Every Last Drop Page 4

Friday, March 28, 2014

  * * *

  “No lunch? I didn’t have time to eat breakfast this morning.” I scrunched up my face as I sat on the edge of an examining table, trying my best to keep the thin paper gown from exposing my lady bits to everyone in the room. Which, by the way, was a lot of freaking people. The room was stuffed with nurses, orderlies, and other people in official-looking uniforms I didn’t know.

  This was so weird.

  There was no other way to describe it except weird. This morning I was going about my life as usual, and a few hours later I’m about to have my skull opened up. To say I was adjusting to this news would be a total lie.

  I was not okay.

  I don’t want my head cut open. I don’t want to be in a damn paper gown in a room full of strangers. I don’t want to have cancer.

  Please, God, don’t let me have cancer, I prayed silently, something I’d been doing more and more of. I wondered if that would have made the difference, if maybe God would have spared me all of this if I’d prayed more and gone to church every Sunday. Sure, I ate organic and ran a half marathon last year, but maybe those things didn’t matter at all.

  “It’s better to have an empty stomach when going under anesthesia. If all goes well, you’ll be having dinner in a few hours,” Dr. Page assured me, interrupting my thoughts.

  “If? Don’t you mean when?” Kyle practically growled from where he stood next to me.

  “Of course, Mr. Falls. Your wife will be fine. It’s only a small procedure to see what’s going on inside.” The doctor pointed at my head, and I briefly considered biting off his finger.

  Kyle glowered at him, squinty-eyed with his arms crossing his chest. His shoulders were back and his feet far enough apart to put him in the intimidating stance I knew he’d learned in the U.S. Marines. He was angled away from me, but still managed to remain close. Everything about him screamed protector, and to be honest, it was kind of hot.

  Normally I’d be laughing at the strangeness of being in a thin, paper gown with a nurse attaching all sorts of things to me, or cracking a joke about whether or not the shiny clamp on my index finger could reveal to the room how I wanted to jump my husband. But laughter seemed so far away and I couldn’t fathom finding it.

  “Mrs. Falls, I’m Delores and I’ll be prepping the surgical area for you.” A younger woman with the prettiest smile approached, pushing a tray on wheels. It had shears, a razor, and liquids I didn’t understand.

  “What do you mean by surgical area?”

  “I’ll need to shave a small area of your hair away so the doctor can do his job.” Her smile was so welcoming, I almost missed what she’d said. “This is the hardest part for most of our female patients.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, letting my long, wavy brown locks drift through my fingers. It was one of my favorite features, the only cooperative thing about my looks. It fell naturally just the way I wanted with very little effort.

  My hand dropped to my lap and Kyle wrapped his hand around mine. “Okay.”

  Delores picked up the shears and sectioned off a square to one side of my head. She twisted the hair around her finger a few times, then snipped off the strand at once. I cringed at the sound, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t see my hair in her hand.

  There were a few more snips and then a buzzing sound as an electric razor rattled against my skull and brought it down to stubble. I stayed still with my eyes glued shut, pretending I was elsewhere. I jolted slightly at the cold sensation as she spread a cool gel over the spot and ran a razor blade across it a few times.

  “There you go. You’re ready.” Delores smiled and began packing her things.

  I willed myself to say thank you or something polite. But I wasn’t grateful; I was only trying not to cry.

  She handed me a small mirror, and I swallowed as I tilted my head to the side to see my new bald patch.

  There it was—the physical reminder that I was not normal. I was not healthy. There was something wrong and it couldn’t—or wouldn’t—be hidden. The shaved spot stuck out like a dead fly in a champagne glass, taunting the rest of my thick hair. This was the problem with hair; it didn’t matter if the rest might make a shampoo model jealous, just like it doesn’t matter how delicious that metaphorical champagne was. There’s still a dead fly in it.

  “Don’t tell me where I can and can’t go in this God forsaken building!” A gruff male voice yelled from the hallway outside my room. “You think you’re keeping me out of an exam room? I’ve stormed whole villages!”

