Текст книги "Cruel and Beautiful"

Автор книги: A. M. Hargrove

Соавторы: Terri E. Laine
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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

COMING BACK FROM OUR OWN little paradise is harsh. I shouldn’t complain because life is pretty damn good. We live in a fabulous home, Drew loves his fellowship and the attendings he works with, and my new job is great. I landed an entry-level auditing position with Ernst and Young. It’s not my dream job, but with my ambition and goals, I can see myself making partner one day, if not here, then another firm.

Every day, though, I find myself daydreaming of our little villa on the sea, and how Monique and the rest of the staff spoiled us. The summer ends and fall is upon us before it barely registers.

One day at my new job, a huge flower arrangement is delivered for me. I scratch my head, wondering if Drew is trying to apologize for something. But that’s silly because the man never does anything to piss me off. Then I open the card and feel my heart beat a little faster as it thumps a lot louder.

Cate, Catelyn, My lovely wife,

Happy Anniversary! Two years ago you agreed to go out on a date with me

and you changed my life. Without you, I would be less than a man,

because that fist-sized thing that beats in my chest,

only beats because of you.

I love all the pieces of you with all the pieces of me.

Forever yours,

Drew

I hug his note to my chest and smile. Thinking back to that day, I laugh a little because I thought he was so old. He was twenty-seven then and I called him Smokin’ Hot. And he was. And still is.

“Flowers, huh?” A voice says over my shoulder.

I turn to see my boss, Joseph, standing there.

“Yeah. They’re from my husband.”

“He likes to spoil you, I see.”

I beam. “He sure does.”

Joseph smiles and then moves toward his office. I’m in a cubicle the size of a shoebox. There are about two dozen on this floor. When I stand, I have a perfect view of the cubicle sea.

After Joseph leaves, I hear, “So, Drew sent you flowers. What’s the occasion?”

It’s my cube neighbor, Nan. I like to call her Nosy Nan. She knows everything that goes on here, and then some. I hug Drew’s note tighter to my chest, afraid she’ll be able to read it with X-ray vision or something.

“No occasion. He’s just attentive.”

“If I could be so lucky,” she sighs.

I wonder if her luck, or lack of it, has anything to do with the fact that she sticks her nose into everybody’s business. I can already hear Drew telling me to be nice, so I switch my thoughts back to the audit I’m working on.

My phone buzzes. It’s Drew texting me.

Drew: Happy Anniversary!

Me: Thanks for the flowers. They’re magnifigorgeous.

Drew: That’s not a word, Cate.

Me: It is now.

Drew: You like?

Me: Nope. I LOVE!

Drew: Score! How about dinner tonight? FIG?

Me: Time?

Drew: Right after work to save us a drive. 6:30?

Me: Perf. LOVE YOU <3

Drew: LOVE LOVE YOU!

Dinner is awesome. But it always is at FIG, one of my favorite restaurants downtown. That night when we get home, I think the flowers were sent to seduce me, because Drew doesn’t even give me a chance to get in the house.

He opens my car door, and kisses me. The silk blouse I wear magically disappears. My bra gets unhooked by the time we hit the door, and the kitchen counter becomes our bed. He doesn’t give me time to think, only feel. His hands and mouth are magic, but they always are. By the time we both come, our breathing sounds like we just ran home instead of drove.

All of a sudden, Drew gets hit with a coughing spell. It’s unusual and I become alarmed. Of course, anything that happens to Drew alarms me. He could stub his pinky toe and I’d freak. He accuses me of being too overprotective, but that’s what happens when the man you love has been through a bout with cancer.

He finally stops, but his eyes are watery and his nose runs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it was a wicked tickle in my throat. Maybe it’s ragweed allergies, or something.”

I hope it’s the ragweed and not the or something. “Maybe. Want some water?”

“No, I’m good now.”

It starts to happen off and on. Not a whole lot, but enough to send up a warning signal. It’s about three weeks after the first episode, and I say, “Do you think you should talk to your doctor?”

He sighs. “My next round of scans is next week.”

“Your next round of scans?”

“Yeah. They always do a six-month follow up after everything. Mine are next week.”

