What's Left of Me

by Maxlyn, Amanda

  Scooting closer to me, he speaks calmly. “Aundrea, listen to me. You do not look like a damn freak. You’re beautiful, and I want to take my girlfriend out and celebrate her being done with her cancer treatment. Now, please, let me take you out?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s it,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me off the couch.

  “What?”

  “We’re going out, one way or another.” He leads me into the master bath.

  “What are you doing?”

  He ignores me, opens the medicine cabinet, and pulls out hair clippers.

  “Parker …”

  Still ignoring me, he turns it on and brings it to his head, causing me to scream out, “What are you doing!”

  He doesn’t answer. I watch as he buzzes his beautiful blond locks. My eyes are wide with shock when I see him work so intently at removing all his hair.

  Once it’s buzzed down to the scalp, he turns it off, putting it away.

  “Now,” he looks at my eyes in the mirror, “You’re going to shave my head.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  I start to back away, shaking my head as I do. “I’m not shaving your head, Parker.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” He reaches out, grabbing my arm and pulling me back into the bathroom.

  “I’m not going to spend the next month cooped up in this apartment because you can’t face the world. Your hair is just a small part of who you are, Aundrea. I don’t want to see you hiding behind that mask anymore. Let it go. Strip it off.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “No?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  Grabbing my hands, he clasps our fingers together. “You don’t need to be someone you’re not. Haven’t you learned that? Stop being scared and face the world. I know you’re not in remission yet, but who can say they have been through cancer twice and beaten it? Confront the world, Aundrea. You’re alive. Be proud of the strong woman you are and stop hiding behind your wig.”

  Tears fill my eyes. I know he’s right. I put on this big act of not wanting people to see the real me, but who is the real me? I am a strong woman. I am someone who doesn’t want to be scared of the past or future. I want to take things as they come and face them head-on. I should be proud that I have someone who is willing to do that with me.

  I am proud.

  Filling his hands with foam, he doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “I want you to do it. I want you to shave it and see that I’m still me. I want you to see me how I see you.”

  “Parker …”

  “Baby.” He moves to stand in front of me. “From here on out, whatever you go through affects me. You are a part of me. Let me help you. Allow me to go through this with you. I want to take each step with you. Let me.”

  A single tear falls down my cheek. I’ve never been this emotional, but introduce a man to my life and I become a puddle.

  “It’s only hair, Aundrea. It will grow back. Didn’t you say that once?”

  “Yes, but it’s not just that. Look at me!”

  “I am. I see a beautiful woman standing before me and I can’t wait to show her off.”

  “Par—”

  “Shh … No one is going to look at you. They’re going to be looking at me and thinking, ‘Damn how did that guy get so lucky?’” He teases.

  I laugh, snorting at the sudden outburst.

  Pulling me into a hug, he kisses the top of my head. “See, there is the laugh I love so much. Now, come on, shave my head. Please.”

  Filling the sink with water, I watch as he finishes lathering his head. When it’s fully covered, I dip the razor in the water getting it wet. Slowly I begin to shave away the remaining hair.

  I can’t stop fidgeting. My hands have smoothed over my bald head numerous times since leaving Parker’s place.

  “Stop doing that.” Reaching over he takes my hand, holding it firmly in his.

  “I can’t stop.”

  “You look fine. If anyone should be self-conscious, it’s me. I have a big head and this five o’ clock shadow sticks out like a sore thumb.”

  “I happen to think you look delectable.”

  “Delectable?” he asks, looking over at me with his hands securely on the wheel.

  “Yes.”

  “Just how delectable?”

  “Very.”

  “So much so that you want me to pull over?”

  I laugh.

  “I’m serious. The back seat may be small, but I’m sure we can make it work.”

  “Just drive, lover boy.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows up and down, causing me to laugh more.

  When we pull into The Palace, Parker leads the way as he gives the hostess his name and she brings us to the back patio. It has a wood canopy with twinkling lights covering every inch, large pots of mums at the edges, and scattered tables with large black cushions. There is a tall stone fireplace and three tall heaters. For being outside, the patio is rather hot.

  “Your server will be right with you.” The hostess gives me a sad smile before turning away. I can feel the pounding in my chest getting stronger, and my breathing picking up.

  “You’re okay.” His hand reaches for mine from across the table.

  “I can’t do this, Parker. It’s too much too soon.”

  “You can. It’s okay. Take a deep breath and let it out.”

  I do.

  “That’s it. Slowly.”

  I do as I’m told over and over again until I feel myself relax and my heart slow down.

  “They’re looking at me,” I whisper.

  I can feel their eyes on me. On my head. My face. Even on Parker.

  “No, they’re not.” He pauses, looking around the patio. “Everyone is engaged in conversation. No one is paying us any attention.”

  “Hi! Can I get you two anything to drink?” The waitress chirps.

  “I’ll have a Bud Light. Aundrea?”

  “Oh, how about a glass of Moscato, please?”

  “Coming right up.” Her smile reaches her eyes as she looks directly at me.