  Kyle and I looked at each and smiled as my father burst through the doors.

  “Tessa!” He sounded relieved and terrified at the same time, bounding over to me and then wrapping me in a bear hug. He was the only man I knew with a larger and more intimidating stature than my hulk of a husband. I shared my father’s brown hair and blue eyes, but the similarities ended there. For everything I was tiny, he was large. His nose was large, his eyes were large, his ears were large—his entire body, large. The man was a walking giant and could look really intimidating if he wanted to. Thankfully, I knew he was nothing but a big softie underneath it all.

  “Daddy, I’m so glad you’re here.” I nuzzled my nose into his shirt and hugged him tightly. I’d known he’d come as soon as he heard, living as he did only a few minutes outside Chicago in our hometown of Northfield.

  I’d been a daddy’s girl since the day I was born, and would be until the day I died. Didn’t matter what mistakes he made, I loved him no matter what. He’d been the sole caretaker for my younger sister Elly and me after my mother died when Elly was only three years old. He’d struggled—we all did—but his love and commitment to us had never wavered.

  “It’s okay, sunshine. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here through the whole thing.” He squeezed me tighter, and I needed it so much I almost cried out at the relief of feeling safe in my father’s arms. He’d called me sunshine ever since I was a baby after a popular song lyric, his sunshine on a cloudy day.

  “The doctor said I might have cancer,” I told him, blurting it out.

  “Bull-fucking-shit. Doctors are always assuming the worst, a bunch of quacks,” he huffed, spouting another of his many conspiracy theories. “Don’t believe a word they say.”

  “Dad, I saw the scans.”

  “My doctor’s been trying to show me scans of my lungs for years, trying to get me to quit smoking. They’re getting paid by the pharmaceutical companies to try and make me buy those quitting patches.”

  “Dad,” I said, chastising him with my tone. He’d been smoking my entire life and no amount of begging had convinced him to quit. That was the thing about Master Sergeant Glenn Barnes—once he’d made up his mind that he was right about something, there was no one that could convince him otherwise. Being in two wars had given him the chance to see so much corruption and devastation that he trusted no one and nothing at this point, looking for scandals around every corner now.

  “Master Sergeant Barnes,” Kyle said, breaking up our discussion and greeting my father with a military style salute before devolving into a hearty handshake and hug. My father was former U.S. Marines, so to say he was proud of my choice in a spouse would be an understatement.

  “Kyle.” My father’s voice was sad. “Are you taking care of our girl here?”

  “I’m trying, sir.”

  “Good man. Where’s the doctor?” At my father’s mention, I looked around and realized we were down to an orderly and a nurse, but no Dr. Page.

  “I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “Did you tell Elly what’s happening?”

  “Yes, and she’ll be on the first plane out tonight from JFK. She’ll be here at least a week to make sure you’re okay.”

  “She’s able to take that much time off classes?” I asked.

  Elly was six years younger than me and in her last year of college at New York University. She was studying physical therapy, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. We’d been inseparable growing u
p, and as strong as I was trying to be, I really needed my best friend.

  “It’s actually her spring break, so it doesn’t interfere with anything but her beach plans,” Dad explained.

  Kyle stroked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. I could feel him lingering above my newly shaved spot.

  Dr. Page walked in, and everything about him was all business—you could practically see the mental checklist behind his eyes. His dark blue scrubs were topped with a red cap over his white hair, masks draped around his neck.

  I wondered if this was how Santa looked on Christmas Eve, his sleigh packed and six billion houses to visit in one night. Dr. Page looked ready for six billion houses, or at least one tumor.

  “Mrs. Falls, how are you feeling? Any questions about today’s procedure?”

  I had a hundred questions but none he could answer. Why was this happening to me? Would I ever be a mother? Was I going to die? Around Christmas time, did people ask him for gifts? I felt like Dr. Page could probably only answer the last one, but I refrained, shaking my head no.