I swallow. “And you were going to tell me, when?”

He stands and moves to sit next to me. He takes my hands and says, “I was going to tell you next week, Cate. I didn’t want you to get your panties… unders in a wad over this. It’s going to be fine.”

“Drew, we’re in this together. I’m going with you.”

I see him reach for patience. “Cate, all you’ll do is sit and wait.”

“I don’t care. I’m going with you. I think you’re missing something out of this equation here. You plus me equals us. No arguing.”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“What kinds of scans?”

“Bone and PET.”

“What day?”

“Wednesday.”

“Okay. I’ll tell Joseph.”

On Wednesday, we have the scans. The waiting is the worst. Only we find out really fast because of Drew’s position at the hospital. The news isn’t good. There’s a reason for the cough. We sit across from the head oncologist in Drew’s department. He shuffles the papers and looks up at us.

“Drew, Cate, I’m sorry. You have mets to the right lung.”

I don’t know that means. “Mets to the lung?”

Drew squeezes my hand. He sounds weary when he says, “It’s metastasized to my lung, Cate.”

Fuck! The lung? “How did that happen? I thought it was gone?”

The oncologist, Dr. Rosenberg leans forward and says, “Unfortunately, Cate, it only takes one cell to break away and that’s what happened in Drew’s case.”

“So now what?” I ask.

“We have Drew up for our tumor board on Friday. Drew, do you want to attend?”

“Yes, since it’s my treatment plan you’ll be discussing.”

Dr. Rosenberg shifts in his seat, then glances at me.

“Just say it. I’m in this as much as he is.”

Dr. Rosenberg presses his lips together for a minute. “Drew, you and I have already had this discussion and I won’t sugarcoat anything with you. Cate, is that how you want things, too?”

As much as it will hurt to hear, I say, “Yes.”

“Okay. Drew’s type of cancer is more difficult to treat in his age group. Now that it’s metastasized, the odds of a cure have dropped even further. We are going to press ahead with everything we’ve got, but of course, part of his treatment will have to include another round of chemo and surgery. We’re not sure yet if we’ll add radiation. There is a possibility of some experimental drugs, but I’m not sure at this point, hence the tumor board on Friday.”

My body feels numb and I can’t begin to imagine how Drew feels. Just a few weeks ago, everything seemed so great. How could it be so bad? Then I flashback to these same words I said, when his initial diagnosis first came about. I realize nothing’s fair in life. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

Drew is quiet, as am I. Finally, Dr. Rosenberg breaks the giant iceberg of silence. “Do either of you have any questions?”

“No,” I say stone-faced. The only question I want to ask is why can’t you cure my husband?

Then he says to Drew, “I’ll see you Friday at seven.”

We walk out and I’m not sure what to think. But Drew, my precious Drew, does it all for me.

“Cate, look at me.” He stops and takes me into a small room of some kind. “It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.”

My mouth works over a thousand things I want to say, but nothing comes out. He presses me into the hard wall of his chest and I wonder how something so ugly and horrific can be growing inside such a perfect human being.

“I’m so scared, Drew. I don’t want to be. I want to be strong for you. Strong to carry you through this, but here I am, the biggest chicken shit on Earth.”

“How can you not be scared? I’m scared, too. But we’re in great hands here.”

“Should we go back to Indy?”

He pulls my face away from him so he can look at me. “Listen up. At the tumor board on Friday, the team from Indy will be video conferenced in, along with some guru from Sloan-Kettering.” A coughing fit breaks into his conversation. When it ceases, he wipes his eyes and carries on, covering up the severity of it. My heart squeezes in fear. “I think Rosenberg is also tagging some guy from MD Anderson. I can’t get better care anywhere, Cate. I promise.”

“Okay. If you’re good with it, so am I.”

Several deep breaths later and we’re heading out to the car. My arm is wrapped around his waist hugging him tightly to my side.

Friday rolls around and I wait to hear from Drew. The call doesn’t come until almost noon.

“Sorry, babe. I was poked, prodded, questioned, my results were reviewed, and quite frankly I’m not sure I want to talk about it.” He sounds fatigued.

