by Willow Rose
"Okay put him through."
I blinked a couple of times while wondering why my family doctor would call me at my office. It had to be about Heather. It could only be. Three more days had passed and she still wasn't feeling any better. The cough was horrible and the fever wouldn't come down. I didn't know how much she was drinking, if she was taking pills, or if she was in fact really very sick. She had gone to see Dr. Harris once again the day before, so why was he calling me now?
"Hello. Dr. Langaa?"
"Yes?" I answered feeling slightly nervous.
"Dr. Harris here."
"What can I do for you?"
Dr. Harris sighed. An alarm went off in my head. It didn't sound good. I had known the doctor almost eight years now ever since he had become our family physician. I had never heard him sigh like that.
"We need to talk," he said.
I leaned back in my chair. The leather squeaked. "What about?"
"I can't do this on the phone. I need you to come in. I need both of you to come in. Leave William at home. Just the two of you."
I swallowed hard. This was serious. "Okay. When?" My voice was trembling.
"As soon as possible. Preferably sometime today. I have instructed my secretary to make room for you in my schedule at any time today."
My heart almost stopped. This couldn't be good. "Okay. We will be there as soon as possible."
With a heavily beating heart I drove home to pick up Heather and take her to Dr. Harris’ office. She was feeling a little better I was happy to determine. She was even smiling and talking animatedly with the secretary at Dr. Harris's office as we entered. She had lost a lot of weight I realized with worry as I took off her long coat.
"The doctor can see you right away," the secretary said. "Just go in."
To the day I die I shall never forget the look on Dr. Harris' face when we entered his office. The sadness in his brown eyes, the downward facing mouth, the long pauses he made between the words before he finally said what he was about to tell us.
"Heather," he said and exhaled deeply.
She sat nervously at the edge of the chair. For once she actually seemed sober, but I couldn't tell half of the time anymore. She had become so good at hiding it for me that I suspected her to be somewhat sedated most of the time anyway.
The doctor paused too long. My heart was hammering in my chest. Heather nodded to show him she was listening. Every now and then she looked at me with a scared look in her eyes. Sedated or not she knew this was serious. I smiled and put my hand in hers. We hadn't held hands in many years. I squeezed hers hoping it would bring her some comfort knowing I was there. Knowing I would be there for her no matter what.
The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. "I guess there is no easy way to say this," he said. "Especially to people you know so well."
"Is it about my cough?" Heather asked. "I know it’s bad. And the fever as well. But I do feel better today, I really do. I haven't been good to myself lately. I guess my body has trouble coping with it all. I will make sure and be better at ...”
The doctor lifted his hand to stop her. "I am afraid it is a little more complicated than that," he said heavily.
"What is it, doctor? Just tell us," I said.
"I had my suspicions when you were here the first time, Heather. When I first heard your cough, but I didn't want to believe it. I ran some tests and got the answers today."
"So you didn't know yesterday when I was in here?" Heather asked.
"No. My suspicion grew stronger once you told me the fever and cough was back and this morning when I received the results what I feared the most was confirmed."
I swallowed hard and held Heather's hand tight in mine.
"I am afraid you have PCP," he said. "That's why you're coughing."
My heart stopped instantly. The shock made me let go of Heather's hand. "PCP?” I asked. "But that ... but that only ..."
The doctor nodded with his eyes closed. Then he opened them and looked at Heather. "PCP is a fungal infection of the lungs. The symptoms include fever, a non-productive cough, shortness of breath, weight loss and night sweats. The fungus can invade other organs such as the liver, spleen and kidney, but only in a minority of cases."
"But are you telling me that ..." I began but the doctor interrupted me.
"Yes. Yes I am afraid that I am. PCP is commonly associated with AIDS, yes."
The shock knocked the air out of me. "AIDS? But how ... how is that possible?" My voice was strident.
I looked at Heather. She was frozen, merely staring at the doctor while tears were rolling down her cheeks.
"As I said I had my suspicions since I had seen this kind of lung infection once before in a patient, so I took a blood-sample and had them run a HIV test." The doctor pulled out a piece of paper from Heather's file and put it on the desk in front of us.
Heather looked at it and then back at the doctor waiting for an explanation.
"It came back positive. I am so sorry."
Heather's hands were shaking. I had a hard time breathing. This couldn't be. How could it? So many questions, so many things I didn't understand.
"Am I going to die?" Heather asked.
I held my breath as I turned and looked at the doctor. He swallowed hard. Then he took out another piece of paper from the journal. "Your CD4 cells are lower than 200," he said and showed me the number on the paper from the laboratory.
"CD4?" Heather said shrieking. "What does that even mean?"
