Great News
Vignette 7: Fanny Bertram's Aunt Norris receives some great news at the oncologist.
Jane Austen’s characters… brought together… in 21st. century Atlanta
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Great News
Vignette 7
“Maria always remembers to bring my medications. You’re supposed to bring them to every appointment.”
A volley of wet coughs prevented Mrs. Norris from spouting further criticism. She slouched in her wheelchair, her claw gripping the handle of her portable oxygen machine, and scowled in her misery.
Fanny Bertram sat with her aunt in the oncologist’s examination room and looked at her sour, wrinkled face. Not dignifying the complaint with a reply, Fanny thought about something she’d heard somewhere — was it George Orwell or Coco Chanel? At fifty, you have the face you deserve. Her Aunt Norris’ wrinkled face at the age of sixty-five was a map of bitterness. An unhappy marriage from dominating her husband had left trenches between her eyes. Her lips, so often tightened in disapproval, now sagged at the corners toward her chin like the oxbow of a river.
Mrs. Norris drew a crackling breath, coughed again, and then wheezed, “Maria should have been here. I don’t like it when you come — you flirt with the doctor.”
Fanny had long accustomed herself to Aunt Norris’ gibes and remained calm. Her husband Edmund, her cousins Tom, Maria, and Julia, both her Aunt and Uncle Bertram — everyone bristled in Fanny’s defense when Aunt Norris started needling her. But Fanny had decided that her worth did not hinge on Aunt Norris’ approval and never bothered to defend herself.
Mrs. Norris tried a different tack. Fanny would sometimes rise to someone else’s defense, so she said, “I don’t like Dr. Willoughby’s nurse. She’s fat and impolite.”
“But not deaf. Her work station is right next door.”
“I don’t care if she hears me or not.”
“You’ll care when she gives you your radiation shot later.”
“It always hurts more when she gives the shot because she doesn’t warm it up enough. I want you to ask for the other nurse to do it.”
“Or we could ask this lady to warm it up for you earlier.”
“You’re not the one who has to have the shot. Maria does what I tell her to do. Why didn’t Maria bring me?”
And we’re back, Fanny thought. Aunt Norris knew that Maria had a terrible cold and couldn’t come. This twenty-year-long comparison Mrs. Norris liked to maintain between Fanny and Maria Bertram no longer hurt like it did when Fanny was ten years old, a lesser cousin living in the Bertrams’ stately Atlanta home. Those wounds had long healed and wouldn’t reopen no matter how much Aunt Norris liked to pick them.
The knock, knock finally came, and the door opened on the barely overweight nurse in a KN95 mask who said, “How are you today, Mrs. Norris?” as if she already knew the answer. She took Aunt Norris’ vitals while saying, “Uh-huh” every once in a while in response to the stream of vitriol.
“I’m dying! That’s how I’m doing today!” Aunt Norris coughed without covering her mouth, which made Fanny’s skin crawl, and continued in her cracked voice. “The steroids keep me awake at night, and that other drug gives me constant diarrhea. And I can’t walk more than a few steps before getting dizzy. You people aren’t doing your job! I’ve never been a smoker. There is no reason I should have lung cancer. Why can’t you figure it out?”
The nurse put the thermometer under Aunt Norris’ tongue, and the room became abruptly quiet like she’d hit the pause button. The oxygen machine pumped and hissed.
“Your temperature is a bit elevated today, Mrs. Norris. Are you having any unusual symptoms?”
“More unusual than not being able to breathe?” She coughed productively. “Yes, there’s all this green mucus.” She showed a heavy tissue to the nurse.
“Mmmm-hmmmm. That’s pretty nasty, Mrs. Norris. Dr. Willoughby will be right in. You be sure to show that to him,” the nurse said with a suppressed smile.
“Chastity, would you mind warming up my aunt’s medicine for the shot later? It hurts more when it’s straight out of the fridge,” Fanny said.
“Yes ma’am, I’ll be sure to do that.” Chastity closed the door behind her.
“I wanted the other nurse to give me the shot. I told you that.”
“I was afraid that would be rude to ask.” Fanny reached in her tote bag and pulled out her laptop. “I hope you don’t mind if I work on my children’s book, Aunt Norris. My deadline is in a few days, and I have to finish these revisions.”
There was silence for a while apart from the oxygen machine as Fanny worked and Mrs. Norris stared in front of her, her mouth twitching in thought. “I don’t know why little Eddie likes your books so much. There’s nothing to them,” she said.
“Oh, you’ve read them?”
Mrs. Norris shifted in her seat. “He asks me to read them to him sometimes when I babysit for Maria.”
