ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: The Writer, His Wife, and their Afterlife

Book One, Part One, Chapter 72: Four of Twenty-seven

Five and one-half hours later, Dr. Bihrle comes into the waiting room. “He’s in Recovery now. Then I want him in Intensive Care. He’ll get the nursing he needs in ICU.”

“How is he?” Joshua asks.

“He tolerated the surgery quite well. We took out the bladder — careful not to tear it — and the prostate, and as many lymph nodes as we could grab. Pathology will take over now.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bihrle, for operating as quickly as you did,” I say.

“I had to.”

“When will we get the pathology report?” Joshua asks.

“We don’t want to rush those guys. Give them as much time as they want. I suspect the report will come in either Wednesday or Thursday.”

Another wait.

Joshua and I stay with Ernie in the intensive-care unit. We eat in his room. We sleep in his room. We live in his room. This is not generally allowed, but we manage to get on the good side of the nurses. Ernie’s a big favorite with them. He calls them all “sweetie” and does everything they ask. His piss comes through a stoma on the right side of his abdomen and collects in a bag strapped to his body.

On Tuesday, we move to a regular room. Joshua and I sleep on benches we commandeer from a waiting room. We order food in Ernie’s name. He doesn’t eat much.

Now it’s Thursday afternoon. Dr. Bihrle shows up wearing a dark suit, accompanied by two young assistants also in dark suits. The three of them stand like undertakers, facing Ernie, who’s resting against pillows in his bed.

“We’ve been leading a team of European urologists on a tour of our facilities,” Dr. Bihrle says, “and we hosted a formal luncheon. That’s why we’re dressed in suits.”

Ernie nods. “I hope you enjoyed your lunch.”

“It was good. Crabcakes. . . . The pathology report just came in. Four of twenty-seven lymph nodes bore microscopic traces of bladder cancer.”

Ernie knows what this means. “What about chemo?”

“It can up the chances of survival by about thirty-five percent.”

The three visitors don’t linger. No smiles from them. No warm good-bys.

We three look at each other.

“Only four of twenty-seven,” I say.

“And only microscopic traces,” Joshua says.

“We can beat this,” Ernie says.