Page 32 of In Love With a Master (Interview With a Master 2)

We were in the back room, the room that had once been Trigg’s bedroom, and where I had come each day as she had monitored my medication and my health. Now Trigg was long gone, and in her place was a man who looked like a mobster.

Dr. De Niro clutched at his nose and tugged at it like he was trying to pull the appendage off his face. His eyes watered and then he sneezed. He had a cold.

The irony…

My new doctor was sick.

“I have good news and bad news about the MRI scan,” he said without any trace of sympathy or emotion.

It was late afternoon and we had returned several hours ago from the medical center.

“Give me the bad news,” I said.

“You have a brain tumor.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I said. “Now give me the good news.”

Dr. De Niro turned away and went to the far side of the room like he wanted space between us. He tried that smiling thing again but now it just came out like a grimace of pain.

I sat up. “Is there any good news?”

Dr. De Niro nodded. “Yes… but you are going to want to see this.”

I realized then that the doctor wasn’t trying to reach a safe distance, he was feeling for the light switch. The room became dark, and then darker still as he drew the heavy drapes across the window. I heard the sound of an electric hum, and then suddenly a bizarre image burst from a digital projector and played across the blank wall before me.

I stared. For long seconds the surrealistic black and white image made no sense. It looked like some kind of a lunar landscape, and it wasn’t until the doctor adjusted the projector lens, making the image smaller, that I finally recognized the swirling patterns as an image of an MRI scan.

My MRI scan.

An icy pall of dread – a fatalistic sense of doom – punched at my heart like a fist.

Dr. De Niro came and perched himself on the edge of the bed. I continued to stare at the image on the blank bedroom wall.

“It’s not getting any smaller, is it?” I could see quite clearly the large blurred area that showed up like a dense white cloud set against the dark background of the rest of my skull. “It looks to be exactly the same size as it was the last time Trigg took me for a scan.”

Dr. De Nero turned his head slowly and looked at me. I felt his eyes, and turned just as slowly until our faces were just a few inches apart. He was nodding his head, his eyes narrowed to thin calculating slits. I could see he was frowning.

I turned back to look at the scan one last time and pointed. “I was hoping…” my voice became heavy and trailed away.

Dr. De Niro rested his hand comfortingly on my shoulder. “Son, that’s not your tumor. That’s part of your head. The brain tumor that you have is that little white mark near the back of your skull.”

I turned back to face the doctor, my mood instantly black. “That’s not funny.”

The doctor rubbed hard at his face like maybe he thought he could smooth his features into something more handsome. “I’m not joking.”

I stared in silence.

There are different types of silence. There is that long, awkward silence between two people who are uncomfortable in each other’s company, and then there is that silence that hums with sexual tension when a man and woman are moments away from reaching for each other. But this was a different kind of silence – this was the stunned kind of silence where there were no words, no feelings, only shock.

I gazed at the MRI image made large on the wall and felt my eyes glaze over until everything began to blur. My heart seemed to stop beating, and there was a great roar of pounding blood in my ears. I was so overwhelmed that for many minutes I continued to stare at the wall saying nothing.

Dr. De Niro stood up and strode towards the image. He pointed to a small shape near the base of my skull then looked back at me and waited patiently until the haze of my disbelief gradually faded and he finally had my attention.

“Mr. Noble, this is your brain tumor.”

Thud!

I shook my head, wanting to believe him but not yet willing to give into hope. “That’s not what I have been told for the past several months,” I said levelly. “Trigg, my doctor, told me that the tumor was massive. She told me it was that much larger cloud of dull light closer to the front of my brain. She showed me the same shape in every MRI scan that we brought back from the clinic.”

Dr. De Niro’s hand fell heavily to his side and then crept into his pants pocket.

“She lied.”

Crash!

I said nothing.

The doctor gave me a long, meaningful look. “Have you ever seen an MRI before?”

“Only mine,” I said.

“Haven’t seen any others?”

“Only mine. Trigg showed me every one of them.”

“At the clinic?”

“No. Here. She showed me right here in this room. Not on a projector. She just showed me the plates that the clinic delivered.”

Dr. De Niro nodded heavily. “Jonah, did you ever consider getting a second opinion?”

I shook my head slowly. “No… I trusted Trigg. She had been our family doctor for some years. She was there for my father during his illness right up until the time of his death, and she had been there for me ever since.”

Dr. De Niro crossed to the other side of the room and turned the digital projector off. The insistent hum of sound cut off abruptly and the room was encased once again in gloomy silence. He walked slowly back to where I sat on the edge of the bed with his hands behind his back like a prosecutor cross examining a witness. He balanced his weight on the balls of his feet and I stared up into his face.

“Did you ever date Trigg Fanning?” the doctor asked.

I shrugged. “Date?”

The doctor nodded his head.

“Trigg and I have an intimate past,” I said vaguely, “But it is well in the past.”

The doctor nodded, like he already knew the answer.

“After my father died Trigg and I had a brief relationship,” I explained, “And then one day I met a beautiful young lady by the name of Caroline. That was over three years ago, but even though the relationship with Caroline was something long term and very special, Trigg still remained my family doctor. Hell, if it wasn’t for Trigg being at a cocktail fundraising party I hosted twelve months ago I don’t know what would have happened.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning that during the fundraiser I had a seizure,” I snapped. “Trigg was right there at the time and she saved my life. Ever since then she has been medicating me for headaches, until six months ago when she discovered by chance that I had a brain tumor. That was when I ended the relationship with Caroline – Trigg showed me the MRIs and told me the tumor was massive and inoperable. She told me I had maybe a year or two to live, at the most. I sent Caroline away, because I knew I might not be there for her. I knew I couldn’t offer her a future… and Trigg moved into this room, so that she could be close on hand as the headaches got worse, and in case I was struck by another seizure. She used this room like an in-home medical facility right up until the moment I sent her away eight weeks ago and called for you.”

Dr. De Niro took his hands from behind his back and rubbed at his chin. “Why did you terminate your arrangement with her so abruptly?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I saw a flashed image of Leticia and Trigg in the foyer and the despairing look of anguish on Leticia’s face at the instant she had thought I was deceiving her, and still had a relationship with Trigg. “That’s personal,” I said flatly.

The doctor didn’t seem offended by the abruptness of my answer. He went on as though I hadn’t replied at all.

“So, let me get this right…” the doctor said. “This Trigg woman was on hand during your father’s illness right up until he died, and then on hand again – conveniently – on the very night you suffered your first and only seizure?”

I said nothing.

“This Trigg woman is the only one you have consulted about your tumor, and she is also the person who – conveniently – happened to discover the tumor’s existence.”

I said nothing.

“This Trigg woman has been medicating you to treat the tumor and the associated headaches – conveniently – coinciding with her move back into your home… and presumably, back into your life.”

I said something. “Yes.”

Dr. De Niro thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants and rocked his balance back and forth. He was looking hard at me, and I didn’t like the expression on his face.

“Tell me, Jonah, when was the last time you had one of these debilitating headaches that Trigg was medicating you for?”

“It’s been a while…” I said vaguely.

“At least eight weeks, right? It’s been at least that long because ever since I have been here you haven’t complained of a single headache.”

I got defensive. “That’s because you have me on that experimental drug.” I struggled to remember the name the doctor had called the medication. “Nacsirmelbon. And you even upped the medication to two tablets a day.”

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