Every Time (Brush of Love 3)
I was sitting in front of my oncologist while I rubbed my arm. It was still sore from the injection I’d received, and I could already feel the nausea coming on. I sat wavering in my chair while my doctor looked at me, waiting for my attention to come back to him so I could focus on what he was saying. It had been two weeks since I’d gotten the diagnosis from him in that hospital room, and every day had been a new struggle to roll out of bed. I was painfully aware of my body and how it was feeling. I was painfully aware of my headaches and the reason for them. I was in tune with every ache and every hunger pang, and I questioned every cramp and every twitch my muscles made. I was already exhausted by analyzing myself, and now I was sitting here in my oncologist’s office with stomach bile rising up my throat. “Miss Ryan. You with me?” he asked. “Yes, Doctor Osmunt,” I said. “I’m here.” “Feeling sick?” he asked. “A bit.” “Well, that’s good news. It means the treatment’s having an effect on you. These shots we’re giving you are isolated chemotherapy treatments. They’re to help kill the cells that are responsible for transporting the cancer from your kidney to your brain.” “Gotcha,” I said breathlessly. “Your main source of treatment, however, will be immunotherapybased protocols. Th
ose will focus on enhancing your body’s natural defenses rather than just flooding your body with chemotherapy.”
“Sounds good,” I said as I swallowed hard. “All chemotherapy does is kill cells, but it doesn’t target a specific cell. It simply ravages the body until everything that’s supposed to be gone is gone. But your cancer is so far progressed that your immune system will completely break down before the chemotherapy destroys everything. A simple common cold at that point could kill you.” “Wonderful,” I said mindlessly. “Miss Ryan, would you like to lie down?” he asked. “Probably for a little bit.” I felt him help me out of his office and into a darkened room. I laid down and allowed the nausea to waft throughout my system while the isolated chemotherapy went to work. I turned onto my side as a blanket drifted over my body, and soon, I was seeing images of Bryan’s face. The way he smiled while he cupped my cheek. The way his lips swelled against mine whenever he kissed me. The way his body rolled into my hips every time we made love. I hadn’t felt his naked body against mine in almost two weeks. I hadn’t seen his glorious smile or felt his lips against my neck. I hadn’t taken a shower with him and watched the water drip along his rippling abs. I hadn’t felt his strong arms around my body pulling me close in the mornings while his husky morning voice begged me not to go to work. I hadn’t even heard him say “I love you” in my ear in the past two weeks, and my body was craving the attention I knew only he could give me. I missed him desperately, but I couldn’t tell him what was going on. Not just yet. The last thing he needed with everything going on with Drew and his parents was for me to pour my medical difficulties onto him. He was head-deep in work he was now responsible for because Drew had officially left the company, and I knew his parents showing up at John’s gallery showcase was still weighing on his mind. He’d tried calling them a couple of times even though I advised him not to, and when they didn’t pick up, I saw tears in his eyes. He was in so much pain, and he was so stressed with work that I couldn’t bear to sit this on his already-hunched shoulders. My eyes fluttered open as the dark room came into view, and the nausea was gone. The headache I’d had early was done shaking my vision, and a part of me actually felt good. I sat up in the hospital bed, allowing the blanket to fall from my body while I surveyed the room around me. What time was it? How long had I been here? Was there anyone in the room with me? Holy hell, I was supposed to reopen the gallery after my lunch break. I wasn’t supposed to be at my appointment this long. What if Bryan had come by the gallery? What if he was trying to call me right now? I searched for my purse but couldn’t find it. Then, the door to the room opened and Doctor Osmunt stepped in. “Relax, Miss Ryan. You’ve only been asleep for half an hour.” “Doctor Osmunt,” I said breathlessly. “What's going on? Why do I feel better already?” “It’s only an isolated chemotherapy injection. The effects last maybe twenty minutes. Once we start doing them regularly, they’ll persist for longer periods of time, but these first few won’t affect you for long.” “Gotcha. All right. That’s good. That means I can go back to work. So, what are these, um, protocols you were talking about.” “Your memory’s good,” he said, smiling. “Should it not be?” I asked. “Let’s just say the fact that you still have your short-term and longterm memory is something I’m still marveling over,” he said. That statement gave me a bit of hope that maybe my body was more resilient than I was giving it credit for. If I had a resilient body, then I still had a chance of fighting this off, which meant I might not have to get my estate in order quite yet. The last thing I needed to schedule on top of work and canceled dinner dates and doctor’s appointments were sessions with a lawyer. Doing things like that took more time away from Bryan, and it was only a matter of time before he sat me down and didn’t let me leave until I told him what was going on. “Immunotherapy-based protocols are things we do to enhance your body’s own defense systems. The idea is we change your diet, administer man-made immune system components to give you a boost, and even inject immune-boosting bone marrow straight into your bones to help your body fight this off. The theory is that once the cancer gets to a certain point, we can operate and treat as necessary.” “The theory,” I said. “Yes. For some, it works. For others, it merely keeps them comfortable.” “You’re not beating around the bush with this, are you?” I asked. “Do you want me to?” And if I was being honest, I really didn’t want him to. I wanted to know how bad it was, and I wanted to know what I was up against. I wanted the truth, the bold truth, and nothing less than the absolute