Hiss Of Death

Nervously sitting in the small booth with the fabric curtain, Harry waited for the results from her first mammogram since the surgery. She knew if she was called back for a second set of images, it wasn’t good.

Nurse Denise Danforth called outside the booth. “Harry.”

“Yep.” Now clothed, Harry pulled the curtain back.

“You’re good to go. No abnormality at all after your surgery.”

“Thank God.” Harry exhaled.

Denise, late thirties, put her hand on Harry’s back. “You caught it early, girl. Good for you, and good for Regina MacCormack for getting you into surgery pronto. When she retires, what will we do?”

“Regina still makes house calls.”

“The only people who do that these days are thieves.” Denise smiled, then added, “Charlotte told me you were cool as a cuke when they found Thadia.”

Charlotte Lunden, Denise’s sister, had photographed the deceased Thadia Martin. The Charlottesville area remained a tight community, so many people had known one another all their lives. Denise had graduated from high school three years before Harry. They were tied by geography and generation. Some families had five generations alive and breathing who knew other families of five generations.

“I didn’t think about it.”

“A terrible end to an unhappy life.” Denise walked Harry down the long aisle to the waiting room.

“So it seems,” Harry murmured.

“Being a nurse, I see so much: people who have brought their conditions upon themselves, those who had a misfortune drop out of the sky. Seeing how people handle this is a privilege. You wouldn’t think that, but it is. The smallest, most unassuming woman can have the greatest courage.”

“I’m seeing that in my support group.”

“Glad you’re going.”

“Denise, I’m a medical idiot. I know a lot about equine health but next to nothing about human health. I had no idea that one out of eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in her lifetime.”

“True.” Denise opened the door for Harry. “I pray they find a cure, even if it means I’ll probably be out of a job.”

“Oh, Denise, we need nurses so badly. You can work anywhere in America, anywhere in the world, I bet.”

“I’m staying right here.” Denise hugged Harry.

Once outside the building, Harry stopped, breathed deeply. Spring’s signature fragrances filled her. An Appalachian spring assaults all the senses. This spring seemed more vivid than any other, or perhaps she appreciated it more.

At ten in the morning, the mercury reached sixty-two degrees, low humidity, the air a touch cool, with a light breeze. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

The Volvo sat in the crowded parking lot, the windows down two inches because the kids had hitched a ride. No matter how she tried to keep Tucker in the house, the intrepid dog found a way out, only to blaze down the driveway, barking furiously. Once she’d picked up the corgi, all thirty pounds of her, she’d usually turn back to fetch the cats. If Tucker got to ride and they didn’t, destruction followed.

Walking toward her, Annalise Veronese waved. “Good morning.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Good. Just attended an incredible lecture sponsored by the Virginia Historical Society about the medical advances springing from the War Between the States.”

“Annalise, since when did you start calling it the War Between the States? I thought you were born and raised in Vermont.”

Annalise laughed. “Yes, I was, but I’ve lived here long enough to watch my P’s and Q’s. Say, how do you feel after that workout with Noddy?”

“Pretty good.” Harry then added, “But you were right about the second day. I feel muscles I’ve never felt before.”

“If you stick with her program, she’ll keep mixing it up so you don’t get bored, and you’ll be super-fit. How’s everything else?”

“Just had my first mammogram after my surgery, and I’m fine.”

“That is wonderful news. You must be a fast healer, too. I was surprised you could do the push-ups and stuff,” Annalise complimented her. “You’ll beat it.”

“Thank you.” Then Harry informed her, “Susan makes a paste, I have no idea what’s in it, for the horses. Heals up flesh wounds so fast I used it on myself. I keep asking Susan what’s in it, and she says it’s a family secret. I hope it doesn’t have mouse droppings in it.”

“Harry, you’d know.”

They both laughed. “If you ever want to attend any of the special medical lectures, like today’s, let me know. As I recall, you like reading history.”

“I do. Regina was telling me she has to put in seventy hours each year to keep her license current. Is it the same for you? I thought perhaps not.”

“Same. You’d be surprised at how much there is to do in pathology to keep current. All of medicine is changing so rapidly, thanks to the technological advances. Harry, something as simple as pollen—now, I’m not a forensic pathologist, as you know, but if there is pollen in the nostrils or lungs of a corpse, it’s possible to trace where that person had been. Often murder victims’ bodies are not left at the murder site. It fascinates me. I know people think we cut open dead bodies and that’s about it, but some of the biggest advances in medicine come from pathologists.” She held up her hand and smiled. “You’re on the end of an unasked-for lecture, but I am so passionate about what I do. Karl Landsteiner, who was born in Vienna in 1868, a pathologist, was the first doctor to distinguish between different blood types. Do you know how many lives have been saved by that once we knew how to perform transfusions?”

“No. I know so little about any kind of medicine.”