I reached for her hand but she didn't let me take it. I looked at her while I spoke. I felt like screaming. Explaining this to my wife had to be the most difficult situation in my life. "It means your immune system is not working right and you might get all kinds of infections. Like the lung infection you have now and the rash. Things that people normally don't get, if they have a normal immune system working as it should," I said. I sighed again. "It also means you have full-fledged AIDS."
"So am I going to die or what? Why won't anyone answer me that? How long do I have? Please just tell me I have more time."
I looked at the doctor. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face again.
"No one knows," I said. "But one of these infections might ... kill you eventually." I felt tears piling up in my eyes and I let them out. No reason to keep them back any longer. The mother of my child was sick, my wife was very, very sick.
"Isn't there anything I can take? Can't I be treated for this?" She asked.
The doctor nodded. "We will begin a treatment with AZT right away. But I have to advise you to start putting your finances in order, if you don't have a will, then consider making one and start making arrangements for your funeral.
Heather froze again. She was paler than ever. "What? Make arrangements for what?"
The doctor nodded but didn't repeat his statement. It was something he had to say, I knew that. In reality Heather could have anything from a few months to several years left. The doctor didn't know but he had to advise people to make their final arrangements in case it happened sooner than expected.
"What about that AZT. Can't that help me?" Heather was crying hysterically now. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. I moved my chair closer to hers and put my arm around her shoulder. She pushed it away. "I don't need this now, Chris," she hissed. "I don't want your pity."
I exhaled deeply and moved away from her.
"AZT is still very new, but clinical trials have shown it to be effective in many cases. Although AZT does not cure AIDS, it does slow the multiplication of the virus. That is all we can do now. I have to tell you that it does have some severe side effects; Anemia, heartburn, headaches, mood elevation, occasional numbness of the hands and feet, out-of-mind experiences, nausea, insomnia, and developed neuropathy, which has been known to create a deterioration of the nervous system. Also a lot of patients with AIDS suffer from anxiety attacks and severe depressions."
Heather scoffed. "Is that what I have to look forward to? Is that
it for me? Unbearable sickness the rest of my life?"
"I am afraid so, Heather." Dr. Harris sighed again. Then he looked at me. "But you also both know that this means we need to have you tested as well, Chris. Have you had any symptoms? Loss of appetite? Night sweats? Fever? Trouble sleeping? Any myalgia, muscle pain? Skin rashes?"
I swallowed hard. I had had all of these, but not for the reason the doctor thought. How was I supposed to explain that?
"You've had most of that," Heather suddenly said holding a hand to cover her mouth. "You hardly sleep anymore. Not in more than a month. You've had a fever at night remember? That night your eyes were all glowing from the fever. And you barely eat anything. Sarah told me yesterday that she was concerned about you because you didn't eat anything. Oh my God. I’ve given this to you, haven't I?"
I turned my head and looked at her. "What do you mean you’ve given it to me?" My stomach turned into a knot. The realization of what she had just told me hurt so bad it almost knocked me out. "You know where you got it from, don't you?" My blood was boiling with anger. It was like I had been living in a daze for years and finally saw everything clearly. The truth hit me like a hammer hit a nail. I was suddenly very much awake and saw everything in a burning clear light. I suspected when she came home with another man's scent on her, hell I might even have known it but refused to see it, refused to believe that she would do this to me, to our family, to William.
"You slept with someone else, didn't you?" I stood up feeling the blood rush through my veins. I held it back as much as I could. The anger, the rage, the years of repressed wrath caused by Heather's constant refusal to act like the mother and wife she was. Her insistence that became almost a quest to destroy everything I worked to build up. Destroy me and the family I thought we were. A quest she had now finally completed. "You cheated on me with someone who gave you ... who gave you this. Didn't you!"
Heather cowered in her chair. Dr. Harris searched his papers frantically. "I’ll just call for my nurse and she'll take that blood sample and then you can both be out of here to discuss ... whatever you need to sort out." He cleared his throat and called his nurse. I was so angry I felt the blood spurt out of my veins when she extracted the sample from my arm.
Chapter 15
"Who was he?"
The silence in the car on the way back to the house had been simply unbearable. I waited for the anger to settle a little, but it hadn't happened. It felt awful to be angry at someone who just had a death sentence read to them, but I couldn't control it. I was unable to hold it back any longer. I had to know.
Heather opened her bag, pulled out a small bottle and emptied it in one gulp. "I want to know who he was," I said. "I deserve to know. We had sex the day right after the charity, remember? If I have to die from this as well, then at least tell me who he was."
Heather avoided my eyes and glanced out the window.
