Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
He was in surgery for five hours. The longest, most fraught five hours of my life. Billy had no idea what was happening to him. He would wake up and find he’d been cut open and then learn why. He’ll be out of action for weeks. Maybe months. But at least the lump would be gone.
When he came out of surgery, it was all I could do not to collapse at the sight of him. My strong, gorgeous husband looked so fragile and frail. Tubes stemming from everywhere, needles in both arms, his lower body held in position by straps. I’ve sat by his bed in the ICU unit, slipping out only to update our friends on what’s happening, struggling through my words. Struggling with the looks of anger from Linda each time she visited, as if it was somehow my fault.
A few days ago, Billy and I were ready to embark on our life together. I was filled with nothing but happiness and excitement.
Today, I’m full of trepidation and fear.
A few hours after surgery, Dr. Smith is confident that he has Billy’s pain under control with morphine, but there’s no telling until he comes to. So I hold my breath and pray as they slowly bring him out of his sleep.
The relief I feel when Billy opens his eyes is profound, but I’m breathless, waiting for that shrill sound of his pain to kick in. It doesn’t come. He blinks a few times, trying to register his surroundings. I inch forward in my chair, taking his hand and getting as close as possible. Confusion takes over his expression as he flexes his grip around mine. “You’re in hospital,” I tell him, looking to Dr. Smith for his reaction. He’s quiet, making notes. I return my attention to Billy, finding him swallowing repeatedly. He’s thirsty. “Can he have some water?” I ask, taking the cup from the cabinet before I get my answer.
“A little,” the doctor confirms, going to the machinery and checking a few things. I don’t know what. The unknown is terrifying.
I guide the straw to Billy’s mouth and fight back my emotion as I watch him struggling to lift his head from the pillow. “Just a little,” I affirm as he draws water greedily. On an exhausted sigh, he relaxes back into the pillow.
“What’s going on?” he asks groggily, looking to me instead of the doctor.
It kills me that now, when he’s not at full strength, he’ll be told what’s happened since he collapsed at the airport. Where do I begin? How do I explain that his life has become a question mark as we wait to see how his body responds now that the cancerous tumor has been removed? I place the water back on the side table and take both of his hands in mine, swallowing, trying to find the words.
“How are you feeling, Billy?” the doctor asks, probably seeing my struggle. He rounds the bed to the other side, looking down at him. “Any pain?”
Billy simply shakes his head, closing his eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Let’s get you comfortable, maybe something to eat, and then we’ll talk.”
Billy opens his eyes. “I’m comfortable. I’d like to know now.” His heavy eyes fall onto me. “What’s happening?”
My lips press together, his suffering killing me. I want to be the one to tell him, but no matter how deeply I search, I can’t find the will to break the news that I know will crush him. He’s going to be immobile for weeks. He’s going to be laid-up, relying on me to look after him, and I know he will hate that. It’s his job to look after me. He tells me every day. It’s a job he loves, one he cherishes.
Pulling a chair up to the bed, Dr. Smith takes a seat. “We found a malignant tumor on your spine, Billy. Lo tells us you’ve suffered in recent months with back pain.”
I close my eyes, so wishing I had enforced my demand for him to see his GP.
“Nothing major,” Billy says, his voice terribly sleepy. “The odd twinge here or there, but it wasn’t affecting my lifestyle.”
No, because the stubborn ox refused to let it. He carted me around like my weight was nothing, and he chastised me every time I protested. In the end, I didn’t see his winces because he hid them from me, knowing I’d be on his case, and perhaps because I would have stopped him doing what he loves doing: carrying me. Figuratively and literally.
The doctor nods, thoughtful, and inhales before going on. “The tumor is larger than we anticipated.”
I still, staring at the doctor. “But you removed it, right?” I ask, not liking the stoic expression on Dr. Smith’s face. That isn’t the expression of a man who has good news. News that’ll relieve us of worry. News of the cancerous lump being removed successfully.