“Want to wait until I get home?”

“Yeah. Do you mind?”

“No. As long as you snuggle with me.”

“Always.”

On the way home I pick up Drew’s favorite pizza and a six-pack of his favorite IPA beer. When I get home, he’s lying on the couch, asleep in the den, the TV on. I almost break down in tears looking at him, because right now, he looks so robust and healthy. I can’t imagine he has cancer in his lungs.

Sitting on the couch next to him, I put my head on his chest and wrap my hand around his neck. I know it’ll wake him, but I don’t care. I don’t want either of us to ever sleep again and waste precious moments we could spend together.

“Hmmm. I’ve always loved waking up to you.”

“I’ve always loved sleeping with you. By that I mean making love, and not actually sleeping.”

“Funny.”

“I brought dinner home.”

“That’s nice.” He yawns. “I’m not particularly hungry, though.”

I lean back and inspect him. “Did an alien beam down from space and invade Drew McKnight’s body. Not hungry?”

He half smiles. My attempt at amusing him is an epic failure. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to eat. We don’t have to do anything. We can just lie here all night and not even talk, if that’s what you want.”

“Cate, that’s not fair to you. You need to know the plan.”

I toe off my shoes and stretch out on top of him. “Shoot.”

“Tuesday morning I go in for round one of chemo. Different drugs. Same side effects.”

I grab his face and say, “You good with this?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“We do three rounds, then surgery. But this time we’ll do bang, bang, bang.”

“Meaning?” I ask.

“No time off in between.”

Ouch. That’s rough. That means he’ll debilitate. With zero time off, it won’t give him much time to regroup and gain his appetite back.

“That’s rough, Drew.”

“I know. They know it. But they think I’m hearty enough and it gives me the very best fighting chance and I have to take it.”

“Okay, I’m with you. Are the drugs as harsh?”

“Yeah, but the doses will be different and they’ll add more protective measures to make sure I don’t get neutropenic and such.”

“Okay.”

“Then PET scans and if they like the progression of the shrinkage, then surgery.”

He’s tempering his Greek because I understand these terms, when usually I don’t. This tells me he really doesn’t want to talk much more about it, and I’m good with that.

Three weeks later, Drew is down twenty-five pounds and feels like hell. I bring him milk shakes, ice cream from his favorite ice cream shop, sundaes, cake, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, you name it, to try to get some pounds back on him. But eating is a huge problem. He’s nauseated all the time. The drugs they give him to prevent it don’t seem to be that effective. Ben, bless him, scores some weed and that helps the most. Plus, it has the added benefit of stimulating his appetite. At first I worry it will hurt his lungs, but Drew, in his dry humorous way, looks at me and says, “What, Cate? Worried I might get cancer?”

And what can I say to that?

He finally seems to be turning in the right direction. The doctors won’t even consider surgery until they can get his strength up. So Ben comes over every night and they smoke and get high. And by high, I mean completely stoned. Drew eats, and Ben and I laugh, because Drew is freaking hilarious. He comes up with the craziest shit, like telling us we’re going to plant asparagus in the back yard, instead of grass. Then we’ll just mow it down once a week and have dinner afterwards. Ben and I try to convince him it won’t work, but he has it all planned out in his head that it will.

One night we’re all sitting around, and my mom decides to pay us a surprise visit. Drew, who is stoned as hell, pulls out his pipe, and offers my mother a hit off it. Ben almost falls out of his chair, and I have to drag my mother in the kitchen and explain things to her.

“Cate, I am aware of the medical uses of marijuana. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday, you know. I did smoke the stuff when I was in college.”

“I didn’t know that, Mom. But, uh, thanks for sharing.” Jeez, talk about a shocker. I can’t conjure up an image of my mom taking a hit off a bong for the life of me.

“By the way, Cate, where did Drew get his pot from?”

“Oh my god, Mom, I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

She shrugs. “Well you never know if you’ll ever need it.”

When I tell Ben what she said, he dies laughing again.

“Oh god, the picture of your mom hitting the pipe is just too good. Cate, we need to get her high with us.”

“Ben Rhoades! That is a big negative.”

