“Yeah, I’d like to sit up in bed and see my sons.”
She clicks a button on the bed, and it begins to move. “We can do that. I need to fix one of your heart monitor leads. It popped off. It’s how I knew you were awake.”
“Oh.”
Dad leaves, and by the time he’s back with the boys and Mom, the nurse has me upright in the bed. There’s a dressing wrapped around my entire chest. I’m guessing that’s why it’s hard to breathe.
“Are you good now?” the nurse asks.
“Yeah, can you loosen this bandage?” I pull at the top of it near my neckline.
“Let’s wait until after your family leaves. Here’s your call bell. If you need me, press the red button.”
Sawyer and Atticus are standing at the end of the bed. Tears fall from their eyes, and I hold my right arm out to them. My left arm is strapped down by the stupid sling. “Don’t cry. I’m okay.”
They sit on the bed beside me. Mom says, “Don’t touch her.”
I interject, “Mom they can touch me. Did I break my arm?”
“You broke your collar bone. They fixed it. You should be out of that sling the doctor said in two more weeks.”
I touch each boy individually on the face, and they keep telling me how much they love me over and over again. I begin to cry. They’ve probably been worried sick.
Mom says, “Okay boys, let’s let her rest so she can come home.”
I don’t want them to leave. “Mom, where did Stephen go? He was here earlier.”
“He’s out in the hall. He said you guys didn’t get to finish your conversation.”
“Do I have brain damage or something? Why am I still in the hospital? Was I in a coma?”
Pops leads the boys out of the room, and Mom takes the spot beside the bed. She lifts up a cup of water and says, “Drink. Are you hungry?”
“Starving, I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.” I take a big drink of the water. I never really liked water, but it’s like I can’t get enough.
She laughs. “I know it’s not funny, but you really haven’t eaten in weeks. You weren’t in a coma. They had to keep you sedated; every time they tried to wean you off you tried to fight.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.” I wouldn't fight doctors and nurses on purpose.
“The nurse said everyone reacts to medicine and trauma differently.”
I pull on the bandage around my neckline again. “Can you get the nurse to come back in here and remove this bandage? It’s suffocating me.”
“Sure, I’m going to send Stephen in while I go get her.”
“I don’t want to see him. I want to see Malcom. Has anyone told Malcom?”
“Yes, honey, he knows. He’s been here too. He’s not here now though. I’ll let him know you’re awake and asking for him.”
I huff, “Just go get the nurse, please. Oh, and also, see when I can leave.”
She lightly touches my hair and tucks it behind my ear before standing and walking out the door.
Stephen enters wearing the same clothes he had on the last time I saw him. I feel more confident it’s the same day now. I was beginning to worry if I would be able to keep track of time. He sits down and stares at me.
“Why are you still here? We aren’t married. Shouldn’t you be with your wife?”
“She’s not happy I’m here. Like I told you, I’m next of kin, and you’re still on my health insurance.”
“Okay… so does that mean you have to stay until I’m released?” I question.
“No, it’s just… We all thought it was best I be the one to tell you.”
“To tell me what?” I remember hitting a deer. I didn’t hit another car or a person. What could he need to tell me?
“When you got to the hospital, they did x-rays to figure out the extent of your injuries.”
“Okay…”
“When they did that, they found…they noticed something wrong with your x-ray.”
“That makes sense. I have a broken collar bone.”
“Yeah, you have a broken collar bone. But you also have…had…well they found...” I don’t know why he’s having such a hard time saying what he’s trying to say. This is so unlike him.
“Spit it out Stephen.”
“They found a mass in your left breast. Cancer.”
The room starts spinning. Cancer? Breast cancer. I look down at my bandage. I tug on it again trying to remove it. I begin to breathe heavily and my chest hurts, my heart burns. “Have they been giving me chemo? I need this thing off. I can’t breathe.”
“Let me get the nurse,” he says, and exits the room again.
When she walks in, she says, “We need to wait for the doctor to remove the bandage. He said he wanted to do the next dressing change himself. Do you want some more pain medicine?”
“No, I want to know why I have these bandages in the first place.”
The nurse turns to Stephen. “Just tell her. She’ll understand eventually that you had to make a call.” Then she leaves again.
All this coming and going is making me dizzy.
“Tell me now Stephen, or I’m going to scream until they kick you out.” I look around for my cell phone. I really want to talk to Malcom.
“They found the cancer, but it hadn’t spread. The doctor asked me to make a decision. I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what you’d want. We never talked about that. I asked your mom what to do.” He begins pacing the room again and looking out the window. “The doctor said it was actually a good thing you got in the wreck; otherwise they might not have found the cancer so soon.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“Damnit, Addy, I don’t even know how to say it. You’re going to hate me, but I didn’t know what choice to make. They took your boobs. There. Happy?”
I look down at the dressing again. “My boobs are gone, as in both? But you said it was only in my left breast.”
“Yes, it was. He said you needed a mastectomy, or they could do chemo, but he wasn’t sure how you’d react to the chemo. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t figure you’d want only one boob. Maybe I was wrong, but I had them take both. I’m sorry.” He pinches the middle of his nose between his eyes.
