KATE
I’m honestly not sure whether I’m ready for this. I’m terrified and I can see the fear in Weston’s eyes that he’s trying to hide behind the strength. After eight and a half years together, there’s not much that we don’t notice about each other, even though we like to pretend to have our own mysteries.
I’ve known ever since I found out about my cervical cancer that this day would come. Wes and my doctor gave me a week to heal from giving birth to Charlie, so today is the day.
Today I get to start chemotherapy.
Lucky me.
I walk into the day clinic and everything in me screams to turn around and run right back home to my daughter. I can’t, though, because she needs her mother. I have to be strong for her and I have to fight with everything in me, so that I can beat this.
Having Charlotte spend her entire life without her mommy is an unbearable thought. And it’s that thought that forces me to walk right up to the receptionist to sign in.
Time seems to slow in the clinic and I can feel my nerves ricocheting. Weston sits beside me and doesn’t speak a word, and I don’t blame him. In this instance, there’s nothing that can be said to fill the void of silence positively.
Paperwork is filled out and soon I’m being led to the radiology department to get a Port-a-Cath inserted. I don’t even know what a Port-a-Cath is, but it does require me to be put under conscious sedation which, if I remember what the doctor was telling me correctly, I’ll be awake while they go in and insert the port into my chest cavity. I won’t be feeling the pain, though, and was even told that the most I will feel is a small, temporary pressure.
The nurse hands me a patient gown and goes over my medical history quickly before leaving me alone and giving me some time to change. I peel my faithful yoga pants and tankini from my body, then fold them and place them on a metal padded chair.
Minutes later, I’m led to a small procedure room. The white immaculate walls with little to nothing on them don’t help with easing my worries. I’m instructed to lay down while the nurse sedates me and inserts pain medication through an IV.
The nurse and doctor move around, checking things like my blood pressure and heart rate. They work together like a well-oiled machine, pacing back and forth, reading each other’s facial expressions with a shake of their heads and a handful of words.
The doctor steps up with a needle in his hand. He’s polite and begins explaining that he will be inserting an anesthetic into an area of my chest to numb the spot where the port will be inserted.
I close my eyes and find my thoughts traveling back to my husband. I wonder what he’s thinking about as he sits back in the lobby waiting for me. I wish he was beside me, holding my hand through this procedure and telling me everything is going to be okay. I know I’m a strong woman who can handle just about anything, but in this instance, I feel weak.
I feel a prick and squeeze my eyes closed. I was stuck and prodded like a pin cushion during my pregnancy, surely I can suffer through this? The doctor begins talking, so I open my eyes and clamp them shut almost immediately when I see him with a small knife in his hand.
An incision. All he’s making is a small incision. I repeat that over and over to myself. The fact that I’m a big baby is nothing new, but I’d rather not watch myself get cut open. No to the thanks.
I feel some pressure and tugging but that’s all. Not a sliver of pain follows.
“We’re nearly finished, Mrs. Cahill. All we need to do is take a quick x-ray to ensure that the Port-a-Cath was placed correctly.”
“Gee, Doc. You’re easing all my concerns, you know that?” I growl sarcastically, not loving the fact that I’m feeling like a guinea pig on an exam table.
A few x-rays later, a dressing is applied and then I’m all set to go. I was originally told that today I would also get my first dose of chemotherapy, but instead they are sending me home to heal and get used to the way the port feels in my chest.
Totally fine with me, although I have a feeling that Wes might not be totally happy about prolonging the start date.
“All we ask is that you avoid tight bras, suspenders and/or anything resting tightly near your chest. And if you happen to feel any discomfort or pain, just take a couple over-the-counter Tylenol.”
“Okay.”
I feel lightheaded and a tad bit loopy. I’m ready to go home. After more than an hour and a half in the clinic, I’m so done with the day. I have a feeling that this coming week is going to be quite tough on me, both physically and mentally.
Weston smiles and greets me with a gentle hug. I find myself leaning against him like a tree, but I know he doesn’t mind. Instead, he exchanges a few words with the doctor- all of which I don’t pay any attention to- before lifting me into his arms.
Normally I would argue and complain about being manhandled, but today I welcome it. Whatever they gave me to sedate me is the bee’s knees.
Goodbye, worries; hello, sleep.
~*~
WESTON
“How’s she doing?” my mom asks, taking a seat beside me and Charlotte. I look over at her with a small smile.
“Kate’s tough, you’ve met her. She isn’t letting on how uncomfortable she is or how much pain she’s in.” I look down at our little girl, resting on my lap. Her little arms are flailing around and drool is beginning to dribble from her tiny lips. “She’s been asleep off and on ever since we got home yesterday afternoon. We cleaned the port site and changed the dressing, then she went right back to sleep.”
I grab a soft baby towel and wipe the drool from Charlie’s face and chin. She really is a beautiful baby and I see so much of Katie in her; it’s kind of amazing. She has her brown hair and her blue, almond shaped eyes. Even her tiny ears are a little bit pointed like her mama’s, but I’ll never tell Kate that.