Drew chuckles. “Oh, Cate, I think she’d get so into it.”

“Most likely. You two are terrible.” I shake my head at them and leave the two of them alone. Ben is good for Drew. He gets his mind off things and relaxes when Ben is around. And Ben is coming around a whole lot these days.

The following week, Drew’s doctors deem him strong enough and ready for the surgery. The limbo I’ve been surviving in ends much too abruptly for my liking. But Drew is ready to get the dog and pony show on the road, as he says.

“Are you scared?” I ask him the night before.

“Not of the procedure itself. I’ve been through it once, so I know what to expect. I’m afraid they’ll either find more inside than the scans showed, or they won’t be able to grab it all.”

“I’ll be brave for the both of us,” I tell him, which is a big fat lie. I’m so afraid I can’t eat or sleep.

In the morning, we arrive at the hospital and things run as expected. My support team is there: Ben, Jenna, my parents, and Drew’s parents. Jenna holds my hand the whole time during the five-hour surgery, and Ben never sits down. As close as Jenna and I are, Ben and I have really bonded over the last month or so. He is every bit as worried and scared as I am. I glance at Letty and Ray and my heart plunges into my guts. I can’t imagine being in their shoes, having your only child go through cancer treatment like this. A sudden urge hits me and I run to Letty and throw myself at her, burying my face in her lap, my arms wrapped around her. She must think I’m a lunatic, but I can’t help myself.

Her arms wrap around me and we try to comfort each other. I’m not even sure how long we stay like this, but eventually Drew’s surgical team makes an appearance. Dr. Rosenberg also shows up, which is weird. This can’t be good.

The head surgeon, Dr. Sherman, leads the talk. “Surgery went well. Drew’s in recovery and he’ll be fine. We had to take the entire lung. It was peppered with mets. When we got into the lobe we thought was affected, we decided to check further and it soon became clear that we were dealing with a more aggressive situation here. We also had to resect more bone than we initially thought. So now it’s a wait and see.”

“So he can live with one lung, right?” I may sound stupid, but I don’t know these things.

“Oh, yeah. He’ll adapt. Most people only use a percentage of their lung capacity as it is.”

“Oh, okay. And what about more chemo?”

Dr. Rosenberg says, “We’re going to have to switch that again, since we didn’t get the results we sought. But we’ll discuss that after Drew recovers. Our goal now is to get him healed up after the surgery and out of the hospital.”

All of us, Ben, Letty, my parents, Jenna, and myself look like deer in the headlights. Everyone except Ray. Being a doctor, he knows what’s going on. He gets it. But I don’t want to ask. Because I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend none of this happened.

“When can we see him?”

Dr. Sherman says, “My recommendation is that you all go home and rest. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. He won’t wake up for hours and when he does, he’ll still be sedated.”

“I remember that from the last time. Can I at least look at him?”

Dr. Sherman and Ray share a look. Ray says, “Cate, he’ll be on a ventilator. It might be better …”

I cut him off. “I don’t care. I just want to kiss him and touch his face. Tell him I love him. Then I’ll leave.”

Dr. Sherman says, “That should be fine. Ray, Cate, Letty, why don’t you come with me?”

He leads the way and we go into recovery. I’m shocked to see the tube going down Drew’s throat, but I refuse to let it show. I place my hand on his head and my cheek next to his for a moment. Then I tell him how much I love him and kiss his cheek. Letty does the same, followed by Ray.

When we get back to the waiting room, the tears I pushed away eke past my lids, but I won’t give in. Not yet. I hug Letty and Ray, and my parents. Then I turn to Jenna and Ben and ask, “You guys are staying with me, right?”

“Yep.”

And we head home, where I proceed to digest everything and then break down.

“Cate, maybe they got it all.”

“They had to take out his whole lung, Jenna. His prognosis wasn’t good to start.”

Jenna grabs my shoulders. “Stop it. Stop saying that.”

“I’m hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. It’s the only way I know to prepare because you can’t possibly understand what this man means to me.”

“She’s right Jenna. And I know, Cate.”

We both look at Ben and if eyes could speak a million words, his would do so right now. The grief written in them is so poignant, I automatically reach for him, and we cling to each other.