“You’re sorry! You let them take my boobs!” I slam my right fist down on the bed. Where is my phone? Where is Malcom? I don’t have any boobs. “Get the hell out of here and send the nurse in!”
THIRTY-FOUR
They’re finally letting me out of this place. I’ve told them three days in a row now, I’m fine. Everything is fine. I sent Stephen back to eastern Kentucky where he belongs.
Away from me.
I threw a water pitcher at him when he attempted to come back in my room the other night. I do not wish to speak to him ever again.
I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. My chest feels numb, like it’s not even a part of me anymore. I have pain, but it’s mostly in my collar bone. I thought my chest would hurt more than it does. The loss hurts the most right now.
They want me to see a counselor, but the only one here at the hospital is male, and he felt, with my situation, I should have a female. I don’t even know if I’m ready to talk to anyone just yet. I just want to be home and process everything that has happened on my own.
Malcom has been extremely quiet every time he’s been here. He’s come after work every day, and he’s on his way here now to take me home.
Mom said the boys are with Stephen. I’m glad he didn’t try to come talk to me because I would throw any and every thing I could lift at him. She said earlier he even offered to pay for new breasts once I’m healed enough for them. I don’t even know if I want them, and I sure don’t want him to be the one paying for them.
Inez and Juliet visited last night. It was nice to see them. They were both pretty silent while they were here. I asked if there was anything legal I could do about Stephen taking my breasts without my consent, but she said since he was next of kin, there r
eally wasn’t anything I can do. While she was here, we drew up new paperwork making my parents next of kin until the boys are old enough, or I get remarried.
I don’t see myself ever getting married again.
I packed everything at four this morning even though I knew I wouldn’t be going home until after lunch.
I push the chair from beside my bed up against the window ledge. I curl up in a ball in it. While I am pulling my blanket up over my shoulders, the nurse knocks on the door.
She’s a lot taller than the other nurse. She pulls my bedside table up to her and lays down some papers. “There’s a really tall hot guy out at the nurses’ station asking for you. I just want to know how I can get me one of those. What’s your secret?”
I know she’s trying to make me laugh, but it’s not funny anymore. I turn and look back out the window and sigh, “He calls me Sugar Tits. That’s how much he loves my boobs. Loved my boobs, I guess I should say. The boobs I no longer have.”
“I’m so sorry. If I would have known. I promise I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”
“I know.”
Malcom helped me into the car, but I only let him touch my right hand and forearm. I couldn’t bear the thought of his hands being anywhere near my chest. The doctor said I could stop wearing my sling in two more weeks.
Malcom asked me to stay with him tonight, but I told him I wanted to be alone. We’re on our way to my new house now.
We went through the pharmacy drive thru to get all my medications. I’m on pain medicine, anxiety medicine, nausea medicine, and antibiotics. It’s almost as if I turned into an old person overnight. That’s what it feels like to me. It doesn’t feel like it’s been four weeks.
As he helps me out of his Explorer and into the house, I feel horrible for not asking about Elsie at all. “Where’s Elsie?”
“She’s with Angie and her mom.”
“Oh,” I say and then wince from a sharp pain.
He rubs my right arm, and with concern in his eyes, he asks, “Do you want something to drink? Do you need to take a pain pill?”
“Yes, please. I’m going to go in my room and get into bed.”
He heads toward the kitchen as I walk into my room. I bought a king-size bed. I don’t need one that big, but with all the space in this room, I wasn’t sure how else to fill it.
I’m beginning to regret the lifted platform bed. I can’t use my left arm, and I’m finding it difficult to get into the bed using only my right.
“Can you bring the stool from the kitchen pantry in here, please?” I holler loud enough for him to hear.
I’m leaning up against the wall when he walks in a few minutes later with the stool. “What do you need a stool for?” he questions.
I frown, hopeless. “To get in the bed.”
“Are you sure you want to be alone? I really don’t mind staying. I have nothing else to do.”
I want to be alone, but I also want him here. A tear rolls down my cheek, and he drops the stool as he rushes over to wipe it from my face. I can tell he wants to say something, but he’s scared to even talk.
After a few minutes, I’m calm again, and he releases me. He removes his shirt and hands it to me, “Here, I know you like to sleep in my shirt.”
I freeze, unsure of what to do. I did love sleeping in his shirts. That was before, when I had boobs. There is no way I can undress in front of him. I shake my head no and say, “I’m going to sleep in this shirt. I only put it on right before you showed up, and it was clean.”
His face falls as he pulls the shirt back over his arms and down his body.
I remove my shoes and pants before I get in on the left side of the bed using the stool with Malcom’s help. He only touches my lower back and right hand. I don’t know if he’s scared to touch me, but I’m glad he’s staying in the safe areas.
He goes around and slips in on the other side after turning the light off.
“Did you lock the door?”
“Yes,” he replies. I’m sure he did, but I won’t be able to sleep until I know for sure the door is locked. I go to get out of the bed, and he says, “Where are you going?”
