's positive for something that's not cancer, I'm afraid," Dr. Green said.
"You're afraid? What on earth is worse than cancer?" I asked, somewhat rhetorically I thought.
"You're positive for a virus. It's not a good virus," he said.
"There are good viruses?" I asked. What did this mean? None of this made sense.
I braced myself for the 'you're going to lose both your breasts' speech. Instead he was just silent, as if he could not bring himself to say the next statement. So, I said it.
"Will I lose my both of my breasts, then?" There, I had said it. It was out there. I braced myself for the answer.
"No," he said.
"No?" I was incredulous. What does this mean? I could keep my breasts? Wait until I tell Angelina Jolie!
"It's true the virus is focused in your breasts. That's not unusual for women. We've found that breast removal does not help with the virulent strain you have. It may even be counterproductive. It's in your blood, and we need to attack it in your blood. This particular virus is virulent, and it's rare. I'm a specialist in this particular strain so I know what will happen," he said. "Most other doctors and labs would not even have found it. You have to specially test for it, you see."
I bit. "What will happen?"
"Sally, unless a miracle happens, you'll be dead in six months," he said. Now I understood why there were so many Kleenex boxes scattered about. I had not been prepared for that. Not at all.
"Dead? In six months?" I repeated what he had just said. Looking back, I think I was in shock.
"Or sooner. I'm afraid you're very unlucky, Sally," he said. "The virus attacks the amygdala, hippocampus and limbic lobe, and you experience it via an intense sexual drive. In around six months the virus will move its attack to the hypothalamus, which controls the autonomic nervous system. Once it does that, you will either die of a heart attack, or simply fail to breathe."
Dr. Green stopped talking, and I stayed silent, since I was dumbstruck. We just quietly sat there, staring at each other. Looking back, I guess I must have been in shock.
"You mentioned a miracle? Was that just a figure of speech, or...?" I said, unable to finish the sentence. My voice was catching.
"Here's the deal. First of all, you caught it as early as anyone. You must check your breasts every day. Good for you," he said.
"Good for my husband. Mark loves my boobs," I said.
"Where is Mark? He should be here with you," Dr. Green said.
"He has a new job, in Singapore. I haven't told him yet," I said.
"Singapore? That's far away. That's unfortunate," Dr. Green said.
"Yes, my boss Mr. Criens bought the hedge fund he works at, Small Variance, and sent him to Singapore so that he could have me to himself," I said. Hey, if I have only six months left to live, let's just put it all out there. Tell it like it is. No sugarcoating.
"I see. Well there is indeed a possibility for a miracle, but it's very risky," Dr. Green said. "There's an experimental drug in development. It has not been approved for general use, and it may never be. It has powerful side effects, you see."