  “I love it here,” he says, looking around at the leafless trees lining the outer patio.

  “It’s a beautiful place,” I agree.

  “Have you thought about what you want to do now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, are you going to come back to the clinic?”

  “I don’t know. I thought about going back to school full-time. Picking up more classes toward my astrophysics major.”

  “Here, or with Jean?”

  I haven’t given that much thought. If I stay here, I can see Parker and be close to Genna. Or, I can go to school a little over an hour away and do what my plan was all along. But, then again, this is Jean’s last year, so I’d only get one semester with her.

  “I don’t know. Maybe here.”

  “Because you want to or for other reasons?”

  “Both.”

  It’s the truth. I feel I’ve finally found where I am supposed to be in the world. Right here.

  With Parker.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dr. Olson called, requesting an appointment to discuss the recent scans I had in the hospital and the heart tests with Dr. James. She wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone except that it was important, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what that means. I have learned over the years that if a doctor asks you to come in without telling you why, it’s not good. Mark my words.

  I got the call while I was talking with Mom on the phone, so, of course, she panicked and told me I was not allowed to make my appointment without her being there. She said she would do whatever it took to rearrange her work schedule so she could be with me.

  I told Parker about the phone call and the appointment. He told me he would reorder his surgery schedule to come with me, but I urged him to keep it. He’s already rearranged his schedule so much, and I don’t want h
im to lose patients. When he told me it was okay and that they would understand, I demanded he stay. I assured him multiple times I would call him as soon as I was out, so he reluctantly agreed.

  The morning of my appointment, my mom paces the house, cleaning anything in sight. When it comes time to leave, I’m afraid she is going to chew her nails right off, but I, surprisingly, don’t feel as nervous as I probably should.

  The office is located in the heart of Minneapolis and has the worst parking known to man. It takes me ten minutes to find a spot every time, then another ten to get into the building because I had to park a mile away.

  By the time I get called back into Dr. Olson’s office, I’ve already drunk an entire bottle of water and flipped through the latest People magazine, twice. My mom follows so close behind me that I swear if I stopped mid-stride she’d run right into my back, tumbling us both straight to the ground.

  When we are brought into Dr. Olson’s office, I’m surprised to see her already there, along with Dr. James.

  “Aundrea. Donna.” Dr. Olson nods at us both.

  “Hello,” we reply together.

  “Please, sit.” She motions toward the two chairs across from her desk.

  Sitting up tall and wiping my now-sweaty palms on my jeans, I take deep, calming breaths to help with nerves that weren’t there before.

  Dr. Olson looks down at the chart lying open on her desk. She glances back up at me and I can see it in her eyes—the sadness in them. I’ve learned over the last four years how to read her. When there’s good news, you can see the sparkle and glee in her eyes. When she’s sad, or upset, she has the look she’s giving me right now. Deep down, in my gut, I know the words that are about to come out of her mouth will be life-changing.

  “Just give it to me straight.”

  My mom reaches over, taking my hand into hers and squeezing it. I give her one quick squeeze back, but don’t hold her grip.

  Dr. Olson lets out a soft sigh and nods her head. “I want to point out first that the PET scan and all your labs show that the stem cell transplant is doing well. Your markers are clean and there is no sign of Hodgkin’s. It’s only been a few weeks and I won’t say anything about remission until you are clear for six months. Dr. James has been following your other scans closely, along with your blood pressure, which is why I’ve asked him to join us today.”

  “Okay,” I say hesitantly. I give Dr. James my full attention.

  “Aundrea, your tests came back showing that your heart is becoming abnormally large. The echocardiogram shows that you’ve developed something called cardiomyopathy, which can also be induced by tachycardia, an increase in your heart rate. It’s a serious side effect of long-term chemotherapy. It’s not something anyone can predict, and it usually doesn’t show up until months after you’ve finished chemo. Based on what I’ve seen in the tests we’ve already done, I’d say you’ve had some form of it for a while, and are just now getting symptoms.”

  “What exactly is this card-my-othy?” My mom’s voice shakes.

  “It’s a weakening of the heart muscle. There are different types, but based on our tests, Aundrea has what is known as dilated cardiomyopathy. This is where the heart becomes too large, starting in one ventricle and moving into other chambers as the disease worsens. It eventually makes pumping blood extremely difficult, putting a lot of strain on your heart. This explains the shortness of breath she’s been having, the high blood pressure, and the rapid pulse.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mom wipe her face. She sniffs beside me, wiping her nose before asking, “So, what now? Surgery?”

  What now? This isn’t the first time I’ve heard these words. What now?

  I’m tired of hearing them.

  I’m tired of feeling weak.

  I’m tired of being sick.

  I’m tired of hurting.

  I’m tired of being a pincushion for the latest set of nursing students or prospective doctors.

  I’m tired of the scans, the tests, and the hospitals.

  I’m tired of all the What nows.

  I’m over it.

  Dr. Olson looks at me, not Mom. She gives me unspoken words of support. I understand now the reason behind her presence here. She knows I trust her and value her opinion. She knows my family can get overly emotional and sometimes miss valuable information. She’s my second set of ears.

