by Anne Fraser
One o’clock.
He owed it to his patients to get some sleep, but no matter how much his brain knew that, how many times he told himself to close his eyes, sleep remained elusive.
Probably because every fiber of his being was aware that while he was lying on his sofa with a cotton throw tossed over his body, Liz slept in his bed.
He’d planned to join her, but she’d been sound asleep. He hadn’t wanted to risk going into his bedroom since any noise he inadvertently made might wake her. She needed to sleep. He’d never seen her look so worn out.
He’d changed out of his suit into a pair of shorts he’d pulled from the dryer, and hit the sofa. Maybe if he checked on Liz, knew she was OK, maybe then he could catch a few hours before going to the hospital.
Who wanted a doctor taking out their gallbladder or repairing their hernia when he hadn’t slept much for three nights straight?
OK, so he hadn’t been sleeping much for the past couple of weeks, which probably explained why he was having the episodes of blurred vision, fatigue, and paresthesia in his fingertips.
It was apparent he couldn’t sleep until he knew Liz was OK. He’d sneak in, reassure himself, then he’d be able to get some shut-eye.
A few hours’ rest and he’d be as good as new. A few hours sleep, and he’d probably be able to laugh away the fear he’d been squelching for days.
That did it. He was going to check on her. Just a quick peek.
He threw the cover to the opposite end of his sofa and padded barefooted to his bedroom door. The door was partially open where Liz had left it prior to the hot bath he’d forced her to take in the en suite. He crept into the room without having to open it wider.
The lamplight shone, illuminating her face. She lay half on her side with her arm draped over his pillow. Her chest rose and fell in even breaths. Her hair was tousled about her face. Her eyes were closed and, although he could tell she’d cried herself to sleep from the lingering puffiness, she looked to be sleeping peacefully at the moment.
There. He’d reassured himself she was OK. Now he could go to sleep. He crept toward the door.
“Adam?” Liz’s sleepy voice stopped him.
He turned, met her heavy gaze. He should have known better than to risk waking her.
“Where are you going?” she asked, looking half-asleep with her sultry eyes and tousled hair. Her lips were parted, prettily plump. She looked beautiful, vulnerable.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Realizing the lamplight still shone, she became more awake, glanced at the clock, and propped herself up on her elbows. “You’re just now coming to bed?”
“I took the sofa.”
“You’re sleeping on the sofa?” Her forehead creased in confusion. “Why?”
“You need to sleep.”
“I need you to hold me,” she countered, her eyes dark and needy.
This was why he’d come in here. He hadn’t needed to check on Liz. He’d known she was just fine, that she was asleep, because if she hadn’t been she’d have come to find him. He’d hoped she’d awaken. Hoped she’d invite him into his bed.
Because he’d been the one needing.
Needing to hold her, feel her warm body next to his, to breathe in the fresh scent of her shampoo.
Because he needed Liz. Needed her to comfort him. To allay his fears regarding whatever was going on inside his body. But how could he tell her? He couldn’t. Why worry her when there might not be a thing to worry about? Telling her at this point would only be cruel.
He’d keep hiding his symptoms from her until he knew what he was dealing with, could assure that he wasn’t going to be a burden on a woman who’d already faced more than her fair share of burdens.
“Adam?” She flipped back the covers, indicating for him to lie down next to her. “Hold me.”
Adam eyed the bed, eyed the woman wanting him to join her, the woman he cared more for than anything else in life. He needed to hold her, to feel the aliveness within him that being with Liz always gave him.
He crawled between the sheets, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. So perfect for him. So what he’d never believed in prior to meeting her.
“Adam?” His name held questions, as if she sensed his unease, but her sweet warmness thawed the cold fear gripping him and he relaxed.
“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
Yawning, she laced her fingers with his and snuggled closer. “Goodnight, Adam.”
It was now, he thought, closing his eyes and almost instantly falling asleep.
Adam ignored the fatigue clawing at his body and carefully removed another section of Beverly Gilley’s left breast.