“Drew told me this was a roulette game and we all know the odds of that.” Then I feel his body shaking with silent sobs, and mine does the same thing.

The next morning, we make an impressive team as we head back to the hospital. Fake smiles and chipper faces are all nothing but plastic. But Drew won’t notice, because he’ll be drugged out of his mind and until he does, we’ll put on the best show as we possibly can.

This time when I see him with all the hoses, tubes, wires, and IV lines, I’m not nearly as shaken up. I know what to expect and I’ve prepared myself. His morphine pump is next to his bed and he gives me a wan smile. Thank god, they’ve taken him off that ventilator and he’s breathing on his own.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I say, kissing him. “Love your tubes. You have the best tubes I’ve ever seen.”

“You really know how to flatter a guy.” He sounds so breathless. Is that normal? I want to ask him, but I don’t want to freak the hell out of him.

“It’s the way I work. Is it dumb to ask how you feel?”

“No, there is no such thing as a dumb question.”

“Oh, yes there is and I’ve heard many. But, how are you, my love?”

If I could do anything, anything at all, it would be to take his pain and suffering away right this very instant. Instead, I run my hand over his smooth head, bald from his last round of chemo and my assistance at shaving.

“Much better with you by my side.”

“The only place I want to be.”

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“Not today.”

“I just did, then. And I love you.” His eye flutter closed. I place my face next to his and kiss his cheek. Then I tell him, in his ear, how very much I love him, too. After a moment, I stand and walk out of the room so I can get my cry on. And it’s a doozy.

As I’m in the hall, Ben comes out and envelops me into a hug.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I needed to get away from him so I could cry.”

“He’s out of it, Cate.”

“Yeah. But I still want him to see me as Wonder Woman, or something.”

“That’s ridiculous. He knows you’re not. He knows if anything happens, you’ll need the support of friends.”

“Ben, has he said anything to you about not making it?”

“No. He doesn’t know. No one does, Cate.”

“I don’t think his doctors are very hopeful.”

Ben leans against the wall and stretches his arms up, dropping his head down between them. Suddenly, he slams his hands against the wall and yells, “Goddammit!”

I get ready to tell him to hush, but a nurse beats me to it. “Sir, please, this is a hospital, and I would respectfully ask you to refrain from yelling and from using that type of language. We have sick patients and their families here.”

Ben straightens up and walks up to the nurse and says, “Yeah? Well my best friend for my entire life is in there and just had his lung ripped out his chest because he has cancer. This is his wife right here and I apologize to you and everyone else, but we’re a little upset. Sorry for the bad language, but …” Ben throws his hands up in the air and he turns to me as racking sobs take over him. When I see him like that, I turn into a weepy mess myself.

Jenna shows up and tells us we need to take it somewhere else. But quite frankly, I just don’t give a fuck anymore. Ben and I stand there and after a time, we let each other go.

He looks at me and asks, “You good?”

“For now. You?”

“Same. Ready to go back in?”

“Yeah.”

He holds out his hand and we take the next steps together.

As the day progresses, Ben and I have more than a few crying spells, but we lean on each other for support. The morphine keeps Drew’s pain at bay but his head fuzzy. The thing about his breathing is freakish. He’s so out of it, I can’t ask him anything. Ray says it’s his diaphragm and it’s fine. But it’s not fine. My husband is getting taken apart piece by piece and it’s killing me slowly as I watch it happen. I never thought about families of cancer survivors and what they go through, but it’s not for the faint of heart.

Another week passes and Drew finally gets discharged from the hospital. His spirits are up and he’s eating again, too. After a few days, he says they’re going to have another tumor board and he wants to attend. That means I have to take him, since he hasn’t been cleared by his physician to drive.

“Do you want me to go too?”

“You can, but I doubt you’ll want to because it might be all gibberish to you.”

“I can sit in the corner and read a good book.”

He laughs nervously.

“Spit it out, McKnight. I know when you’re hiding something.”

“The news won’t be good, Cate.” His voice is clear and strong.

“Remember, no sugarcoating,” I remind him.

