Then I had chemotherapy. I suppose having a baby is nothing like injecting cancer killing meds into your body a couple of days a week, hours at a time, over the course of several weeks. But I’d thought I’d do okay. According to my oncologist and the nurses that attended me during treatments, I did do okay. But I felt like shit. I felt exactly like one would expect when cancer-killing toxins were injected. The only perk was that by the end of my first round of treatment, all my belly pudge was gone, although as a diet, I didn’t recommend it.
To get through it, I had Emma to help with the kids after school and a cleaning person came in once a week to scrub. I signed up for a meal service so neither I nor Brayden had to cook.
At first, I think the kids were rattled by how much the treatment wore me down. But eventually, they settled into the new normal. I wasn’t completely useless. I was able to play quiet games and read with them. I didn’t go to the park or other outings. Brayden took those on because my immune system was down and I didn’t want to risk getting sick.
For his part, Brayden was focused and involved on my treatment days. He took care of the kids and me, got dinner on the table, and managed the bills. But on days he worked, he started coming home later and later, and often, when he did get home, he spent the evenings in his home office. I didn’t get a sense that there was something urgent at work that needed all his attention, so all I could think was that it was is paranoia around the business failing and us ending up in the poorhouse that had him working so much. Then again, he’d always been like that.
At first, I tried to be patient and understanding with the amount of time he was putting in at work when he wasn’t helping me with treatments, but eventually, the old resentment built. I felt like the business had too much importance. Maybe me and kids were more important, but not enough that he could trust his staff to manage in his absence.
We fought about it several times, until I gave up. I tried to be happy with the fact that he was always at my treatments and present for the kids on those nights. But I worried what would happen if my cancer didn’t go away and I ended up like my mother. Would the kids have an absent father because of his work?
A week after my last chemo treatment, I went in for tests to see if they worked to shrink my tumor. A few days after that was the meeting with my oncologist to discuss the test results and the next step.
Because I wasn’t having treatment, Brayden was back at work as usual, and would meet me for the appointment instead of taking me. We’d planned to meet for lunch, but he called and said a last-minute meeting popped up. Annoyed, but knowing I couldn’t do anything about it, I agreed to meet him at the doctor’s office.
I arrived early and waited, but he didn’t come or text. When I was called in to meet my doctor, I thought about asking him to wait until Brayden arrived, but then I didn’t want to put off his schedule with other cancer patients just because my husband was late.
“Is Mr. Burrow coming?” he asked as he sat behind his desk.
I sat in the chair in front of his desk, putting my purse in the one Brayden would be sitting in if he’d shown up. “He’s supposed to be here, but I guess a meeting went long.”
The oncologist sat for a moment studying me and I got a bad feeling.
“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly,” I said. “We can get started. I know you have other patients.” I wanted to hear whatever news was coming. The anticipation was torture.
He opened the file on his desk. “We got the results from your last round of tests after chemo back.”
“Did it work? Is the tumor smaller?”
“Yes, a little.”
There was something in his tone that suggested a ‘but’ was coming.
“But there are new areas of concern,” he finished.
“What do you mean?” I took a breath, willing myself to stay calm.
“There are areas that suggest some spreading. I’m going to recommend a full mastectomy. Both breasts. And then both chemo and radiation.”
I swallowed and tried not to break down. “Is it bad then? Stage four?”
“It’s not stage four, but we need to be more aggressive.”
He sat quietly as I took in the information.
“How aggressive is that?” All I could imagine was my mother during her treatment. She’d wasted away to bones and skin, her ability to communicate or experience anything but pain rapidly declined. I didn’t want that for me. I didn’t want my children to see that.
“It’s aggressive, but not unusual. Simultaneous chemo and radiation shorten the time you have to be in treatment,” he explained.
“Then what?”
“Then we hope the cancer is gone.”
“And if not?” Was all this effort a waste of time?
He sat back in his chair. “It’s best not to think about that now.”
“Why not? If I’m going to die, I’d rather spend my last days living, not slogging through too tired to hug my children.”
He sighed. “Are you suggesting not having treatment?”
“If it won’t matter, maybe.”
“Even if your situation was dire, which it’s not at this point, treatment could prolong your life.”
“If I’m unable to live it, it’s not much of a life though, is it?”
His brow furrowed. I suppose my response was different than most people. Most people probably wanted to do whatever it took to give them a chance to live.
“Mrs. Burrow, your cancer is treatable right now. Five-year survival rates are about seventy-two percent with this treatment at this stage. Untreated, it’s likely the cancer would spread and kill you in less than that.”
He waited for me to respond. When I didn’t, he said, “After treatment, we’ll see how it went. If all goes well, we put you on a six month check-up schedule to monitor that the cancer hasn’t returned. If it’s still there or spread, we’ll decide the next course of action then.”
I nodded. So far what he was saying made sense. I couldn’t give up yet. “Yes. Okay. When do I have the surgery?”