He placed the tissue in a specimen tray. The pathologist would check to see if the forty-two-year-old’s breast cancer had spread outside the lump that weeks of radiation had shrunk to a more surgically manageable size.
Resisting the urge to shake his hands back and forth to ease the tingling sensation burning his fingertips, he finished removing her left breast tissue and began examining the left axillary nodes. He’d remove a few of those to send to pathology, too. All he’d have left was to clean up the surgical site to make reconstruction easier at a later date and to sew up the incisions he’d made. If his hands kept bothering him, he’d let the nurse sew up the incision. Although not his normal routine, doing so was a common enough practice that no one would think too much of it.
He’d yet to remove a single node when the anesthesiologist became alarmed.
“Her oxygen sats are dropping,” the doctor said, increasing the amount of oxygen he was delivering and simultaneously checking placement of Beverly’s mask. “Something’s not right.”
“Pulse is up,” the nurse said at his side. “Blood pressure is slightly elevated. Is she going into shock?”
Squelching the voice in his head asking if he’d somehow done something wrong, if he’d missed something because of his distraction with his hands, Adam did a quick assessment of his patient. Erythematous welts began appearing on her skin.
“She’s breaking out in a rash,” he said. “DC the anesthesia. Stat. She’s reacting to it.” He turned to the nurse. “Give epinephrine subcutaneously stat and then add diphenhydramine to her IV line.”
“Yes, sir,” the nurse said, giving the injection seconds later.
Adam hoped no one noticed that he massaged his fingers through the rubber gloves. What was wrong with him?
His gaze met the nurse’s. He feigned calm, reassuring himself that she’d think his hand motions were due to stress, worry over his patient. He was worried about his patient. “We’ll finish once she’s stable.”
Adam stayed with his patient until her vitals settled down, and he felt confident he could proceed without fear Beverly was in greater danger than normal.
Two hours later he propped his head against the doctors’ lounge wall. The cold concrete soothed the throb in his skull. He ran over everything with Beverly’s mastectomy, trying to recall if he’d done anything out of line, anything that might have made a difference in her outcome. He hadn’t. Sure, he was tired, his right eye blurred and his fingertips burned. But even if he’d been at his best, he couldn’t have prevented Beverly from reacting to the anesthesia.
Fortunately, they had gotten her severe allergic reaction under control before the situation had become even more critical. Before he’d been forced to deliver bad news to Beverly’s waiting family.
“You OK?” Dr Roger Bell asked from behind him.
Startled, he raised his head. He hadn’t heard the orthopedic surgeon enter the lounge.
“I heard what happened this afternoon,” his friend said. “Dr Krick told me if you hadn’t realized what was happening so quickly you might have lost the woman. Good going, man.”
Adam shrugged. He couldn’t let go of the idea that he might have somehow been at fault. “It’s my job to keep my patients safe.”
Was he compromising his patient
s’ safety just by operating on them? But he couldn’t put his life on hold while he awaited test results. Tests he needed to reschedule and have done so he could await results. Why was he procrastinating?
“But not your job to predict the future,” Roger countered, pulling items from his personal locker. “No one can say when someone’s going to have an unexpected allergy like that. Not even you.”
Hearing his earlier thoughts from an excellent surgeon like Dr Bell reassured him that what happened with Beverly truly hadn’t been his fault. Still, he couldn’t quite shake his guilt.
“Just thought you should know that those in the OR with you this afternoon were impressed with how quickly you came up with the correct diagnosis and credit you with saving the woman’s life. The nurses are saying you’re brilliant.” Dr Bell added the last with a grin.
Brilliant? He’d been tired, distracted, wrestling with his fingers, and hadn’t been at his peak. Far from brilliant. “Like I said, I was just doing my job.”
Dangling a shower bag and fresh clothes, Dr Bell closed his locker. “I was surprised to hear you were back today. I figured you’d take off a while with Liz. I was really sorry to hear about her grandfather.”
Adam nodded at his colleague. “I’ll let her know.”