  Dr. James takes a deep breath. “Aundrea, I’m going to be very honest with you. Eventually, down the road, you may need surgery on your heart. How far? I can’t tell you. A year; maybe longer. My job right now is to control your symptoms with medication.”

  I hear my mom’s soft cries and reach over, taking her hand in mine, trying to give her some comfort. It’s strange how I always seem to be the one to comfort my family.

  “I’m sorry. This is … just a lot to take in, so forgive me if my questions come out scattered or incoherent. Is this something that you fix with just medication or surgery, and then everything is okay?” I question.

  The doctor continues, “This disease is most often not curable. The way it’s treated is symptomatic. We look at what you’re experiencing and the results of the tests on your heart. Based on the tests we’ve done so far on you, your heart is in early stages of cardiomyopathy. You will need to be on heart medication for the rest of your life.”

  “Okay, now I’m really confused,” I say. “Why are you mentioning surgery if this isn’t curable?”

  “Because over time the heart can become overly large, putting a lot of strain on your body as well as weakening the muscle. Your heart valves can thicken and become narrow, making it extremely difficult to pump blood through your body. Our goal with medication is to keep that from progressing. Surgery won’t cure it, but it will reduce the risks of heart failure. A small percentage of patients are treated successfully with medication alone, and are eventually able to go off the meds while being monitored very closely. I will do everything I can to try and get you to that point.”

  My mom doesn’t speak; she just continues to cry softly in her chair. I squeeze her hand, letting her know everything is okay.

  I thought I was done with it all. Chemo is done. My transplant is over. My markers are low, and my blood counts are great. I thought the surgeries, medication, and tests were going to be over with. I want them to be over with.

  I need to be done with it all.

  Nothing is ever as it seems.

  “What happens if the medication doesn’t work?”

  “Your heart will become weaker, potentially causing you to go into cardiac arrest. But you will be closely monitored to prevent it from getting to that point.”

  My mom’s cries become a little louder.

  “If we have to do surgery, where does that leave me?” So many questions are bouncing around inside my head that I’m not even sure I am making any sense or getting them all out.

  “I simply can’t answer that right now. There is no way of knowing the condition of your heart in the future.”

  Not letting him add more, I interrupt raising my voice a little, “Hypothetically speaking, what happens? What have you seen?”

  “Every patient is different. There is no way of knowing how your heart will tolerate the medication. You may be okay with just that, or, over time your heart may become too weak, necessitating that I go in and open the valves back up, or place a stent. If I can’t repair that damage, then, based on what I see at that time, we’ll have to look into other options. Worst case scenario, you go into cardiac arrest, and we have to look into bypass surgery. At this point, I can’t tell you what will happen, or even if you’ll ever need surgery.”

  Cardiac arrest.

  I have gone through hell and back. I have survived cancer—twice. But I can’t survive this.

  “This won’t be easy, Aundrea.”

  When has life ever been easy?

  “Will the medication be enough? I don’t know. I hope so. My job right now is to keep your heart from going into
failure.”

  Failure. “Failure?”

  “Aundrea, with dilated cardiomyopathy, you are at a high risk of going into heart failure, which is why it’s very important we start you on medication and monitor you very closely to make sure it’s working properly.”

  “Fucking great,” I mumble.

  “Aundrea!” my mother yells from the chair next to me.

  “I know this is a lot to take in, Aundrea, but Dr. James isn’t telling you you’re going to go into heart failure. He’s simply giving you all the worst case scenarios. Maybe we should all take a moment to breathe,” Dr. Olson offers.

  “I think that is—”

  “No. I don’t want a break. I just want to hear this right now.” I speak over my mom. “I’m tired of breaks. What happens if—when—I go into heart failure? Are you saying I may have a heart attack?”

  “Not necessarily, no. I’m saying that eventually your heart may start working overtime, causing major stress on it, as well as your body. Which, in turn, causes your heart to slowly, over time, shut down. What happens then? Well, you may need a permanent device implanted in your heart, like a pacemaker or, as I said a minute ago, you might need bypass surgery. Yes, you are at risk of having a heart attack, but that is what we are trying to prevent. We are trying to prevent all of this.”

  I swear under my breath. I can handle being told I have cancer. I’ve been told it before and I know how to deal with it. I’ve beaten it before; I can do it again. I was prepared for that news today. But this? This is something I never imagined.

  “I need time to process all of this.” I start to stand.

  “Excuse me?” Dr. James asks.

  “I can’t sit here. I was prepared to be told my cancer was back. Not this. I can’t think clearly. I need to get out of here. I’m sorry.”

  “Aundrea, I think it’s important that you sit back down and hear everything Dr. James has to say.”

  “Aundrea, you said you didn’t want a break. Let’s discuss this, okay?” my mom says, pulling on my hand to get me to sit back down

  Did I not make myself clear? “I’m entitled to change my mind! I am tired of people telling me what to do and where to go.”