HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED what it would be like to have a perfect nose?
I have.
A beautiful nose.
A nose with a straight bridge and a slender end that upturns toward the sky in a soft curve.
I wonder about it often. But Dad says it doesn’t matter what my nose looks like. What matters is my behavior and personality.
The second time I broke my nose was when I tripped on the sidewalk on the way to my first day of the fifth grade. When I arrived, my new teacher ushered me immediately to the school nurse to clean up the blood and to call my dad.
He wasn’t happy. I could tell he was having a hard time containing himself. You know how parents get when they don’t want you to worry but you can see right through them? Yep. Dad being Dad, he hugged me and ushered me straight out the door and to our family doctor to reset my nose.
I had to wear a nose splint for two weeks which was embarrassing.
And to make matters worse, I had to see a specialist.
Dad said it could help keep me from stumbling. I wasn’t sure what kind of results he was expecting, but no amount of therapy was going to fix my being a klutz. I had two left feet. Plain and simple.
But Dad said I had to go whether I liked it or not.
So, with an annoyed stare and with my arms crossed over my chest, I sat in the passenger seat and let him take me across town to the medical center.
As we drove up into an empty parking space by the front entrance, I saw the business name printed on the glass door. Dr. Roberta Stevens. Office of Oncology.
“What’s oncology?” I asked, turning my head to look at Dad.
He glanced my way, but he couldn’t meet my gaze.
“Dad?”
He sighed as he turned in his seat to face me. “Oncology is the study of cancer, honey.”
I swallowed hard and blinked my eyes rapidly as thoughts of bald kids with sunken eyes flashed in my mind. I shook my head. “No,” I said, my voice shaking. “Why did you bring me here? I don’t have cancer.”
He reached across the truck cab and patted the back of my hand which was gripping the armrest, my knuckles white.
“We need to know for sure. To rule it out,” he said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself of the matter rather than me. “To make sure it’s not causing you to lose your balance.”
“Dad, I keep telling you, I’m just a klutz. I feel fine.”
“I know, honey, but after your mom…” His voice trailed off and then he sighed. “We need to rule this out. I need this ruled out. For my own sanity. I can’t keep wondering if I’m going to lose you, too.”
Geez, he was really starting to make a mess of his face. And mine, too. All this talk about cancer and Mom… My face felt hot, and I needed out of the truck before I started to melt to the seat.
With a sigh, I said, “Fine,” and pushed open the door.
Dad led me into the building and to the receptionist’s desk, to a woman with long, curly blonde hair and a beautiful nose. She smiled at me. It was a warm, adult-like kind of smile.
“You must be Magnolia,” she said, placing a clipboard on the counter in front of me. When Dad took it, she turned her attention to him and added, “Hello, Mr. Goldsteen. Please fill out this questionnaire and bring it back to me when you’re done.”
He gave her a weak smile as he tipped his hat. Then he put an arm around my shoulders and led me away to the waiting room.
As I sat quietly beside him, I watched his dry, shaky hand fill out the forms. There seemed to be question after question and after only the twentieth one, he looked over at me and sighed.
Finally, after a long and dreadfully boring ten minutes, he stood up and handed the clipboard to the woman across the desk.
“The nurse will come get you shortly,” she said.
We waited in silence. I was too afraid to say anything, and I imagined my dad was, too.
By the time the nurse appeared, my stomach was twisted in knots. I swallowed hard as I got to my feet. Dad’s arm was around my shoulders again, guiding me across the floor and into a wide hallway.
The nurse, who called herself Janice, directed us into one of the rooms with a large patient table in the center. The bottom stepstool had been pulled out.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” she said. “I’ll be right in.”
Knowing the drill after my numerous accidents and broken bones, I hopped up onto the paper-lined table and dangled my feet off the edge.
Dad sat idly in the extra chair against the wall to my right.
As I sat there, my body started trembling uncontrollably and I couldn’t keep my legs still.
Dad reached over and patted my hand again. “I’m sure it’s nothing, honey. We’re just ruling this out.”
I nodded my head through the jitters. “It’s the doctor’s office. It just makes me nervous.”
He gave me a knowing nod.
“No, really,” I said. “I’m fine.”
I closed my eyes and tried to think of fun, warm places like the beach a few miles from our house. I tried to imagine burying my feet in the hot sand. But then the door handle clanged. I jerked my eyes open to see the nurse walking back into the room. She carried a metal tray containing a few medical items and set it on the counter by the sink.
As she straightened her things, she said, “We’re just going to take a small blood sample so we can run some tests. Then after that, I’ll have you come down the hall with me to another room where we’ll take a look at your insides.”
“Insides?” I asked with a shudder.
She chuckled softly. “It’s called an MRI, for magnetic resonance imaging. It lets us see what’s going on inside your body. If there are any types of growths that shouldn’t be there.”
I eyed Dad who was starting to look a little green now.
Nurse Janice followed my gaze. Her eyes widened slightly. She set the packaged needle back on the tray and took a few steps across the room to stand in front of my dad. “Mr. Goldsteen? Are you all right?”
He raised his hand and nodded his head. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice croaking.
The nurse grabbed a paper cup from the dispenser on the wall by the sink and filled it with tap water. Then she handed it to Dad.
Slowly, he took a small sip and then lowered his hand to rest it on his leg. He raised his other fist and held it to his mouth.
Nurse Janice looked at me, looking a little panicked. No doubt from having a grown man appear sick during a simple office visit.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I said with a shrug.
Janice nodded though her expression was grim.
With a cheeky grin, I added, “He tends to get a little queasy at doctor’s visits.”
Dad shot me an annoyed look.
“All right,” Janice said, turning back to face me and walking back to the metal tray on the counter. “Let’s get started. Have you ever had your blood drawn, Magnolia?” She looked over her shoulder at me.
I nodded. “Lots of times.”
“There’s nothing to it, is there?” she asked. “And it’s over so fast.”
I hummed in agreement though I wouldn’t say it was a fast procedure. The twenty seconds it took for a nurse to draw blood always felt like forever.
Dad always referred to slow things as like watching paint dry. I never understood why he bothered watching paint dry. It seemed like a waste of valuable time, but I knew he wouldn’t like my comment, so I had never asked him about it. There were certain things he didn’t appreciate me asking him about.
And one of those things was Mom.