Roger lingered rather than hitting the showers. “You planning to make an honest woman of her now that she’s free?”
None of your damn business, was what he wanted to growl, but instead he met his friend’s eyes. “Liz and I have no definite plans for the future.”
He couldn’t make plans with Liz until after he’d had the tests Larry had ordered, until he knew what the hell was going on with him.
Until he knew if he had a future to plan.
“Your lab results all came back perfect,” Larry, the family physician Adam had been good friends with since he’d moved to Robertsville, said. From the look on Larry’s face, not everything had come back perfect, though.
“The MRI?”
Larry took a deep breath, met his gaze head on. Premonition filled Adam. This was going to be bad. Very bad. Like maybe he didn’t want to know after all bad.
“I wish I could say it was perfect, too, but it wasn’t.” Larry didn’t seem in a hurry to tell Adam the results, seemed to be struggling with how to wrap his tongue around the words.
“Just get on with it,” Adam spat out, no longer willing to wait patiently for the results of the scan he’d gone for yesterday morning.
Did he have a brain tumor? It was the explanation that kept running through his mind. Then he’d tell himself he was being foolish, a hypochondriac of the worst kind. Of course his scan was going to come back normal. Of course he was going to be just fine and have a future with Liz.
Brain tumors didn’t happen to regular guys like himself. Not in the prime of their lives.
“Your MRI showed demyelization of gray matter in your brain.”
Demyelization? The breakdown of the protective lining around nerve cells? But…
“What does that mean?” Even as he asked, possibilities ran through his mind. Demyelization. An autoimmune response. His body was attacking itself? Why the hell would it do that? Why now?
Larry took another breath. “It means I’m going to schedule you to see a neurologist in Jackson.”
“A neurologist?”
Larry looked at him oddly. Adam imagined he did sound a bit odd, but Larry was talking about his body, his life, his future. Could he help it if he was asking questions that as a physician he should know the answers to? Questions he did know the answers to? A neurologist specialized in diseases of the brain and nervous system. Demyelization diseases such as…no, he wouldn’t go there. Wouldn’t think the worst.
“There’s a specialist in Jackson. He’s involved in multiple sclerosis research.”
Damn it. He’d just decided not to go there. With Larry saying the words out loud, he couldn’t help but go there.
“MS?” Did he sound as blown away as he felt? MS. He could end up paralyzed, completely dependent on others for even the most basic of things. He didn’t have MS. He couldn’t have MS.
“I want you to see Dr Winters. I put in a call to his office as soon as I got your report. He’s out of town at a convention until next week, but you’re scheduled for an early morning appointment on his first day back in the office.”
“MS?” he repeated. There had to be a mistake. The MRI must be wrong. This wasn’t happening to him.
“With the demyelization, I have to consider MS on the list of differential diagnoses. You know that. You’ll need further testing before any diagnosis can be confirmed, but I suspect Dr Winters is going to verify my suspicion.”
Adam winced, knowing what that further testing would involve. “A spinal tap.”
Larry nodded. “And evoked potential testing, where an electrical impulse is applied to various parts of your body to see how the nerve cells conduct the impulse and if there’s any demyelization of the peripheral nerve cells.”
Adam attempted to digest what he was being told. MS. Him. It couldn’t be true.
Visual changes. Pin-prickling sensations in his fingers. Numbness in his hands. Fatigue. Muscle aches and weakness. Headaches.
Hell. It could be true.
If it was true, his entire life would never be the same.
If true, he would lose everything he’d ever held dear. His career. Liz.
Because there was no way in hell he’d ever tie Liz to a doomed man, and if he had MS that’s exactly how he saw himself. Doomed.
CHAPTER THREE
FROM where Liz spoke to the director of the assisted living facility where she was donating Gramps’s medical equipment, she glanced toward the man coming through the automatic glass door.
Despite the gloom of the occasion and her grief of the past week and a half, her heart lightened at seeing Adam. Her gaze met his blue one and she flashed a quick smile at him, but he looked distracted. Actually, he’d seemed distracted all morning.