“See, here’s the thing. They originally thought the cancer was confined to one lobe, but when they found it scattered throughout my whole lung, well, you can probably guess what I’m going to say.”

My hands are fisted so tightly, my nails pierce my palms. “Don’t make me guess. I need it spelled out, Drew. I’m not a doctor and don’t know these things.”

“The lungs are a secondary point.”

“Meaning?”

“If it’s there, it’s most likely someplace else.”

“Such as?”

“The liver.”

Heart meet stomach meet floor. Stomach meet throat meet mouth. I run to the bathroom and make it just in time. After I finish my pukefest, I wipe my mouth and rinse it out. Then I think about what he said. The liver. While I’m not a smart woman, medically, I do know this. The liver usually spells out terminally ill. Drew is telling me he’s terminal. Fuck. Suck it up, Cate. Get out there now because he needs you. I look in the cabinet, since I’m not in my bathroom upstairs, and thank god there’s mouthwash in here. I rinse again and walk out the door.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, well, could be better. What now? More tests?”

“That and we determine if treatment is even an option anymore.”

I press my lips together, doing my dead level best to hold in my tears. Nodding, I finally squeak, “And you’re sure there’s nowhere else we can go?”

“I’m positive, Cate. It’s the disease, not the institution.”

I stand there, looking at the floor, and I hold out my arms so he can walk into them and not see me cry. God bless him, he figures me out.

I drive Drew to the hospital but give him the respect he deserves and don’t stay for the tumor board. He calls an hour and a half later and I meet him in Dr. Rosenberg’s office. They decide another round of chemo with an experimental drug added to the protocol. This will go on for two months. If no improvement is seen, then that’s it. They’ve reached the end of the road.

Christmas is next week and we have no tree or decorations. After moving into the house, I was all gangbusters because I knew this would be the perfect home for the holidays. There are a couple of rooms that would be great for Christmas trees, but now I’m pretty sure we won’t have that.

Drew doesn’t start chemo until January and I have a moment of inspiration. I get online and check things out. Then I make a call to Letty and pull her into my surprise, and then Ben. They’re one hundred percent on board. My last hold out is Dr. Rosenberg. When I speak to him, he’s a go, too.

So two days after Christmas, I pack a bag for Drew and I and I tell him I have a surprise. We get in the car and drive to the airport. When we get there, and he sees our destination is Chicago, he wants to know what’s going on. I only jiggle my brows.

“What have you done, Cate?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

The corner of his mouth curls and I can see his wheels spinning. “You haven’t done what I think you have?”

“And what might that be?”

“Blackhawk tickets?”

I grin and the look I receive is like sunbeams bursting through a storm. If I could capture it on film and save it to my own personal hard drive forever, I would die a happy woman. Drew McKnight is the happiest I’ve seen in weeks and weeks and I know I’ve made the best decision to make this trip.

The three-day jaunt to Chicago is amazing and it changes Drew—if only for that short period of time. It’s like we went back to those days in our sweet little villa by the sea. We are happy and nothing gets in the way of it, not even the looming monster of cancer.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last, because we have to come home. But damn, it’s been so worth it.

January, chemo cranks back up and ironically, it’s not as bad as the last rounds. Drew has been in some pain recently, which makes me anxious, but the chemo knocks it right out and he tolerates it well. Other than the hair being gone, which neither of us gives a shit about, he’s holding his own. That’s not to say all is great. He’s dropping weight. It’s not a huge amount. But it’s a pound or so every week. I have to buy him new clothes because he can’t wear his old ones anymore.

He gives me an apologetic grin. “Maybe I should just stick to sweats. With elastic, then I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Drew! Don’t be silly.”

He’s lying on the couch and I slide up next to him and hug him. It’s sad to feel how much muscle is no longer there. It’s the wasting away thing that you hear about.

“I’m nothing but a sack of bones, Cate.”

“You’ve lost weight, but we’ll fatten you back up.”

“I love your positive attitude.”

“Drew, you have to have one, too.”

He tilts his head and stares for a minute.

“What?”

“My scans came back today.” Blue eyes, overcast with sadness gut me. Shit shit shit shit shit.