Kate’s ears are one of the things she hates most about herself. I think she’s being ridiculous and I personally find her pointed ears incredibly cute. I joked once that maybe she was stolen from a pixie couple and raised by humans. She didn’t speak to me for a week after that.
“You’re a natural, son.” My mom smiles, watching me coddle my week-old daughter. Taking care of her is a lot easier than I thought it would be. Charlotte is a happy and calm baby. She sleeps through the night and rarely cries. Even her diapers have been fairly tame. We got fucking lucky.
“Thanks.” I smile at her.
“When does Kate start chemo and radiation?”
“Tomorrow for chemo and the following day for radiation.” Kate answers as she walks into the room, her blue eyes automatically gravitating towards Charlie. She sits beside me and I carefully hand our daughter over, being extra careful to keep from crossing paths with the bandage on her chest.
“Who’s mommy’s pretty little gummy bear?” She kisses Charlie on the cheek while Charlie tries to shove her entire fist into her mouth, drooling all over her fingers.
Charlotte has all of us wrapped around her little slobbery fingers, it’s plain to see that.
“I go back to the clinic tomorrow for my first dose of chemo. The five days following that, I’ll be having my external radiation treatments.”
“Damn.” I glare at my mother as she formulates her reasoning for cursing in front of my daughter. “Your father hated the radiation.”
We haven’t discussed my father’s treatment and, if I’m being honest, I don’t remember all that much of it. My brothers and I were thrust into extracurricular activities when my dad was diagnosed to keep our mind off of what was happening. It kind of worked.
It didn’t stop us from seeing all the pain and struggle when we were home or visiting him in the hospital, though.
I’m not looking forward to watching my wife, my little dancer, go through that.
“Weston has this new pet peeve where he hates when you curse in front of Charlie.” Kate smiles, expertly changing the topic after getting a good look at my eyes and most likely seeing the pained expression I tried hard to conceal. “He won’t allow Jazzy back in the house until she changes her vocabulary altogether.”
“Our daughter needs role models, not sailors with potty mouths.” I try to reason, taking the bait that was given. It’s my way out to brush away the difficult topics for another day, at least for now.
“Son, put on your big girl panties and deal with it. A zebra can’t change its stripes and grandma will always be the boss.”
I look over as Kate’s mouth drops open. A look of anger crashes over her face in 2.5 seconds, but she quickly composes herself. Biting her lip, she suddenly makes herself busy toying with the long, soft strands of our daughter’s hair.
“You know what? I need some air.” I stand and walk away from my mother. She still treats me like a child, but I’m a grown man. I can curse like the best of them, but I don’t think it’s asking a lot to not use that language in front of my child.
If I’ve learned anything from my wife, it’s to not back down when something is this important to me.
KATE
I step outside the sliding door and run my fingers around Weston’s waist, resting my cheek on his back. I can feel the muscles calm beneath my touch and it isn’t until he speaks that I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
“What if I’m not strong enough to watch you go through this?” His voice catches in his throat and my heart constricts at the pain I see painted across his face.
Guilt is consuming me. The fact that I’m putting him through this, it feels like I’m failing him as a wife and a partner. I know we vowed to be there in sickness and health, but there is only so much you can put your significant other through.
Before everything began to unfold, our lives were good, normal even. We only ever argued over petty things when we were together, but when we were apart, we had our own careers. It was when we came home that our lives blended together in nothing but love and happiness. It just worked for us.
Now it’s one problem after the next. Problems that are filled with hurt and fear. Weston and I are struggling, and this isn’t us. Everything always seemed so easy in our relationship, but it isn’t now.
Abortion. Pregnancy. Cancer.
It’s taking a hit on our relationship and I know that both of us are feeling it.
“I wish I knew what to say, Wes, but I don’t. All I know is that I’m just as scared as you are, and I wish that I could snap my fingers and have all our worries disappear. God, we deserve that.”
“Uh huh.” He turns towards me and welcomes me into his arms. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that everyone goes through difficult times. It’s how they tackle them and learn to overcome them that defines who they are.”
I look deep into his eyes and toy with his long, wavy locks. “I think I know why you’re scared.”
“You do?”
“You’re afraid of being powerless and not having the ability to change or fix things.” I kiss his neck. “One of the most amazing things about you is that you’re good at making the best of any situation. You can find the beauty in every circumstance, but in this case—” I cough, trying to hold back the bubble of emotion caught in my throat. “—nothing you say or do can change the outcome. I’ll still be going through chemo and radiation. I will still have cancer.”
“You’re going to beat this.”
“Only if we’re in this together.”
“Like in life, where you go, I’ll go.”
“I love you.” I say with a smile.
“I know.”
I stand on my tippy toes and he squeezes his arms around me while he gives me the sweetest, toe-curling kiss.
There’s something different about it though- it’s filled with hope and determination.
Let the fucking battle begin.
~*~
“This won’t hurt a bit.” The nurse begins numbing the area around my Port-a-Cath, preparing it for the chemotherapy drugs that will soon be inserted into my veins.
