CHAPTER 36
They’re in the waiting room at the genetic counseling clinic. All of them. Katie, JJ, Colleen and baby Joey, Patrick, Meghan, her mom and dad, and Felix. She brought everyone. How’s that for bringing support?
They’ve been sitting here for about fifteen minutes, one minute past forever. No one is talking or reading the magazines or even making eye contact. They’re all looking vaguely at their feet or the walls. Her mom is rubbing the beads of her rosary, whispering with her eyes closed. Katie is holding Felix’s hand so tight she’s lost circulation in her fingers. She doesn’t let go. Katie swallows, and it feels as if her stomach is in the process of turning itself inside out. She thinks she might throw up.
It doesn’t help that they’re all hungover and have barely slept. Patrick had the night off, and he decided that the eve of Katie’s Day of Reckoning called for alcohol. Katie didn’t argue. JJ, Pat, Meg, Katie, and Felix went to Sully’s early and closed the place. JJ kicked things off with a round of tequila shots. Many, many beers later, Katie vaguely remembers doing shots of J?ger. They all got totally shitfaced.
“This is wicked fun,” says Patrick. “I can see why you guys all signed up to do this.”
No one says anything.
“When we’re done here, we should all go for colonoscopies down the hall.”
“You’d like a big hose up the ass, wouldn’t you, Pat?” goads JJ.
“Gross,” says Meghan.
“Boys,” her mom scolds without opening her eyes.
“Actually, I do have to take a shit,” says Patrick.
“This is why I didn’t bring you to my appointment,” says Meghan.
“There a bathroom around here?”
“Out the door, go left,” says JJ.
Katie watches her mom praying. Thank you, Mom. Her dad jumps up, startling everyone. He does a quick dance, a little soft-shoe shuffle, and then throws himself back into his chair. A few minutes later, the waiting room door opens, and Patrick is back.
Then the other door suddenly opens, slicing the air like a guillotine blade rising, and standing before them is Eric Clarkson. His face is serious. Then, seeing so many O’Briens, he smiles. He’s still smiling. He wouldn’t be smiling if he were about to deliver bad news. That would be sadistic.
Katie’s spirit and hangover lift, floating weightless above her for a moment before her memory sinks them back into her body. He doesn’t know her test results yet either. The smile has nothing to do with HD. He’s just happy to see them.
“Hello, everyone,” says Eric. “Hey, Joe, I like your shirt.”
Her dad nods and smiles. He’s very proud of his T-shirts.
“Shall we?” asks Eric, holding the door open.
Katie stands first. Still holding Felix’s hand, she follows Eric down the hall, leading the O’Brien family in single file, as if they were a funeral procession or an army marching to the front line. They pile into Eric’s office, and the space is too small for this many people. Katie sits in one of the chairs, and her mother takes the only other seat next to her. Everyone else stands, squished and leaning against the wall behind her.
“And I was worried you wouldn’t bring anyone,” says Eric.
His office looks pretty much the same as she remembers it. His diploma, the HOPE poster, the orchid. She looks over at the whiteboard.
Chromosomes. Genes. DNA. ATCG. CAG.
A genetics 101 lesson not yet erased from an earlier appointment, another innocent soul formally introduced to the simply cruel biology of HD. Everything looks the same, with one notable exception—a framed photo of Eric with his dog and a pretty girl. She’s cute. She looks a little bit like Katie. Next to their picture is the gift Katie gave to him last year.
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.”
—Emily Dickinson
She pulls down the top of her T-shirt a smidge to just above her heart and drags her fingers over her new tattoo, the skin still red and itchy. A white feather. Hope. She looks down at the outside of her right ankle. A pink lotus flower. Her other tattoo. Lotus flowers blossom while rooted in mud, a reminder that beauty and grace can rise above something ugly. Something like HD. She was planning on getting only the feather, but the pain of the needle wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected, so she got the lotus, too. Her anticipation was far worse than the actual experience. Possibly like right now.
She used to think that being gene positive would change everything. If she’s positive, it will certainly affect her future. But the future is a fantasy. The present moment is all there is. Today, in this moment, if she finds out she’s gene positive, it changes nothing about now. She’ll still love the people in this room, and they’ll still love her. She’s still moving with Felix to Portland next week. Her bags are packed.
So why does she need to know?
Everyone dies. As her dad would say, That’s the price of playing poker. Maybe it’s an accident or something lethal lurking inside them—cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer’s. Katie looks at Eric and his girlfriend, happy in the framed picture, and hopes he doesn’t get hit by a bus when he’s thirty-five. But who knows? Who knows what genetic fate might be lurking inside Eric, her mom, Felix?
So HD might be the reason she dies someday. She’s done with living with the excuse of someday. She’s determined to stay focused on the reason she lives now. She loves her family. She loves Felix. She loves inspiring wellness and peace through teaching yoga. She loves herself. Love is her reason for living, and that has nothing to do with HD.
So why does she need to know whether she’ll get HD in the future?
She eyes the white envelope centered on Eric’s desk. She has a 50 percent chance of being HD positive. A flip-of-the-coin risk. But everything in life is a risk. Moving to Portland, opening a yoga studio, loving Felix. Every breath is a risk. She envisions the quote she wrote on her bedroom wall yesterday before they all went to Sully’s and got hammered, knowing the words will be painted over within the week, before the new tenants move in.
“Every breath is a risk. Love is why we breathe.”
–Katie O’Brien
She looks up at Eric looking at her. Here they are. Their third and last date. She could bolt like a bride with cold feet on her wedding day. She could politely say No, thank you. She could walk out of this building none the wiser and move to Portland with Felix. She could be a twenty-two-year-old girl and not know what letters are written in her DNA.
Or she could find out.
If that piece of paper reveals that she’s gene negative, she’s free of HD. No more worrying every time she drops her spoon. No more panicked dread every time she fidgets in her seat. Her children will never get HD.
The thought of hearing Eric say she’s gene positive used to terrify her. The thought became a fear that physically consumed her. But the thought is only terrifying if she chooses to be terrified. The quality of her experience depends entirely on the thoughts she chooses. Reality depends on what is paid attention to. Whether she’s gene positive or negative, she’s determined to pay attention to living, not dying.
Still clutching Felix’s hand, Katie turns and locks eyes with her dad. His eyes go wide and round, his eyebrows hop up and hang there. An HD grimace. Possibly her future face. She reads his T-shirt. THIS IS HUNTINGTON’S. And then his eyebrows relax, and there’s a reassuring twinkle in his eyes, and without words, she knows what he’s telling her. I’m with you, honey. This is her dad.
“So, Katie. I have your genetic screening results here. You ready?” asks Eric, holding the envelope, her fate, in his hands.
She squeezes Felix’s hand and looks Eric straight in the eye. She takes a deep breath in. So. She exhales it out. Hum. Every breath is a risk. Love is why we breathe.
“I am.”