truth. I wanted to know what my chances were and the kinds of percentages I was facing. I didn’t want anything sugar-coated, nor did I want anyone to tell me these treatments wouldn’t be painful. I’d watched the videos online, and I’d read the articles of personal experiences. This was going to be a long road filled with needles and injections and nausea and hair loss and all sorts of things that brought tears to my eyes at night while I cried myself to sleep. “No, I don’t,” I said. “Good, because I’m not good at beating around the bush. Like I said, it’s a miracle you weren’t having any other symptoms besides your migraines. Usually, with a tumor like this, patients experience vision problems outside of the pounding headaches, concentration problems, and memory issues. I take that as a very good sign. Your body is good at adapting to what is inflicted on it, which means your immune system is strong. That bodes well for your treatments.” “That’s great news,” I said. “If you want any chance of survival, we have to stick with the chemo shots, however. Once we can shrink these tumors, if we can, surgery will be necessary and incredibly risky. Brain tumors are treated as open-skull surgeries, and it takes months to recuperate from those. The one on your kidney will be easier to get, but we still want it smaller before we go after it.” “Why?” I asked. “Massive tumors mean massive claws. Just because we get the tumor on the surface doesn’t mean we’ve gotten to the roots. If we cut it off at the surface, you’ve got a very high chance of growing separate tumors where those roots have hooked into your kidney. The more we shrink it, the more those roots shrivel and die, and then we can go in and get it all in one fell swoop.” “Why can’t you just remove my kidney?” I asked. “Can’t you take one of those out?” “Yes, but then there’s the risk of your other kidney developing cancerous tumors. Cancer cells, once they start growing on a specific organ, are programmed to the cells of that organ. Since you have two kidneys, you’re more likely to grow tumors on both of those kidneys. Again, a marvel that you haven’t. But disturbing it with surgery right now could trigger a cascading effect, and we might not be able to get it under control. Right now, we’ve got a clear path with two massive tumors that, by all accounts and tests, aren’t growing any larger currently.” “So, how long until the surgery stage?” I asked. “I mean if things work.” “A couple of months. We’ll know by then if things are working. Immunotherapy is very effective if the body takes to it, and the chemotherapy shots will help with the cells traveling through your bloodstream. The shots will have to happen two to three times a week, so we’ll need to schedule a regular time on the books for you to get in here where the nurses can administer it.” “I can do that before I leave,” I said. “My lunch breaks, like right now, are usually best.” “Good. We can make sure to have a room prepared for you next time to lay down in. Just remember that the effects will last a bit longer each time, so if you need to switch your shots to the evening hours after you’re done with work, we understand. Just let us know.” “Thanks, doctor.” “Might I make one last suggestion?” he asked. “Sure. Anything,” I said. “Patients who are going through something this life-altering usually have someone coming in with them. I’m assuming since you’re alone, it means you haven’t told anyone yet.” “Why would you assume that? Maybe I’m just alone,” I said, shrugging. “Well, besides the fact that I read the article about you in the newspaper, you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who keeps to herself,” he said. And all I could do was shrug at his comment. “I know this is hard,” he said. “Do you really?” I asked. “A
ctually, yes. I helped my grandmother recuperate from cancer twice. It takes a toll, a very serious emotional and physical toll. Tell someone, Miss Ryan. Confide in someone. Bring someone in with you. Eventually, these therapies are going to take their toll. You’re going to need someone to help you through those days.” “I thought you said the immunotherapies would work without doing the kind of stuff chemo did,” I said. “But you’re still getting chemo shots, and eventually, if this all takes well and surgery is successful, radiation might be introduced. Anything to get you back on track and living the life you want. Even with boosting your immune system, exhaustion is going to take over eventually. Hair loss might occur. Appetite changes will definitely happen. You’re going to want someone at your side, especially if you’re getting your affairs in order. Speaking of, are you getting your affairs in order?” “I thought we were talking like this was going to work,” I said. “Miss Ryan, I need you to listen to me closely. We will always talk in this office like things are going to go well, but I need to rely on your mental disposition to take care of the things you need to. And when your mental disposition fails, and it will, I’m going to need whoever’s standing by your side to know what your estate and things should look like. I’m not only here to treat you. I’m here to take care of you.” “So, you’re standing by my side. Isn’t that enough?” I asked. He sighed heavily, and I could tell I was already starting to wear on him. “Settle your estate in case things take a turn. Get someone in here with you to provide mental and emotional support. You’re independent. I get it. But out of all the things to endure in life alone, terminal cancer isn’t one of them.” Terminal. Terminal cancer. That fucking word added to the beginning of a statement that ushered in a death before the life of the sentence even began. Terminal. An adjective to describe what would be the extent of my short-lived life. Terminal. The word that would be used to describe my legacy on this earth once I passed from it. Maybe he was right. Maybe my mental disposition was already failing me. “Terminal,” I said, whispering. “Miss Ryan, talk with someone,” he said. “A friend. A family member. The man you love. Anyone. I’m telling you, the support helps. The mind is a powerful thing.” “When it’s not riddled with a tumor,” I said flatly.