“It’s one big detective story. I’m going up there now to perform an autopsy on a twelve-year-old who died of a brain tumor. I’ve asked Cory and Jennifer to attend. We are seeing a disturbing uptick in brain tumors in the young. A researcher in Sweden reports that anyone using a cellphone before age twenty—and that’s everyone, and they use them nonstop—that individual has a four to five times greater chance over a nonuser of developing a brain tumor. University of Pittsburgh Cancer Institute researchers report an increase in brain tumors in Americans under thirty. No warning about the dangers! The cellphone industry is at stake, and until the public demands changes, nothing will be done. In fact, it will be denied. Same with computers. We know they cause certain types of health damage, the eyes being the most obvious. Billions in revenue could be lost, so what’s life compared to profit? Sometimes I wonder how long it will take for citizens to realize we have poisoned ourselves. Even plastics aren’t as safe as you think. Every day I see the damage from all forms of pollution, from the chemicals—even from antibiotics in the meat we eat, to say nothing of hormones, which are even worse. We’re awash in chemicals. Lung cancer is the leading cause of cancer death. Right? It’s not all from smoking, Harry. It’s the great American way: Blame the victim.”

“I don’t know why we’re like that,” Harry puzzled.

“It’s the very air we breathe, and it’s a result of those polluting industries belching out filth. I see what these substances do to the human body. Year after year, I see the man-made damage.”

“Annalise, a lot of that has been cleaned up.”

“Harry.” Annalise reached out to her. “A lot hasn’t. What’s worse, we don’t really know the life span of those particles released in, say, 1937. I didn’t mean to take up your time, but I so care. I try not to let emotions affect me when I do my job, but I can tell you, looking at a twelve-year-old will affect me. Then I have to put it out of my mind and go to work. Maybe I can contribute something that will repair damage, slow injury, retard aging. I won’t contribute on the level of Dr. Landsteiner, but I can do something to help.”

“It’s good you’re passionate about your work. If people love their work, they’re happy. We spend more time with our co-workers than we do with our families, most people.” Harry mentally exempted herself, since she farmed.

Annalise touched Harry’s hand. “You’ve been patient with me. Thanks. I can go a little over the top, but I see—literally—so much unnecessary damage to the human body, and I know there are many things that can be done to enrich life, to ease suffering. Our government—I don’t care who’s in charge—is bought off by the lobbies. If it threatens profits, forget it. The real threat to public health, apart from government, is the intertwining of the pharmaceutical giants and medicine.”

“Things like stem cell treatments? Sure works for horses.”

“That’s not a result of pharmaceutical research. The problem there is it’s a religious issue for some. A small but powerful group of anti-anything activists can hijack government and medicine. And they have. Your husband can perform treatments as a vet that I cannot. Until recently, hospitals didn’t even allow acupuncture. Now there’s evidence it releases enzymes that help to blunt pain, to heal. Human growth hormone, another substance produced by the body, drops off after age twenty-five, and if I could give it to people according to their age, I truly believe we could prevent aging. Aging is a disease. But here I am, one physician in central Virginia, no powerful friends, lacking great wealth. Who will listen to me?”

“I am.”

Annalise smiled broadly. “So you have. I guess I needed to let it all out. Too much going on.”

“Always is.”

Annalise spontaneously leaned over and kissed Harry on the cheek. Then she headed for the hospital.

As Harry climbed into the Volvo, she saw Cory walking through the parking lot. He jogged to catch up to Annalise, and they walked to the entrance together.

Three faces looked up at Harry, whiskers forward in anticipation.

“I thought she’d never shut up,” Pewter moaned.

“Gang, I am so naïve. What have I been doing all my life?”

“You were the postmistress of Crozet before they built the big post office,” Tucker said. “You were the best postmistress in the world.”

“Don’t gild the lily, Tucker.” Pewter lifted one dark gray eyebrow.

“She was.”

“That means you’ve worked with other postmistresses,” Pewter argued.

“Miranda.” The dog named Harry’s friend, who had worked with her.

Miranda Hogendobber’s husband, George, had been the postmaster for decades. When he passed away, Harry, fresh from Smith College, had fallen into the job, assuming it would be temporary.

When the new post office was built—quite a nice one, and much needed—she was told she couldn’t bring her pets to work. No one much cared at the old, cozy PO. Furious, Harry resigned to take up farming full-time. Much as she missed that regular paycheck, she’d never regretted it.

Harry’s eyes followed the two doctors, engaged in an animated conversation. Then Cory pushed open the large glass door for Annalise, and they disappeared into the hospital.

Mrs. Murphy jumped into the passenger seat, leaving Pewter and Tucker to fuss at each other in the back.

Absentmindedly, Harry reached over to pet the tiger cat once she’d started the wagon.

“Good news.” Harry ran her forefinger under Mrs. Murphy’s chin.

“Good.” The cat purred.

“All right. We’re off and running. Who knows what else the day will bring.”