Lourdes

It’s been a long month of doctor’s appointments, MRIs, Ultrasounds and a biopsy of a lymph node in my neck. My final diagnosis after all of these tests is just as they originally suspected: stage one Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. At eighteen weeks pregnant, they are confident that chemotherapy is the best treatment and will still be safe for the baby. I’ve done so much research, my head is swimming with risks, facts, percentages and treatment plans. When this is over, the only doctor I ever want to see again is my baby’s pediatrician, and even then, only for routine vaccinations and checkups.

Liam has been my rock. I would have fallen apart if not for him. And my family has been nothing short of miraculous. They even fought over whose house I should live in when I go through chemo. I told them I’m not leaving Liam. Toby is settled and comfortable, and everyone is within a two-mile radius.

Everyone is so supportive. Kit and Devin, and even my new friends, Felicia and Steve, have been here doing anything they can to help.

I’ve never felt more scared or more loved in my life.

This morning is my first day of chemotherapy. We are dropping Toby off at Rachel’s, and Mom is meeting Liam and me at the hospital. My parents love Liam almost as much as I do. They had a hard time for a while with the whole marriage/surrogate/girlfriend thing, but now they see how deeply he cares for me and how much Toby loves him.

“You ready to go?” Liam asks, standing just outside my bedroom door. We haven’t slept apart since my diagnosis. He spends every night down here in my lowly Queen-sized bed when he could be much more comfortable in his California King upstairs. He says he can’t stand to be apart from me and that sleeping up there only reminds him of Amira, and he hates to be reminded of her. She is still in Nigeria. It’s been months, and sometimes I wonder if she will ever come home. She has the divorce papers, but she’s been refusing to sign them while her father is still unconscious, and she asks about the baby obsessively. Liam has text after text every day asking about the pregnancy. He doesn’t answer any of them. She is completely in the dark about anything that’s going on. She has no idea I’m sick or that I’m living in her house.

“Yeah, I just need my bag and Toby’s things.”

“I’ve got all that in the car already.”

“Did you get my book?”

“Book, yes. Check.”

“My laptop?”

“Yes, laptop. Check. I put everything you wanted in there last night. You watched me, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry, I’m just a little nervous,” I say, fiddling with the fringe on the throw pillow I’m hugging. Liam approaches and sits on the edge of the bed with me.

“You don’t ever have to apologize to me about anything, especially being nervous. Hell, I’m nervous and I’m not the one having chemo,” he says. He removes my hand from the pillow fringe and turns it over, palm up. He begins to draw letters on my palm that spell I love you and ends them with a heart. He’s been doing it for weeks. It started one night when we were talking about alternate forms of communication such as sign language and brail. I have no idea what got us on that subject, but it led to the tracing of letters on my hand and it stuck.

“It’s going to be fine, right? Everything is going to be okay?” I ask, and he looks at me with heavy seriousness and resolve.

“Absolutely yes. Everything is going to be fine, you’re going to be okay, and so is the little butterball in here,” he says, rubbing my now protruding belly.

“Thank you. I just need to hear it said out loud sometimes so it feels real.”

“I love you,” he says, pressing a reassuring kiss on my forehead.

“I love you too.”

“Okay, let’s go before Toby tears up the living room. He’s on a roll today.”

“I feel so bad that he’s spent so much time with Rachel and Mom, and when I’m here, I’m too tired to play with him.” He helps me from bed and holds my elbow unnecessarily all the way thorough the house. I’m able to walk, but I let him feel useful because he says he doesn’t feel like he’s doing enough. I don’t know how. He’s brought someone in to fill most of his time slots at the club, only keeping the Saturday night spot because it’s the most popular night. He spends the majority of his time during the day taking me to and from appointments or watching Toby while Mom takes me. And when there is nothing to do, he does nothing right alongside me. He reads to me, watches sappy chick flicks, takes my temperature, and forces naps on me. Actually, that’s a lie. I don’t have to be forced to nap.

“He’s fine, look at him,” he says as we make our way through the living room.

Toby is sitting in the middle of no fewer than five decks of playing cards spread out all around him in a circle. He’s turning them over and chatting with himself about pades and mimonds. Which are spades and diamonds if you don’t speak two-year-old Toby.

“He’s gonna be a famous Texas hold ‘em player in Vegas someday,” Liam says.

I groan. “Not if I can help it, he’s not. I want him to go to college and meet a nice girl and have babies.”

“That life isn’t for everyone, babe. I’m living proof.”

I stop and wait for him to scoop Toby up, “How is that? You went to college while you were on tour, you met me, and now you’re having a baby.”

He pauses to think. “You’re right, aren’t you? Let’s just work on never letting him be drugged by a crazy Nigerian woman and tricked into marriage.”

“Deal.”

Two hours later, we have dropped Toby off and I’m sitting in a huge recliner in a treatment room, and Liam is in a less comfortable chair at my side. I’ve had forty-five minutes of teaching on my particular kind of chemotherapy, and I’ve been given my pre-meds. Now I sit and wait. I feel pretty good, all things considered. The anxiety medication is working well, so I’m not freaking out, although Liam could use a few milligrams of what they gave to me. Poor guy is going through so much with me. I feel guilty every time I feel grateful.

“You okay?” I ask him.

He cocks his head with one brow lifted high, “Are you really asking me that right now?”

I chew on the inside of my lip before answering, “Yeah, I guess so. Is that wrong?”

He heaves a deep sigh and takes my hand. “I am perfectly fine, Lourdes. It’s you we are supposed to concentrate on today. Relax and don’t worry about me. Just let me be here for you and help you if I can.”

He squeezes my hand tight, and I agree to try and relax.

My nurse is very kind. She’s been patient and understanding when we ask questions, and she’s attentive without being smothering. She hung my medications, checked my vital signs, and made me feel as at home as I could in a sterile hospital room. When I was done, she gave me instructions to drink a lot of water and take my nausea medications as needed.

Our best-case scenario, as they put it, is to do two rounds of chemotherapy, which consist of four total infusions, and if things look good, deliver as close to full term as possible. If things don’t go well, we will be delivering early, and I’ll have another round or two of chemotherapy again after I have the baby. Liam says we will definitely have the best-case scenario, but I’m not as optimistic. It seems like we’ve had the cards stacked against us from the start, so I’ve begun expecting the worst, and I figure I’ll be surprised with the best.