She then inserts a small needle attached to a long, thin tube. I could smell and taste the first initial contact with the drugs and I cringe. It’s not the least bit appealing.
Weston sits next to me, holding my hand and soothing my nerves while the drugs slowly inch their way through the tube and then into my body. It isn’t long before the nurse begins to explain the next drugs she’ll be giving me- a combination of Benadryl, steroids, relaxers, etc. The truth is, I lost count; all I know is that there are a lot of them.
I rearrange my soft furry blanket over my lap and wait for the relaxers to kick in. It doesn’t take long to finally feel the effects of it in my system. I find myself focusing more on the TV in the room than I had moments before that. I think it’s because I don’t have to think about the cheesy romance movie playing in the background; it’s just there.
The nurse is still doing her thing- sitting beside me as she slowly pushes 3 out of 4 of the drugs into my system. She hasn’t moved all that much since the start.
The entire process feels as if it’s taking hours and it really must be because not before long a new movie begins to play on the television screen. My eyelids begin to feel droopy and, when I glance over at Weston, my silver glasses slip down my nose. I push them back up and smile awkwardly because, the truth is, I’m not sure what to do or say.
Time just continues to drag on. The silence is filled with beeping of nearby machines. A young kid sits in the chair beside me playing on a handheld game system while a chemo drip sits attached to him. He’s too young, looking no more than 8 years old.
My heart goes out to him, instantly breaking in the process. My prayers go to his family, who are I know are struggling to watch him go through these treatments.
One thing is for sure, though. I thank the heavens that this is me going through this. I’m glad it’s not my daughter or Weston. God, I don’t know how I would be able to handle sitting idly by. If anything, this has been an eye-opener. It’s given me a tiny glimpse of what my loved ones are forced to witness, and it saddens the shit out of me.
I’ll never understand why life has to be so hard.
“Alrighty, Mrs. Cahill. It looks like you’re all done for the day.” She removes the needle from my Port-a-Cath and goes over a little information regarding some various side effects, dos and don’ts, that sort of thing.
An appointment is set up for the following week for my second round, then I’m all finished.
Weston carries me in the confines of his arms and I’m too tired to care and too exhausted to argue. I’m already beginning to feel some minor nausea, but more than that, sleep is beckoning like a faithful, old friend.
“It’s okay, beautiful. Close your eyes.” I feel his lips brush my forehead lightly and then the world around me begins to melt away into darkness.
~*~
Is this really what my life has come down to- treatment after treatment, staring at the white walls as the smell of antiseptic hangs in the air? That’s what it feels like anyways. Granted, I’m technically only on Day 2, but it feels like so much longer, emotionally.
I’ve been laying down on the treatment table with a bunch of dots of colored ink on my skin for at least a half hour. When I first arrived, I was basically given an informational counseling session explaining everything that would happen during my radiation appointments.
I was told that the dots show the radiation therapist where to aim the radiation beams. Essentially the beams are supposed to stem the growth of the cancer and destroy the cancerous cells, sometimes even shrinking the tumors or masses in the progress.
Which is definitely clever, if I say so myself.
The radiation therapist leaves the room to control the machine from a completely separate area while I remain laying there awkwardly, staring at the ceiling.
“Alright, Kate. We need you to remain very still, but don’t hold your breath, okay? If you need anything, please let us know. We can hear and talk to you through this speaker at all times.”
There’s not really anything to say. I’m as good as can be expected, I suppose. Some lights are pointed at me, but I don’t feel a thing. It isn’t painful like I anticipated it would be and the session doesn’t last more than five minutes.
From all I’ve heard, I thought that the radiation would be my least favorite part about this entire thing. It’s not so bad though, well, as far as everything else I’ve had to go through goes.
~*~
“How’s my favorite bitch?”
“Surviving.” I sigh, snuggling under a mountain of blankets.
“Not funny.” Jazzy glares at me, before lifting the blankets and crawling in beside me. “I’m always here; I hope you know that.” She says sadly.
“I know that. But the best thing you can do for me right now is to not treat me any differently. I don’t want to be ‘Sick Kate’. I want to be treated like your best friend of 24 years. I need that. It’s already bad enough that I have Weston and his mom looking at me differently; I don’t need it from you, too.” I pant, realizing how out of breath I am from my ranting.
“Woah, calm your ass down, bitch.” She winks. “I will always treat you like my best friend. I mean, who else is going to put you in your place when you’re acting like a pansy.”
“Weston?”
“Oh, hell no. He better not move in on my territory.”
My eyes widen to the size of saucers and I cover my mouth quickly. I barely manage to grab a trash can before what little I have in my stomach makes an appearance. Jazzy holds my hair back and calls for Weston, who comes running with Charlotte nestled into his arms.
“Take her, Jazz.” He hands our daughter over and brushes my long hair behind my back. “I got you, babe.”
All I feel is nausea, though, and it’s hard to focus on anything else but the acid flowing up and down my throat. I close my eyes and take deep breaths while Weston continues rubbing my back.
Fucking hell.
This sucks.