  “Dr. Page, I presume?” My father stuck out his hand.

  Dr. Page shook it. “I am.”

  “I’m Greg Barnes, Tessa’s father.” Their handshake took a little too long, and looked a little too tight, some sort of silent battle of wills happening between them I didn’t understand.

  Finally, Dr. Page let go and stepped back. “Thanks for being here, Mr. Barnes.”

  Dad grunted. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

  “Everything should go fine—no reason to worry. To reiterate, we’re only doing a biopsy today.” Dr. Page turned to me. “I’m going to open up your skull, take a small sample of the tumor for testing. If I see the tumor is in a favorable position where it can be removed, I will do so, but from the scans, I must tell you that is unlikely.”

  I nodded again, my voice trapped beneath my fear.

  “Can you hop on this bed, Tessa? The orderlies will wheel you to the operating room where they will then transfer you onto the table while I prep. Mr. Falls, this nurse will lead you to the waiting area.” The doctor motioned toward us and pointed staff in our direction.

  Kyle grabbed my hand and squeezed, helping me down from the table and onto the bed. “Can’t I walk with her to the operating room?”

  “I’m sorry. Standard procedure, Mr. Falls.”

  “I’ll walk next to the bed until we get there, then,” Kyle compromised, not asking permission. He pulled the starched hospital blankets across my legs. I wanted him to curl in bed with me, hold me through the entire operation. If it wouldn’t break every infection control policy possible, I’m sure he would have.

  “Mr. Falls, there’s really no need, she’ll be fine.” A nurse tried to draw him away, but I clamped a hand around his forearm.

  He didn’t budge. “Are you kidding me? My wife is about to have her head cut open, there’s definitely a need.”

  “We’ll both walk her down, then I’ll make sure Kyle gets to the waiting room and stays put,” my father intervened, two hands on his son-in-law’s shoulders.

  I exhaled slowly, pushing everything out of my lungs and focusing on calming my pulse. This was happening, there was nothing I could do to stop it. I inhaled slowly, filling my chest and lungs entirely before letting them collapse again.

  “I’ll be right here when you are done, babe,” Kyle told me, my hand in his while he walked beside the bed.

  The orderlies pushing me were fast, and their urgency frightened me. I clutched his hand tighter. “Kyle, in case I don’t make it out of there—”

  “You will, Tessa. I won’t let us be apart again.”

  So much of our marriage, and even dating, had been long distance because of his deployments overseas. This last year together had been everything we’d hoped for, and he was right—I never wanted to be apart again.

  Still, I needed to say it. I needed him to know. “But just in case, I want you to know how much I love you. You’re everything to me, Kyle. My entire life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “All the love, Tessa.”

  I smiled, closing my eyes and hoping for everything. For one thing.

  For a miracle.

  Chapter Five

  Friday, March 28, 2014

  * * *

  “That’s bush league. I was promised dinner.” I frowned at Delores as she took my blood pressure.

  “Dinner was hours ago, hun. We can get you a light snack or something, but nothing heavy. After being under anesthesia, you’d risk an upset stomach.”

  I touched the bandage around my head, cringing at the twinge of pain. I was being rude, particularly since Delores had been so kind to me. But when someone’s fingers have been on the wrong side of your skull, you tend to feel a little bitchy.

  Kyle rose from his chair beside my bed. “Babe, how about I run out and get you something?”

  “If I’m craving pickles, will you judge me?”

  His brow furrowed. “You want pickles?”

  “Yes. Preferably fried.” I’d never had them before, but they sounded perfect. Don’t ask me why—I haven’t a clue.

  Delores raised an eyebrow. “Not fried. Your stomach will have lots to say about anything fried. Regular pickles might be fine. Weird, but fine.”

  Kyle nodded, tossed me a bewildered grin, and headed out the door.

  I watched him go, my head angled to admire his perfect…stature. Okay, I was ogling his ass, but it’s not my fault. He was yummy and powerful, and I could use some power right now.

