I didn’t care.
After I had changed into the gown, the nurse came back. She double checked to make sure I was Brooke Crawford and confirmed my date of birth. I still wasn’t used to having a new last name since I had only a few months with it. I had to change everything when Easton and I married, and received medical insurance cards with my new name.
Just in time for this bullshit.
“Dr. Feldman will be here in a few minutes to explain what he’ll be doing today.” The nurse started to leave the room.
“I don’t need an IV?”
“No, we’ll give you a lidocaine injection once you’re on the CT machine and you’ll be good to go.”
“Last time they gave me a sedative.”
“Why? Did you panic?”
Yeah, I panicked when I felt the fucking needle go in! “They did it before the biopsy.”
“Some hospitals do. We don’t. The lidocaine will numb you so you don’t feel anything.”
I shook my head slightly to disagree with her. “I still felt it last time, and they had to give me more.”
“Really?” She tilted her head slightly. “Usually patients don’t feel anything.”
I nodded. “It was because it was a desmoid tumor and they were having a hard time getting a sample.”
“I’ve never heard of a desmoid tumor. I’ll let Dr. Feldman know, and he’ll talk to you more about it.”
I nodded to her again, and she left. My gaze turned to Easton, and I shook my head, not believing that this was all happening.
“It will be okay, baby.” He brushed his thumb along the back of my hand.
The doctor came in a few minutes later, and introduced himself to both of us. “Nurse Abbie said you had a desmoid tumor biopsied last time?”
I snickered. “Well, they tried. They weren’t able to get a sample because it was too hard.”
He sat in front of me. “I was just reading about desmoid tumors. I’ve never heard of them before.”
I stared at him. The doctor that biopsied tumors for a living hadn’t heard of a desmoid tumor before? Great! “After my last surgery, they told me it was a rare tumor that is known to grow back.”
“I read that too. And I reviewed your scan and the report. They aren’t certain if it’s a mass or scar tissue. Whatever it is, I’ll make sure to get enough sample to test.” He looked to Easton and then me. “If you two don’t have any questions, I’ll have Nurse Abbie bring you back.”
I looked to Easton, and he shook his head. “Nope. Let’s get this over with.”
This hospital was totally different from the last. Unlike the time before, I walked into the room with the CT scanner. I wasn’t wheeled in on a bed and helped to lay face down on the machine. Instead, I walked in and laid on the machine myself. At least this time I didn’t feel helpless.
“Are you ready, sweetie?” Nurse Abbie asked.
I nodded my head that was turned on the pillow. I wasn’t in a comfortable position. I was laying on my stomach, my head turned to the side and my arms stretched above it.
As she untied the top of the gown from the back, she spoke, “Great. Dr. Feldman will be in just a second to administer the lidocaine. It will burn for a few seconds, and then he’ll bring you back, line you up and mark your back before he starts the biopsy. He may need to get a scan of the area a few times to make sure he’s in the right spot.”
It was then that I realized the doctor never told me what he was going to do. I mean, it wasn’t new to me but a desmoid tumor was new to him and that probably distracted him.
“Okay,” I replied. I just wanted it over with.
Dr. Feldman came in a minute or so later. He patted my shoulder. “I’m going to do the lidocaine now.”
I nodded and closed my eyes. The needle pricked my skin like I was being stung by a bee. It wasn’t too bad until fire radiated the entire area. When they say it burns, it fucking burns. I grimaced, trying to wait out the pain.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I choked out, the pain dissipating.
“Great. I’m going to pull the table back and line you up.”
I didn’t move, didn’t open my eyes as I waited for him to get started.
“Now I’m going to insert the needle for the biopsy. Let me know if you feel anything.”
I swallowed, feeling a needle poke me on the inside. I tensed and held my breath.
“Brooke, you okay?”
“I … I can feel it.”
“Let’s get you some more lidocaine.”
Just like the time before, fire burned my shoulder blade area. It fucking sucked.
“Let’s try this again,” he said.
I still felt it. “Still hurts.”
“Let’s do some more lidocaine. This usually doesn’t happen, so we didn’t bring enough in with us. Give us a few minutes while Nurse Abbie gets more.”
“Not like I can leave, doc.” I chuckled and cracked one eye open to look at him.
“True, and it does feel like the mass is hard.”
“Is scar tissue hard?” I asked, hoping he’d say yes.
“No, it’s not.”
A lump formed in my throat, tears pricked my eyes, and I held them tight, trying to keep my emotions at bay. It was happening again, and I knew it. I fucking knew it.
I heard Nurse Abbie come back in, but I didn’t care. I wanted to go home, crawl into bed and never leave.
“Here’s some more lidocaine,” Dr. Feldman said.
I tensed as it burned again. I was living in a nightmare I never thought would end.
“I’m going to do some more and then just go for it to get a sample. You might still feel it, but we’ve given you a lot of lidocaine already.”
“Okay,” I breathed. What else could I do? Pain was temporary, right?