“I’m so happy he likes them! Thank you for reading to him. That reminds me of that poem by Strickland Gillilan:
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be —
I had a Mother who read to me.”
“Ha! I would bet you anything my sister never read to you.” Mrs. Norris payed for her mirth with a fit of coughing.
“No, you’re right. She never had time. And Maria never has time to read to Eddie either. But you read to all of us when we were young — and now you read to Eddie. It’s an invaluable gift. Your life and your time are a gift.” That was hard for Fanny to say since she’d been excluded from story hour and had hearkened from across the room — but those books Aunt Norris had read to the Bertram children had fired her imagination and made her the writer she had become.
Mrs. Norris had no response to that and glowered while Fanny went back to work. The knock, knock came again, and the doctor appeared.
Dr. Willoughby’s charisma filled the room as he favored the ladies with a gorgeous smile. His teasing gaze rested on Fanny, and he said, “Mrs. Bertram, you look as beautiful as ever today. How are you?”
Fanny rolled her eyes and shook her head to dismiss the compliment. “I’m great, thanks, Dr. Willoughby — how is your family? Did y’all have fun at Disney World?”
“Oh, yeah, Jeez — the kids loved it. We all had a great time. Have you been there since they’ve added —”
“Hello?” Mrs. Norris said. “We’re here for my appointment? I’m drowning in green mucus, and you’re flirting with my niece? She’s a pastor’s wife! You have no shame!”
Dr. Willoughby gazed at Fanny. “Mrs. Bertram, how did I not know this about you? I may have to start coming to church!”
“My husband would love to meet you, Dr. Willoughby.” Fanny smirked at him and opened a new document on her laptop to take notes for the appointment. Mrs. Norris held the tissue with the green sputum toward the doctor.
“That — that is disgusting, Mrs. Norris.” He picked up the trash can and offered it to her.
“You don’t want to examine it or test it or something?” Mrs. Norris said, disappointed to throw away such a fine specimen.
“We would need a fresh sample — and it seems there is plenty more where that came from,” he said as she began coughing into a new tissue. He logged into his computer portal and scrolled through Mrs. Norris’ bloodwork results. “Alright, the bloodwork looks normal. I mean, not normal — you have cancer — but it’s no worse than usual. Well, it’s a little worse than usual. Where is that report for your 6-month CT scan…? You had the scan yesterday, right?” He kept clicking and scrolling. “Awww, the radiologist hasn’t interpreted it yet. Arrrgh! Alright. Lemme take a look here….” After double-clicking and comparing the image to a previous one, Dr. Willoughby’s breezy manner became still. He felt for his phone, searched for a number, and placed a call.
Fanny expected some commentary from Aunt Norris — but Mrs. Norris had become quiet, as well, and seemed uncharacteristically placid.
“Yeah, hi Pam. Have you seen Jane Norris’ CT scan from yesterday? No — no report yet, but you won’t need one. Can you pull it up and take a look?” He turned to Mrs. Norris. “This is your pulmonologist. I just want a second set of eyes on this real quick.”
Mrs. Norris continued to sit quietly. Fanny was distracted from the suspenseful consultation by Aunt Norris’ lack of reaction. It felt as if her aunt had suddenly gone deaf or become senile — as if her aunt had been replaced. Fanny risked a light touch on her shoulder to see if she were still there — and Aunt Norris nodded in acknowledgement.
“That’s what I see, too — just wanted to check. Yes, she’s in the room with me right now. I’ll tell her.” There was a pause. “I’m an oncologist, Pam. I got this.”
Dr. Willoughby put his phone back in his pocket and swiveled his stool to face the ladies. “Mrs. Norris,” he said, clasping his hands between his knees. “Funny story from med school: I was doing my oncology rotation, and the doctor in charge asked us if we knew on average what percentage of his patients die. Now he was the leading oncologist at MD Anderson in Houston, so we knew he was the best and had saved a ton of patients, so the death rate must be lower than other doctors’. 20%, someone said. 80%, someone else said — pretty disrespectfully, I thought. That seemed high to me — 50%, I said. What’s your guess, Mrs. Norris? What percentage of the leading oncologist’s patients die?”
Mrs. Norris breathed in and out, looking at Dr. Willoughby — in and out again.
“100%,” she said.
“That’s right! 100% of his patients die. Because… because we’re all going to die… and no matter how smart the doctor, there’s nothing we can do to stop that.” He took a deep breath and leaned toward her. “You were told two years ago that you had cancer. We’ve tried multiple drugs and several therapies. We had hope that the radiation treatments would stop the growth, but they haven’t. And now… this is the point where I tell you… that I have nothing else to offer… except my sincere apologies that there’s nothing more I can do.”