“To check the door.”
He’s out of the bed before I can even swing my feet over the edge.
He’s holding a pill bottle when he makes his way back in. “You should take one. It might help you sleep.”
I take the bottle from him as he climbs back in the bed. I thought it might be my anxiety pill, but it’s the pain medicine. I open it and pop one in my mouth. It’s bitter as I swallow it down with a bottle of water from my bedside table.
He helps me remove my sling before I lie down.
I’m having a hard time getting comfortable. I can’t lie on my left side. I think it’d hurt too much to lie on my stomach. My back is my least favorite sleeping position, but if I turn on my right side, my flat chest will be facing Malcom. I roll over on my back and shut my eyes.
When Malcom’s breathing becomes a rhythm and snores escape his lips, I slip out of the bed. I tip-toe and slowly shut the door behind me. I hold my left elbow with my right hand while I walk down the hall to the bathroom to look at my chest. I wait a few minutes to see if my movement woke him up, but I don’t hear any noise coming from my room.
There’s a full-length oval mirror in the corner of the room. I unbutton my shirt as I walk over to it. I loosen the bandage around my chest until it falls to my hips.
They did tell me there was a plastic surgeon in the room when they removed my breasts, but I still can’t believe what I see. My skin is very red and aggravated. Where the curves of my mounds used to be is now two horizontal slits. They almost meet in the middle to form one long scar. They performed the double mastectomy fairly soon after the wreck; the scars are healing, but I still have them.
My chest is flat. My abdomen is flat. I not only have a c-section scar and stretch marks; I now have two more scars. I look like some kind of science experiment.
I try to button my shirt back up, but I can’t with only one hand. I hold it shut as best I can. I tell myself I can cry for one minute, and then I must get to bed.
The minute lasts for five before I return to my room. Malcom seems to be asleep. I get in the bed, lying on my back, and pull the covers up to my neck. Malcom rolls over and slings his arm across my chest and I scream.
He bolts upright in the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, Adaline.”
“I know you didn’t mean to. I’m fine now. It just scared me more than anything. Go back to sleep,” I say as I pull the covers back up under my chin.
He lies back down on his left side and stares at me. I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep, but I can’t ask him to leave. That’d be mean. I shut my eyes hoping he thinks I’ve fallen asleep.
I feel like I’m juggling chainsaws while they are on fire. I could kill Stephen for letting them take my boobs. I feel like I’m holding Malcom back by not being intimate with him. I know he wasn’t trying to have sex with me. He was only trying to hold me. To comfort me.
I don’t want him to touch me anymore at all.
I lie awake in the bed while he sleeps until the sun rises out the window. When I feel it’s an appropriate time, I get out of bed.
I venture into the kitchen. I brought my sling with me, and after several attempts, I finally get it back on. I’m able to get the middle button to my shirt together and then I text Inez.
It took several minutes to type out, Will you be here today?
I stare at my phone on the table as I drink a bottle of water.
Malcom stumbles in the room disheveled like he’s the one who has been up all night. He leans down to give me a kiss on my hairline, like he always does, except this time, I flinch.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I look into his sad eyes.
“If it’s about the scars, they don’t bother me. I’d rather you have scars and be alive than to have tits and be dead.”
“But you loved my tits.”
He drops to his knees beside me. “I did. But I love all of you, not just your boobs. Don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”
“I’m sorry, but right now I just need to be alone. I need to process everything.”
“I can give you space, but promise you won’t make any big decisions right now.”
I’m furious. I stand and wave my right arm around while I talk. “Big decisions! Everyone else made all the decisions, and I didn’t have any say-so, and now I don’t have any boobs. I know it’s a petty thing, and they don’t matter, but right now, I miss them.”
“I just meant don’t end us over this. I don’t care about the scars or you not having any boobs. I swear. I don’t want to be without you. I love you.”
THIRTY-FIVE
It’s been two weeks since I told Malcom I no longer wanted to be in a relationship with him. He begged me to not end it, but I didn’t want to hold him back. I spoke to my therapist for the first time, and she gave me some homework.
I am to answer the following questions:
1. Is everyone who experienced breast cancer a failure?
2. Can you think of anyone for whom that is not true?
3. How does being breastless seem to translate into being a failure as a person for you?
4.What evidence is there that you have succeeded, and thus not been a "total failure?"
I don’t think of anyone who has had any type of cancer a failure. I don’t know anyone personally who has had breast cancer. My mom said one of her friends did, but that she only had one breast removed. I don’t know why I feel as if I’m a failure now that I have no boobs, but I do. I lived, I guess that’s how I succeeded and am not a total failure.
I wrote that down on a piece of paper to give to her at our next appointment. Today is my two-week follow up with my surgeon. I’m sitting in an exam room right now. My legs dangle off the edge as I sit in a paper gown. “The open part goes in the front,” the medical assistant said before she left.
I hate these things. They’re not comfortable, and the slightest amount of sweat makes them stick to you. Also, I know having the opening in the front gives the doctor better access, but I really hate it.
Why It's Called a Goodbye Page 21