“We got a second opinion in Jackson. Actually, a third opinion as well from that surgeon’s colleague,” her husband interjected. “They won’t operate due to May not being strong enough to tolerate surgery.” The man’s bleak eyes glanced toward his wife. “That’s not acceptable to us.”
May handed Adam a stack of papers. “These are the office notes from the specialists I saw. Apparently the risk of me dying on the operating table is too high. Both said that at the rate the tumor is growing, I should live another six months, possibly longer.”
“Which they say is preferable to her dying now on the operating table,” her husband added, giving a pained glance toward his wife.
“Life just to say one is alive is no life at all.” May lifted pain-filled eyes to Adam’s. “I throw up everything I eat. I’ve lost thirty pounds in the past two months. I can’t sleep, can’t do anything because of the way I hurt.”
Her husband scooted forward on his seat, took his wife’s hand in his and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I love my wife, hate the thought of losing her any sooner than I have to, but she can’t go on like this.”
“Faced with the option of knowing each day is only going to bring more sickness, that I’m waiting to die, that my family is having to watch me die day after day.” Tears filled her eyes, but her head remained high. Her husband lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her fingers. They exchanged a look of understanding, love, compassion for what the other felt. “Well, like I said,” May continued, “that’s no life at all.”
A cold sweat covered Adam. He knew where this was leading, knew if he put her on the operating table she’d likely die there. No one wanted to operate on the tumor because they may as well write May’s obituary. What doctor wanted to be responsible for that?
But if there was a chance to be cured of his MS, wouldn’t he take any risk to have that cure? To have that hope for the future?
“Even if there’s only a slight chance of me surviving, I’m willing to face those odds. I’d rather die fighting than go on like this, having to see my family watch me suffer, having to suffer this horrible pain.” May and her husband both turned expectant eyes toward Adam. “We’re here to ask you to please cut this tumor out.”
* * *
Liz didn’t see or talk to Adam for the next week.
As always, the hospital was understaffed and she’d been able to pull extra shifts. Her next paycheck should make a good dent in Gramps’s medical bills.
The nursing director had called early that morning to ask if she’d come in, but when they’d been on the phone the night before, Kelly had threatened her with bodily harm if she didn’t take the day off.
Which left her with time on her hands.
First, she cleaned the living room. Then she scrubbed the kitchen until the old ceramic utilities sparkled. Despite brief overly emotional thoughts of stomping the rose bushes to smithereens, she’d trimmed, fertilized, and treated them for insects. All that, and it wasn’t even two PM yet.
Perhaps she should eat. She s
hould eat. But almost everything she put in her stomach came back up so she’d fallen into nibbling on toast or crackers.
She wasn’t underweight, but the lack of sleep, hours of crying, and another few dropped pounds left her face looking haunted.
She was haunted. Haunted by all the knowing looks her colleagues shot her at work. She’d not breathed a word to anyone except Kelly, but Adam had asked for her not to care for his patients. No one said anything, of course, but they all knew. Word traveled fast.
Unable to keep going over what she’d already spent hours and hours trying to figure out to no avail, Liz headed to the bathroom. She’d give it a good going over as she had the kitchen.
She got the tub, toilet, and sink as spotless as was humanly possible then decided to clean the small closet. She’d not done much in the way of going through Gramps’s things and today was as good as any for getting rid of his toiletries.
She tossed away item after item. When she pulled out a ceramic mug with a shaving brush inside, she sat on the floor and bawled. Memories of, as a child, watching Gramps slather cream onto his strong, cleft chin with the brush and then shave racked her body with grief.
Lord, how she missed him.
Just as she missed the man who’d left her as surely as Gramps had.
Knowing she was preparing for a full-blown pity-party if she sat on the floor a second longer, she reached for a plastic bin of her personal toiletries so she could wipe the shelf down.
When her eyes landed on what the box held she realized what else she’d been missing for…three months.
Liz couldn’t believe she was pregnant.
She’d bought two pregnancy kits and both had shown positive. Still, she couldn’t believe it. To believe it meant acknowledging that she was pregnant by a man who no longer wanted to be a part of her life.
Personally, she’d decided he’d lost his mind. How else could one explain him going from the perfect lover and companion to his cold-hearted treatment? He hadn’t even had the decency to break things off. After a year-long relationship he’d just gone to avoiding her.
Her eyes closed.