The injection singed its way through my shoulder again, and all I wanted to do was cry. Instead, I took a deep breath and felt Dr. Feldman insert the hollow needle again. At first, I only felt pressure until he hit the tumor. More radiating pain shot out from my shoulder blade and my entire body stiffened.
“Just hang in there,” he said. “I’m going to quickly bring the table back, and get the scan to make sure I’m in the right spot before I get the sample.”
I wanted to tell him he was in the right spot. I could feel it, and I could feel life laughing at me again.
The table moved back, and I stayed still. I heard the door close and assumed everyone had left because of the radiation that would occur once they started the scan. After a few seconds, I was instructed to hold my breath a few times and then Dr. Feldman came back.
“We’re in the right spot. Let’s get the sample.”
The table moved back to the original spot, and I didn’t move. I just wanted it all to be over with because I couldn’t believe this was happening again.
There was a clicking noise, pressure, and a sharp pain. I choked back my tears. I didn’t need to wait until the biopsy report came back.
I knew without a doubt I had another tumor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Easton
The moment I saw Brooke’s face, I knew.
I knew she had another tumor. I wanted to tell her that we couldn’t know for sure until we heard from Dr. Bloom. Except by looking at her, I knew she was able to get information before they tested whatever it was they tested.
I was starting to get worried that the biopsy was taking too long until a nurse came out and told me that she was in recovery and would be there for at least an hour. Unlike the hospital in Boston, they didn’t let me go see her, sit with her or anything. I hated it, and I could only imagine what she was going though alone.
“She’s ready to go home,” a nurse said as she wheeled Brooke in a wheelchair toward me. I went to switch places with the nurse, but she waved me off. “I’ll bring her outside, and we’ll wait for you to bring your car around.”
“I can walk,” Brooke confirmed.
“I have to stay with you until you’re in your car. It’s policy.”
“I’ll bring the car around.” I kissed the top of Brooke’s head, and she nodded. Then I quickly walked to the garage to get our car. After pulling in front of the hospital, the nurse and I helped Brooke into the front seat, and then I slid into the driver’s side and we left.
Lacing our fingers together, I held her hand. The car was silent as I drove home. On the tip of my tongue was the question I wanted answers to. I wanted to confirm if I knew what happened during the biopsy. “You feeling okay?” I asked instead.
Still staring out the passenger side window she whispered, “Yeah.”
Fuck it. “So what happened?”
She finally turned her head and looked at me. “I have another tumor.”
My chest clenched at the confirmation. “How do you know?”
“Biopsy was the same as last time. It took him awhile to get the sample, and he said it was hard or dense—whatever.”
“Did it hurt this time?”
She snickered. “Like a bitch. I’m not sure what was worse, all the lidocaine injections or the actual biopsy.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” I kissed the back of her hand. “But we aren’t one-hundred percent sure yet.”
She took a deep breath. “I know, Easton. I know. Dr. Feldman said scar tissue is soft. This wasn’t soft—again. Again!” she snapped.
“I get it. I just don’t like you hurting.”
“It is what it is.”
I stole a glance over to her and saw that a tear had started to roll down her cheek. I groaned, not liking the entire situation. “Please don’t cry. I don’t like that I can’t fix this.”
“I’ll just deal with it when Dr. Bloom calls me with the bad news.”
“We’ll deal with it,” I countered. “Just like the first time around. This time at least we’re in the same house from the beginning and not me having to go back and forth for a few weeks. I can take care of you every day.”
More tears streamed down her face. “Let’s not tell anyone until Dr. Bloom calls.”
“Whatever you want to do, but you know everyone will be supportive.”
“As soon as they know, they’ll ask me how I’m feeling—how I’m doing—if I’m in pain. I want a day or so before I get hounded.”
“They only do it because they care.”
“I just—I just don’t want to deal with this.”
Neither of us did.
Our phones didn’t stop blowing up that night. People weren’t asking if we knew if it was a tumor or scar tissue. Why would they assume we knew? They were asking how Brooke was feeling and I suspected they were asking her the same thing. Every time her phone went off, she would groan and text something back. I didn’t say anything. Instead, I tried to act as if it was just another Monday night. I went to Cheyenne’s softball practice, came home and had dinner, and then Brooke and I watched TV together while Cheyenne did her homework.
Now we were all in bed, and I was wide awake. I knew Brooke was too because it was as if I could hear the thoughts running through her head. I wanted to reach in her head, take them all out and throw them across the dark room. Women were all the same. They all overthought shit. The only time they didn’t think and just felt was when they were fucking.
I knew what I needed to do, and only if it were for an hour or so.
Brooke’s back was to me, and I rolled onto my side toward her. Running my hand along her arm, my fingertips traced lazy circles. She didn’t move. We didn’t say anything. It was late. I was tired. But I loved my wife more than I loved sleep. She needed this. She needed to relax, to forget and to know I would be here no matter what.
My gentle touch turned into pressure, and I started to massage her neck. I could feel the tension beneath my fingertips as my hand worked to relieve her stress.
“Let me help you.”
“How?” she asked.
“Think about me. Think about the way my hands feel on you. My mouth, my tongue. Forget everything except me.”