There was silence for several seconds before Mrs. Norris said, “Well, you can tell Pam that you did very well. I assume you give that speech often?”
“Daily. Sometimes more than once. 100% of my patients die, too, in spite of my handsome face. But you’re my first patient to guess 100%! There should be a prize or something.”
“My aunt has held the hands of many dying people over the years. She was a pastor’s wife, too — a long time ago,” Fanny said.
Dr. Willoughby’s eyebrows rose as he searched for something to say. “That… surprises me. I would not have guessed that.”
“Why? Because I’m not like Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes here?” Mrs. Norris hacked and coughed.
“Uhhhh…you are now out of my area of expertise. I think the next step is for me to send in our patient care liaison to discuss hospice options.” He stood and faced Mrs. Norris. “Let’s make an appointment for six weeks from now, and I hope to see you then, Mrs. Norris. Y’all enjoy your Christmas. Mrs. Bertram, always a pleasure.” He winked at Fanny and left.
The two women sat in silence for several moments.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Norris,” Fanny said.
“What are you sorry for?” Mrs. Norris said in her usual tone of combat.
“For this news.” Fanny paused and then said, “This will be a significant Christmas for all of us.”
“If I make it til then.”
“Of course, you will! We have to celebrate Christmas with you and remember together… to remember… why we mourn differently than other people.”
Mrs. Norris appeared to swallow something bitter. “What’s that thing you’re always saying?”
“What thing?”
“How it’s good that… it doesn’t matter how imperfect we are —”
“Oh. In the end, it doesn’t matter how good we are — it only matters how good Jesus is.”
“Well… this is the end.”
“Hmmmm.” Fanny waited for further revelation and then said, “What do you think about that?”
“I think I haven’t been good enough.” Mrs. Norris covered her emotion with a volley of coughs.
“Me either.”
Mrs. Norris looked at her incredulously and saw that Fanny was perfectly serious.
“Well if you’re not good enough, who is?”
“You know who is.”
Mrs. Norris wheezed and crackled and heaved angry breaths. She coughed into another tissue and pitched it toward the trash can where it stuck just shy of the rim. She and Fanny watched it hang and stretch for the ground and finally drop to the floor. Fanny started chuckling, and Mrs. Norris cracked a laugh — and then they both started giggling until Mrs. Norris couldn’t breathe anymore and coughs overcame her again. Fanny took a clean tissue and collected the specimen from the floor, dropped it in the bin and thoroughly sanitized her hands, smiling at her Aunt Norris.
“I’m sorry, Fanny,” Mrs. Norris said in a croaking voice.
“It’s fine — that was hilarious.”
“No.” She coughed. “I’m sorry — for thinking you weren’t good enough.”
“Oh, I’m not. I have to rely on Jesus completely.”
“No, no, no,” she wheezed. “I mean for thinking you weren’t good enough for our family. For the way —” She coughed and choked and forced herself to say, “— I treated you.”
Tears pricked Fanny’s eyes. That apology was the final healing balm on the old wound — and Fanny loved her for it. She knelt down next to the wheelchair and hugged her aunt for the first time in her life.
Mrs. Norris stiffened under the assault and then patted her on the back in an unpracticed way. “Alright. Alright. That’s— that’s nice. Maybe I should have said that sooner.”
Fanny returned to her chair and wiped her eyes.
Mrs. Norris stared ahead of her. “Christmas is in 3 weeks — that should be enough time.”
“For what?”
“There are people I should… say things to.” She concentrated on her breathing for a few minutes, absorbing the oxygen from the cannula that dried out her nose. “Christmas,” she said and adjusted the tubing that pressed into her cheeks. “Fanny, sing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ for me.”
“What, right now?”
“No, after I’m dead. Sing it now!”
“I only know the first verse.”
“What kind of a pastor’s wife are you?” She sniffed in frustration. “Look it up on your phone!” You idiot was implied.
Fanny found the lyrics and began to sing softly with Mrs. Norris attempting to harmonize in her cracked voice. When the patient care liaison paused outside the door to knock, she heard the quavering voices and the words,
O Holy child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in;
Be born in us today!
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!
*For anyone who has read my tragicomedic essay about the long, slow death of my mother-in-law by lung disease: The medical details of this story are drawn from my experience; Mrs. Norris is not. In comparison, my mother-in-law was a saint.
Find Jane Austen’s characters in her novels:
Fanny Price (Bertram) and Mrs. Norris in Mansfield Park
John Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility
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Very vivid characters here! I find myself checking my pursed lips sometimes as I feel my smile is becoming a frown in resting phase.