Bless him, he’d been really busy in the OR ever since he’d run into complications with a breast cancer patient’s mastectomy on the day after Gramps’s funeral. He’d spent the night at the hospital in case the woman had problems during the night. Since then, they’d gone to dinner a few times, but he’d been distracted, his mind obviously on work.
Kind, dedicated, dependable, decent—all those words described the man carrying in Gramps’s nearly new walker.
“Is there anything more?” she asked, feeling guilty that he’d had to finish by himself. She’d helped carry in the first load, but the medical director had stopped her to express gratitude for the equipment that would now be loaned out to those in need.
“I think this is the last of it except for the hospital bed,” Adam said, placing the walker next to the other items he’d carried in. Beneath his T-shirt his muscles rippled and Liz sighed in appreciation of his physical beauty. No doubt about it, Adam was a gorgeous man, but his inner beauty was what had stolen her heart.
He’d borrowed a friend’s truck and helped haul the equipment. Getting rid of the medical equipment, the signs of Gramps’s prolonged illness, had seemed the easiest place to start in going through his things. Besides, she needed that hospital bed out of her living room or she was going to cry herself silly. Her grandfather would have wanted the equipment donated to some needy person who might otherwise have to do without.
Yes, giving away the equipment was a good beginning. She’d tackle Gramps’s wardrobe and closet later, when she felt stronger, more capable of dealing with the emotional baggage that would come with doing so.
She glanced toward Adam and found him clutching the handles of Gramps’s walker. White-knuckled, he wore a far-away look, as if he imagined being forced to use assistive devices for ambulation. Was he remembering the few times early in their relationship when Gramps had puttered along behind the walker he’d quickly grown too debilitated to use?
“I’ll get a couple of male employe
es to assist you with the hospital bed,” Glenda volunteered, interrupting Liz’s heartfelt stare.
Whatever Adam’s thoughts, he shook them off and nodded at the director. “Thanks.”
Two maintenance workers helped guide the bed off the truck and they rolled it inside the building.
Liz bit the inside of her lip as she watched the bed being rolled down the hallway.
“It’ll be alright,” Adam said from beside her. She glanced toward him, his gaze fixed on the disappearing hospital bed. At first she’d thought he was reassuring her, but despite the fact he stood next to her, he didn’t seem aware she was there. His attention riveted on that bed, not her.
In her grief she’d forgotten that during the time she and he had been dating, Adam had spent a lot of time with her grandfather. He’d loved Gramps, too.
Oh, Gramps.
“It seems strange,” she said softly, placing her hand on Adam’s arm. “That bed has been a central part of my life for so many months. When I think that I’ll never see it again, I…” Her voice trailed off.
Adam’s gaze cut to her. He took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “I know.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Losing Gramps is the hardest thing I’ve ever dealt with. You’ve been so wonderful, Adam. I can’t imagine not having you by my side.”
An odd look passed over his face. One she almost thought laden with guilt. But that was ridiculous. Adam had nothing to be guilty about. Still, the look caused nervous tremors in her stomach.
“Oh, Liz! We’re so happy with the equipment. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Glenda gushed, returning to their side. The woman sent an engaging smile toward Adam. “And, Dr Cline, it’s always a pleasure to see you.”
Liz thought so, but wasn’t sure she liked the way Glenda eyed Adam’s body. Still, she couldn’t blame the woman for admiring what so deserved female admiration.
Adam in form-fitting but not too tight jeans and his black T-shirt was the kind of pin-up calendar fantasy women dreamed of meeting in real life.
“I know you aren’t dressed for house calls…” Glenda swept her gaze over Adam again “…but Irene Guess has a wound I think is going to need debridement. About a year ago she had a similar wound she was hospitalized for. Would you mind taking a quick look so I’ll know whether or not to schedule an appointment? It’s so hard for her to get in and out, not to mention getting her a ride. I thought while you’re here you might have a quick look.”