“First we need to decide if you want reconstructive surgery at that time,” he said.
“That won’t be a problem for the treatment after?” I asked. Could you radiate fake tits?
“Research indicates that it’s fine. You can wait if you rather, though. It’s up to you.”
I looked down at my breasts. For the longest time, they’d just been two blobs that were nice to have during sex and breast feeding. I remembered the halter dress Emma got me and how sexy it made me look. Part of what made me pretty, and made Brayden’s eyes pop out, was how the dress accentuated my breasts. Would losing them be like losing my womanhood? My sense of femininity? Would replacement boobs help with that?
“If you’d like, we have support groups where you can meet women who have made each decision; one to not reconstruct and the other have reconstruction,” my doctor said.
“Is it vanity to want them?” All I could think about was all the woman who got bigger tits to add to their sexual appeal. I didn’t want that, and yet, I didn’t want to not look like a woman either.
He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Not any more than wanting reconstructive or cosmetic surgery after a trauma. How you look and feel is part of your identity. Breast implants can help with the emotional healing as it’s one less thing to have to deal with.”
“Okay. I’d like that then.” I wondered if insurance covered that and if Brayden would care if it didn’t.
The door burst open and Brayden blew in breathless like he’d been running. “I’m so, so sorry I’m late.”
He looked at me, and I could see the regret on his face, but it didn’t make me feel okay about his being late.
“We’re about done,” I said with little affect. I’d give him a piece of my mind later.
“Okay. So…what’s next…” He picked up my purse and sat in the chair.
“We were discussing chopping off my tits.”
He frowned as he lo
oked to me and then the doctor. “I thought this first phase of treatment was to avoid that.”
My oncologist leaned forward with a disapproving stare. “Do you have an issue with your wife losing her breasts?”
“What?” Brayden blinked.
I was warmed by my doctor’s defense of me against what he thought was my husband’s sexual desire for my boobs.
“He’s not like that,” I said. I was angry at him for being late, but it wasn’t fair to let the doctor think he only cared about my looks. During the short time Brayden and I were in sync again, he’d gone out of his way to let me know he cared for me and could accept me losing my breasts.
“I just want her to be okay,” Brayden said. He reached for my hand, and while I would defend him from unjust judgement, I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook for being late. I moved my hand out of his reach.
He gave me a pained expression. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Her prognosis is still good, but we need to take a more aggressive approach.”
“Good,” he repeated the word like he wasn’t sure he liked it. I could understand. I’d rather have excellent prognosis.
My doctor went over the plan again and info about reconstructive breast surgery. Brayden sat, listening attentively.
“We can schedule your surgery for two weeks from now,” he finished.
“Two weeks? Shouldn’t she get in right away?” Brayden asked. “You said we need to be aggressive. Couldn’t two weeks give the cancer more chance—”
“We want her to recover a bit more from the chemo and no, two weeks shouldn’t make a difference.”
He stood, which I took as the cue that our appointment was over. I rose from my chair as did Brayden.
“I’ll have the nurse get you some more information about the surgery as well as the reconstruction.”
“Thank you,” I said and then headed out the door. Brayden and the doctor followed.
I stood quietly as my doctor went to the nurse to ask her about the packet of information.
“Terra.” Brayden put his hand on my lower back, but I stepped away from his reach. “I’m sorry honey.”
I wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for being late or the news that I had to lose my breasts. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him now.
“She’ll be right with you,” my oncologist said and then disappeared into his office.
A few minutes later the nurse came out with a packet of papers and informational brochures. She went over each and then finished with information about support groups.
“We have several cancer support groups to help you before and after the surgery,” she explained.
“We have one for spouses and family too,” she said to Brayden handing him another brochure. “In fact, one is starting in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” I said, shoving the information in my purse. I was quickly coming to the end of my emotional tether and wanted to get home.
As I walked toward the elevator, Brayden walked quietly beside me.
Once inside the elevator, he said, “I’m sorry I was late, honey. Really, I meant to—”
“You always mean to be there, Brayden. And yet, you can’t seem to tear yourself away from work to be with your family.” I shook my head. “By now you’d think I’d know the true love of your life.”
“That’s not fair, Terra. I’m working to make arrange—”
“Fair?” I swung around on him. “Fair?”
He winced like he knew it was the wrong choice of words. Still, he went on. “I was with you during all the treatments. I took time away from that, and I’ve been working hard to get more time, but I can’t just walk away from everything.”
“No. Not from your work. From me and the kids though, staying away is easy.” Okay, so maybe that was a little over the top, but not by much.
He swallowed. “Don’t be like that.”
“Like what Brayden? Don’t be angry that you couldn’t be on time when I learned my cancer was worse? That I’d need to have my breasts removed? That you couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to be here?”
He closed his eyes, and I hoped it was self-loathing he was feeling. “I’m sorry.”