  Lying in a hospital bed with needles in my arm was unnerving. This place was depressing, despite the nearby poster of a cat hanging from a tree branch encouraging me to hang in there.

  My father was at O’Hare picking up my sister. I was missing him already, plus, I was dying to see Elly.

  Poor choice of words.

  “Mrs. Falls?” Dr. Page’s deep Santa-style voice boomed as he pushed aside the privacy curtain between the glass door and me.

  “What’s up, doc?” My best Bugs Bunny impression won me a small twitch at the corner of his lips. It was almost a smile; I’d take it. I needed all the optimism and pep I could manage to fake right now. The usual creeping sadness was threatening to make its way back in and it was taking every coping skill my therapist had taught me to keep it at bay. Deep breathing, mindfulness, meditation—I was pulling out all the stops to stay positive, but, damn, life was pretty shitty at the moment.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I’m okay, a little headache.” The worst part was over and that thought was carrying me through. Plus, the pain medications. Those were fantastic.

  He glanced down at the papers in his hands and when he looked back at me, my optimism quickly tanked. Sullen and somber—this wasn’t good news. “As you’re aware, I was hoping to remove the entire tumor. That wasn’t possible as I discovered the tumor has spread feelers to other parts of your brain. I’m most worried about its proximity to your optic nerve.”

  My heart thumped behind my ribcage, and I felt a wave of nausea pass through me.

  “It gets worse, doesn’t it?” My expression begged him to tell me I’m wrong.

  “The results aren’t what we’d hoped for,” he said.

  I chewed on the corner of my thumb, trying to keep the nausea down. “My husband’s getting dinner. Should we wait?”

  “That’s up to you. Whatever you’d be more comfortable with.” Dr. Page thumbed the papers again.

  My stomach twisted in knots; wishing I’d picked a better time to be hungry. I couldn’t wait for Kyle. I had to know now. “Just tell me.”

  “We rushed the results of your biopsy. It’s a Grade 2 Diffuse Astrocytoma.” Dr. Page hugged the clipboard to his chest, his sad eyes fixed on me. “It is malignant, and we must act fast to keep the cancer from progressing.”

  Silence fell between us, only the beeping of the machines interrupt
ing every few seconds.

  “Well,” I started, blinking rapidly. I felt like a pierced balloon, deflating, scrambling to find my words. I only had one. “Fuck.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Dr. Page echoed.

  Every fear from earlier was bombarding my thoughts, my heart, my stomach. I wished I had waited for Kyle. I wished I’d waited for my dad or Elly.

  The first time I’d ever heard the word cancer was when my mother was diagnosed with it. Then my little sister was born, becoming my whole world. I’d heard the word thrown around a few times after that, but I had been so focused on my sister and being a kid, it hadn’t seemed a big deal. No one had ever told me to worry about it, or see it as something serious, especially since my mother went into remission soon after treatment.

  When her breast cancer came back three years later, she wasn’t as lucky.

  I was old enough the second time to understand how scary the word was. My teachers whispered it to each other, pity in their eyes when they looked at me. The doctors had always sent us from the room before speaking with my parents.

  But my dad never said it. No one said it. Cancer. My mother had cancer.

  Now I have cancer.

  And the word seemed even scarier this time than it ever did before. Amazing how powerful just a word can be. I wanted to run from it—ninja jump out the hospital window like a skilled stunt woman from the movies so it couldn’t catch up with me. My father always used to tell me that I needed to stop running from things. “Face things head on, Tessa,” he’d say. That’s not really what my life was about up until now. I’d married the first man who’d seriously paid attention to me—thank God he happened to be the perfect man for me anyway—and I’d taken the first job to offer me a contract. I’d graduated college from the first school to offer me admission and moved in to the first house the realtor had shown us.

  I wasn’t picky. I wasn’t difficult. I was go-with-the-flow. But…was that really a thing? Or was I just avoiding life and making any decisions at all? Now here I was facing the potential end, and it would be nothing but choices from here on out.