Bruce Wagner - Dead Stars

It could be worse. . in erratic, restless fits, Gwen joined the accursed orgy of the Web, Single Mom Seeking Stories Worse Than Mine. She read about a woman in Brooklyn who lost her husband & two daughters in a fire. She returned to the apartment the next day to retrieve the only thing she was afraid had melted: a silver urn containing the ashes of another daughter, dead of leukemia at 15. For a day, Gwen’s mantra became she lost three daughters my baby’s alive she lost three daughters my baby’s alive the distraction made her feel better by the smallest of increments but it didn’t sit well that it was on the back of that poor woman, at her expense. The feeling never lasted anyway.

“I just feel crazy, Phoebe. Completely crazy. The not-sleeping doesn’t help.”

“Are you taking the Xanax?”

“During the day, Seroquel at night.”

“I want you to be careful with that.”

“It doesn’t work, Phoebe. It doesn’t matter how much I take.”

“I hear you, Gwen — but we need to talk about this at the end of our time today, OK? Because we really need to. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Then:

“I’ve sent blood & tissue samples to three different labs . Telma thinks it’s for something routine.”

“Do your lawyers know you’re doing that?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you agree you wouldn’t—”

“Her name’s not anywhere on it.”

“You don’t want to do something foolish that jeopardizes your settlement.”

“It’s all going through the office of a good friend. He was my husband’s oncologist.”

“Just be careful. What are you looking for?”

“Cancer.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’ve got some early results saying the likelihood is slim. Slim to none!”

“Your thinking is that if she did— if you can find out that she does , then —”

“Yes! Then at least what they did won’t be for nothing . If they fucked up thinking she had it, maybe they fucked up thinking she doesn’t . You know, I play this game, this things could be worse game in my head, I’m trolling the Internet — that evil woman in Massachusetts who had an autistic son with non-Hodgkin’s. She wouldn’t give him his meds because she couldn’t stand caring for him anymore, she wanted him to die. And the housewife who got staph, one of those weird catastrophic infections, while she was in a coma the doctors told the husband she was going to die unless they chopped off her arms and legs & the husband had to decide right there. He finally said Yeah, you know, let’s do it. And when she woke up, she was so grateful, she said all she wanted was to watch their baby grow!

“Phoebe! That woman had kids , she’d been sexual . She’d given boys & babies & men her breasts. . she’d been suckled & felt up . Every girl remembers the first time she was felt up. Do you? Do you remember the first time you were felt up? Telma won’t. Telma won’t remember because Telma won’t ever have that experience — my baby’s never going to be felt up! She’ll never be able to put on a bikini in the summer, I don’t care what kind of fucking surgery they do, Phoebe, she will never be able to know what it’s like when you finally get tits & you walk across the sand & all the eyes are on you, the boys are looking, that time of your life when you catch yourself in the mirror and you love what you see… I used to get hickies on my tits, Phoebe! Do not talk to me about prosthetics & fucking skin flaps! It’s like fucking Auschwitz, like they’re experimenting ——[crying now]——cutting into her again! It isn’t FAIR. It isn’t———[screams, then]——they went in there, Phoebe, I’ll never forget that day, they went in there &——took her little——took her little titties & all the lymph nodes… those assholes! Mutherfuckers! Making themselves saints , everyone kowtowing & worshipping, O God Bless you, doctor, you saved her life, you’re helping all the children— to live!… to live! To LIVE with the scars of your fucking sick torture— God Bless and may God fuck you and YOUR children, may God turn your babies into monsters— butchering my baby, it’s a fucking freakshow over there! O Phoebe! What a fool I am! I didn’t get a second opinion, why didn’t I, I should’ve gotten a second opinion——”

“Remember that word ‘should,’ you know we need to be careful when we use that word. When I hear should— ”

“I’m sick of hearing that! Should should should should should! Everyone gets so fucking militant about should & should have , everyone wants to fucking punish you for using the word! Well should have is probably the single most important word or phrase or whatever in the English Language! I’m going to use it until I die! — I remember when they said she didn’t need chemo or radiation I was crying I was thanking them! What an idiot… [crying now for two full minutes, then] & they were right, Phoebe, they were right, she didn’t need chemo, she didn’t need radiation, she didn’t need anything! All of those dinners, those $500 a plate benefits , at the Hilton, at the Beverly Hills Hotel, Telma even performed, everyone on the medical team honored, one by one, year by year, the dinners & the standing ovations! The smug smiles of those high-flying butchers! That Michael Jackson Conrad doctor looks like fucking Dr. House next to those sick mutherfuckers! And it’s my fault this happened——— don’t you try and tell me it isn’t, Phoebe! Don’t you dare! Because I should have just pulled her out of there . I’m not a mother, I’m as bad as them! I have no maternal instincts, if I had maternal instincts, I would never have let this happen! Never! I’m as sick and fucked as that woman who withheld the medicine from her son! To kill him! Do you want to know how fucked up I am? How selfish & fucked up? The last few days I’ve actually been worrying what people will think of me when this comes out, & you better believe it’s going to come out, I’ll make sure of that because I’m going to bring them down . I’ve actually been worrying that people will think I’m a terrible mother, I know how people are, they’ll go on the internet & blog about how it could have been prevented— if the parent— the MOM— had only done her homework … & they’ll be right! I’ve even been worrying what Telma is going to think of me too, you know, she’s going to HATE me——don’t you try & tell me she won’t, Phoebe, it’s her right , don’t take away her right—— or worse , what if she goes into this whole resentment thing, which will be her right, but she never really mentions it because she’s that kind of kid, such a good, sweet kid, but it’s there, her mommy let her down, her mommy let them remove her breasts , her mommy let them steal her youth, her mommy stole her youth, the doctors & her mommy stole her beauty … you know what she’s being set up for? She’s being set up to be a drug addict . A maimed drug addict… at 18, the surgeries begin… how many surgeries will it take to make her whole again? How many, Phoebe! A million fucking surgeries will never make her whole———don’t ask me how I know, Phoebe, don’t you ask me that! And there she is, with the skin graphs not taking, or maybe infections—‘complications’—whatever—& she’s angry , angry at me as she should be , angry at the world , they give her pain pills for the surgeries, she’s depressed anyway, she’s being set up , these stories do not end well—”