“And keeping your head up is going to be easier with someone at your side,” he said.
I nodded slowly to let him know I’d heard him, though I still wasn’t sure I believed him.
“Am I free to go back to work?” I asked.
“Let’s get you scheduled for your next month’s chemo shots. We can do your schedule right here, and I’ll put you in the system.”
As I rattled off my lunch dates to him, I kept wondering if I should tell Bryan. Out of all the people I’d want standing at my side, he would be the one I’d want. But he was already going through so much, and I didn’t want to be another burden to him. I felt terrible that I was keeping something like this from him. Too often, I’d been canceling our dates for my last-minute appointments and bailing on our rescheduled moments, but I wanted to find the right time to tell him and now wasn’t it.
Not while he was stressed with work. We’d just gotten back on stable footing with our relationship, and I didn’t know if I could handle him walking away from me because it was too much.
The mere thought of losing him over this made me sick to my stomach.
“You’re all set and ready to go. I’ll shoot you an email with all the dates. The nurse’s desk will also give you a courtesy call the day before your appointments.”
“Thanks, doctor.”
“And Miss Ryan?”
“Yes?” I asked.
“Think about what I told you. If we’re going to save your life, we need to exhaust all avenues. Get someone in here who supports you.”
“Yes, sir,” I said before I walked out.
I knew I had to get my affairs in order, and I knew I needed to hire another hand at the shop. The lease on my apartment was up in three months, and Bryan was wondering why I wasn’t moving in any faster.
Anna was getting worried about my unreturned phone calls, and the
exhaustion was already showing on my face.
But as Islid into the seat of my car and cranked it up, the only thing
I could think about was the solace my gallery provided for me and how
I wasn’t sure I could hand it over to anyone else.
Chapter 3
Bryan
F inally, I was able to get Hailey out for dinner. It was a wonderful Saturday evening, and the chill was shivering the air. I picked her up from her gallery as she was locking up and handed her flowers that matched the cyan of her hair. She squealed and threw her arms around me, and for the first time in a week and a half, I was able to bury my nose against her neck. She smelled of paints and success. I held her in the gravel parking lot while her head nuzzled into my shoulder, and for a while, we simply stood there. I wanted to take us out and celebrate our successes. I wanted us to have a glass of wine and toast the awareness we’d dripped into the community because of John’s showcase. I wanted to update her on Drew and how his tattoo parlor was doing and ask her if she ever ended up helping him with the inside like he’d originally asked. After all, when Drew and I got together now, we talked about everything but business. I drove us across town to an Italian restaurant I was lucky to get us reservations at last minute. I’d only scored them because there had been a cancellation at the last minute, and even more perfect, it was a window-side table. That meant we had one of the better views of the city while still confining ourselves from the cold, and I knew Hailey would simply love it. She didn’t let me treat her often, so I clung to the moments where I could surprise her with something wonderful.
“Bryan, this place is too expensive,” she said. “We’re not even dressed right!” “Doesn’t matter,” I said as I pulled up in the parking lot. “All that matters is you’re here with me.” The smile she shot in my general direction was enough to fill my soul with pride. I led her up the steps while her hand slipped easily within mine. The hostess led us to our table, and I pulled out her chair so she could sit. A bottle of red wine was already aerating on the table when we sat down, and I took the liberty of pouring us each a glass while we took a look at the menu. But even as I sipped on my wine, I noticed she wasn’t doing the same. Instead, she sipped on her iced water next to the glass. “So. How was work?” I asked. “Busy, as always,” she said, smiling. “So just the way you like it.” “Of course, but a lot of bloggers and reporters are coming in. I guess they’re getting tired of running the same kind of story and quotes all the time, so I’m having to come up with original material.” “Or you could tell them that they can’t interview you during work hours,” I said. “Then they’ll just hound me once I close,” she said, whining. “You could run from them like I do,” I said. “Yeah, with my car we have to jump-start every time I crank it.” “I keep telling you to let me change that battery.” “And I keep telling you it’s not your responsibility.” I grinned at her while our waiter took our orders. I could see his eyes lingering on Hailey even though she was oblivious, so I slid my hand over the table to cover hers. Her eyes shot up to mine and sparkled, her fingers wrapping around my hand as her warmth made my skin tingle. How I’d missed her touch.
“Someone staring a bit too much?” she asked when the waiter walked away.
“How did you know?”
“I could see that jealous glint in your eye,” she said.