The doors to the elevator opened, and I didn’t look at him as I started out.
“Terra, I have the rest of the day. Let’s—”
“No.” I stopped, whirled on him. “I’m going home to rest and regroup before I have to get the kids. You go back to work or do whatever. I don’t want to see you right now.”
His eyes widened in shock. I was a bit surprised by my outburst as well. We’d argued in the past, but I don’t think I’d ever said anything like that before.
He nodded, reluctantly. “Okay.”
I turned to leave.
“Terra,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I stopped and turned. “You’re always sorry, Brayden. But you never seem to be sorry enough to change. If this cancer kills me, who’s going to raise the kids? Because clearly your work is too important for us.”
“It’s not—”
I didn’t stick around to listen to the rest of what he might say. I headed out the door and to my car. I wondered if he and I would ever be in sync again or for any period of time longer than a few days. Was our marriage going to be like this forever? And if so, would I be able to endure it?
As I got in my car, I realized that I might not have to worry about it if my cancer didn’t respond to treatment.
21
Brayden (Wednesday)
I’d thought I’d hit a low point before, but today was the lowest. I wasn’t there when Terra received news that her cancer wasn’t responding as hoped. I still couldn’t figure out how worried I needed to be except, cancer, it was deadly. Sure, many people survived it, but many didn’t. Her mother hadn’t. Derek, Emma’s husband, hadn’t. Jesus, if I lost Terra, I don’t know what I’d do.
A part of me wanted to run after her and do whatever I had to do to make this up to her. Grovel if I had to. But I also knew that would annoy her more. It would annoy me too. She was right in that my words and actions weren’t a match. But god damn, I was trying. I couldn’t just walk out and expect the company to run itself. I was so close to getting projects on track and delegating enough work to Kyle that I’d be able to work less, with some of that time working from home so I could be with her and the kids more. That’s why I was late. I was handing off another duty to Kyle and I wanted to be sure he was fully apprised of how to manage it.
I checked my watch. There was still plenty of workday left. Maybe I should go back to work. I’d be able to get that much more done, so I could finally give her what she wanted.
Absently I looked at the brochure in my hand. I wondered if a cancer support group would help me get my shit together? I felt like I was failing when it came to providing Terra with what she needed. Would a group of strangers have tips for me beyond simply being there more?
An older gentleman approached me. “Are you looking for the cancer support group?”
“Ah…yeah…” What the hell. I had the time and maybe it would help me become a better husband.
“I’m heading there now. I’ll show you the way. I’m Bob.” He held out his hand.
“Brayden,” I said shaking his hand.
“Come with me Brayden.”
The group was held back up on the oncology floor. There was half a dozen or so people already there when Bob and I walked in. They were a mix of men and women, mostly older, with a couple of them looking around my age.
“Denise and Sam, this is Brayden,” Bob said leading me to two people setting up coffee and Danishes.
“These are our leaders,” Bob said to me.
I greeted the leaders.
“Welcome to the group,” Sam said. “Although I’m sorry you have a need for it.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” I’d never been to any sort of counseling before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. For a moment, I cons
idered leaving. I didn’t want to have to confess all my failings at taking care of Terra to strangers. But Bob continued to introduce me to other members, so it felt rude to leave.
A few minutes later, more people had arrived and we were sitting in plastic chairs arranged in a circle. The group started with a quick round of introductions that included the reason we were there. Most of the other members were like me in that they had a spouse or significant other with cancer. Bob’s wife had died just over a year ago. One woman had a teenage son with cancer. I couldn’t imagine what I do if Lanie or Noah had cancer.
Members of the group all shared their challenges or victories of the week. One said her husband had a clean bill of health now six months out from his treatment. I wondered why she was still coming if her husband was cured, but then she shared how she felt like his cancer was hiding in him. She couldn’t let go of the fear that any minute he’d be incurable. Was that how I’d feel with Terra when her treatment was finished?
“This week would have been Sarah’s seventieth birthday,” Bob said. His face was relaxed but his eyes welled with tears.
“Was this the first birthday since she passed?” Denise asked.
He nodded. “The firsts are hard, but I’m not imagining the second or third will be much easier.”
Everyone nodded.
“I try to live my life because she’d want me to, but sometimes it’s like living without a heart. Like something is missing, you know?”
The man across from me shivered. “I don’t want to know. I don’t know how I’d be able to live like you do Bob. When I think about it, I can’t breathe.”
“How is Lisa?” Sam asked the man.
“She’s a trooper. I’m the one that’s a fucking—ah…sorry… a mess. But she’s just finishing her second round of chemo.”
“It’s funny how we’re supposed to be the strong ones, but I feel like Jerry is the one holding us all together,” another woman said. “I mean I try to be positive and stoic, but inside, I’m a mess too.”
Imperfect Love (Heart 0f Hope Book 4) Page 14