“How can I forget?”
“Concentrate on how I’m about to make you feel.”
She turned over onto her back and looked at me. “You can’t be serious.”
I rose up and hovered above her. “I’m dead serious. I want to take the pain away.” I touched her chest where her heart was beating. She may not be in physical pain like before, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t hurting.
Brooke stared at me for long seconds as we looked at each other in the dimly lit room. “Then kiss me,” she finally said.
I didn’t hesitate. My mouth connected with hers and it was all I could do not to rush things. There wasn’t a question in my mind that I would never stop wanting her—needing her—we just had to get over this little bump in the road.
And I was going to start by making love to my wife.
During the day the air was warm, but at night it was still crisp. It was good because our final softball game would be over before the humidity stuck to you like a chick in heat.
Our team placed first for the season, and therefore, played the earlier game of our doubleheader. We won, of course, and even though we had a later game that would run past Cheyenne’s bedtime, I still allowed her to stay. This was for the trophy, and seeing the look in her eye when she saw me play was one of the best feelings in the world. She looked up to me, and it wasn’t only because I was her father.
I was her hero.
Another reason I was looking forward to our season ending was that Brooke was having surgery again. I enjoyed playing ball again, especially with Avery, but I didn’t like the thought of spending time away from Brooke when she needed me. My parents would check in on her while I was at work, and then I would be home in case she needed anything. Brooke was strong, and I knew she could care for herself, but it didn’t mean I wanted her to.
“How many home runs are you going to hit, Daddy?”
I chuckled and turned my head toward my daughter. The second game was about to end, and my team and I were waiting in the stands. “Five.”
Her eyes widened, and I saw Brooke stifle a laugh.
Hey, it could totally happen.
“Don’t let him fool you, C.C.” Avery shoved me slightly. “Your dad talks a big game.”
“Is that right?” I asked, grinning at him.
“Are you going to hit home runs, too?” Cheyenne asked him.
“Hell yeah.”
“Who’s talking a big game now?” I narrowed my eyes, challenging him to keep telling lies.
“What?” he asked. “I hit home runs.”
“Yeah, but not every game.” I shook my head and laughed.
“Who played college ball?” Avery challenged.
I was about to respond, telling him he knew damn well I should have played too. Instead, Brooke spoke, “All right you two. Just win tonight.”
“You don’t want me to hit a home run tonight?” I asked, knowing full well she knew what I was implying. I had a lot of action in my future.
“I’d be happy with a few triples.” She smirked.
“I don’t think we’re talking about baseball,” Nicole chimed in.
No, no we weren’t.
That night I hit a double, two triples and an over the fence home run. I had something to prove to my wife. We also had a championship to win.
And … We did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Brooke
When Dr. Bloom called with the news about my biopsy, he only confirmed what I knew. Given that I was in New York now, he referred me to Dr. Simon, a surgeon at the hospital I was becoming all too familiar with.
I still thought everything would be a repeat.
It wasn’t.
“I’ve reviewed your CT scans and the biopsy,” Dr. Simon said after he greeted Easton and me in the exam room. “I’ve also talked to Dr. Bloom in detail about your case.”
I nodded and looked to Easton, who sat in a chair across the small
room from me, and he smiled tightly at me.
Dr. Simon continued speaking, and my gaze moved back to him. “He told me exactly what he did during your last surgery, and we talked about desmoid tumors. I’ve never heard of those types of tumors before.”
My heart sank. Of course, he didn’t know what they were. No one did. I knew they were rare, but I just wanted to have the reassurance that someone knew what the fuck was going on.
“It’s rare,” I confirmed.
He smiled warmly. “That’s what I gathered. Needless to say, it needs to come out.”
“What about chemo?” I asked. I’d heard chemotherapy may shrink tumors.
“Dr. Bloom and I talked about all the options you may have available. He said that after your last surgery, your case was evaluated by the tumor review board and they suggested radiation—”
“But Dr. Bloom sent me to have a consultation with a chemo doctor. Why would he do that if this board suggested only radiation?” This was the first I’d heard my case was sent to a review board.
“It’s my understanding that it was reviewed after he sent you to those consultations.”
I shook my head. “No, the chemo doctor didn’t think chemo was the answer because I wanted children.” I wasn’t sure why I’d asked about chemo. I still wanted children. However, I didn’t want to keep going through surgery after surgery.
He looked to Easton and then back to me. “Do you still want children?”
If he only knew. I looked to Easton, and he gave me a reassuring smile. “Yeah,” I answered.
“Then chemo is still not the answer. We don’t want to pump you full of toxins that may be harmful to your future children.”
I felt like crying. I didn’t want chemo any more than Dr. Simon or Dr. Bloom wanted to prescribe it for me. I just wanted a baby.
“So more radiation?” Easton asked.
Dr. Simon turned to him. “No. Brooke has had her lifetime maximum exposure.”
“I have?” Again this was all new to me. It confused me because if I couldn’t have chemo or radiation, then what was the answer? Surgery every two years? I wanted to wake up from my nightmare.
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