I hit my hand hard on the steering wheel. "Tell me, Goddammit!"
Heather found a bottle of pills and opened it. Her hands were trembling almost causing her to miss her mouth when she ate the handful.
Then she sighed. "I don't know."
"What?" I couldn't believe it. "What do you mean you don't know?"
"It could have been anybody."
"What are you telling me Heather? There was more than one?"
She shrugged. "Sure. I know it's pathetic, but that's just me again being pathetic. You don't have to tell me. I know what I have become. I am not proud of it."
"So what you're telling me is that you've been having sex with several men?"
"Yes Chris. That is what I am telling you. I have been drunk, sedated by my pills going to clubs and being picked up by men and having unprotected sex with them."
"So you don't even know when this happened to you? When you got this?"
"No, I don't."
"But why Heather? Why? You have such a great life. We had such a wonderful life. You have everything you'd ever need, why would you want to ruin all that?"
I stopped the car in the driveway in front of the house and turned off the engine. I exhaled deeply and hid my face in my hands. I couldn't believe this was happening to us, to me and to William.
"Did I Chris?" Heather asked and opened the door. "Did I really have everything I needed?"
"You're damn right you had everything!" I slammed the door as I jumped out of the car following her. Heather stared at me with resentment as our eyes met in the driveway. Then she turned and walked towards the house. I grabbed her arm and forced her to look at me. "We had everything!" I yelled to her face. "Look around you. I tried to give you everything. The house you wanted, the cars you wanted, dresses that costs more than cars, jewelry fit for a European queen - even that vulgarly expensive couch in the living room that we never even use but you said we just had to have! I even made sure you had nannies taking care of our son so you wouldn't be overburdened. What more could you have possibly wanted?"
Heather stared at me intently. I felt such anger towards her for ruining our lives, ruining her own life, and especially William's. She pulled her arm free of my grip and walked a step closer. With a low hissing voice she said the words I will never forget:
"You, Chris. I never had you."
Shocked by the truth in her answer I took a step backwards in the driveway. "What do you mean by that?" I asked even though I knew the answer all too well.
Heather scoffed. "Remember how I was used to get everything I laid my eyes upon? Everything I wanted? Remember how no one ever was able to say no to me?" She paused not to wait for my answer but to make sure I got the message. I did. I did before she finished her sentence. It felt like someone had punched me in my stomach.
"Well no one except for you, Chris. I wanted you and granted I did get to marry you. But I could never get the only thing I ever wanted. I could never get you to love me. Not like you loved her. That is all I ever wanted in life. You to look at me the way you used to look at her."
Heather went straight for the bar in the living room when we got inside and poured a drink. I followed and stood right behind her as she emptied the glass without putting it down. Then she poured another one. I sighed deeply. I wanted to take all those bottles and throw them out the window. I wanted the alcohol and pills out of my life for good. I felt so guilty for not having stopped her when there was still time. Now that I realized how much she struggled to get me to love her I felt a heavy weight on my shoulders as well. I had a part in this too. I was just as responsible as she was for causing this. I could have stopped her, I should have gotten her help before it went this far. Before she ...
"Please leave me alone," she said with a low voice. Her back was still turned at me.
I put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry," I whispered. "I am sorry I haven't been a good enough husband for you. I tried my best. I really tried."
Heather drank again. "Well I guess I learned my lesson," she said. "I thought I could make you love me."
"I did love you. I still do."
Heather emptied her glass before she turned and looked at me. "Just not the way you love her," she said.
I had no answer for that. She was right. I had loved Aiyana in a special way. I still did love her, but Heather was my wife and I was not ready to give up.
"You made it so easy for me, Chris," she said as she turned her head to face the window again. "It was so easy for me to just give up. Nobody needed me. Not William. Not you."
"We all needed you. We still do!" I said.
"No, you don't." Heather grabbed another bottle and lifted it with the intent to pour herself another drink. I pulled it out of her hand and put it back on the table. Our eyes met.
"No more of this," I said. "We need to figure out what to do now."
Heather snorted and grabbed the bottle again. "That's where you and I are different, Chris. I need this more than ever now."
"No. We need to figure out what to do. I need you to be sober. We need to figure out what to tell W
illiam. When to tell him, if we should tell him anything. We need to start you on medicine and get you the best treatment possible. Drinking alcohol will only make your immune system weaker and make you more receptive to diseases."
Heather shook her head and pulled the bottle close to her body like she was hugging it. "This is all I need right now," she said and turned away from me. I was on the verge of panic.
"No!" I yelled. "I am not giving up on you now! This is not over yet. We can fight this. I know we can."
Heather spun around and looked at me. "There is a huge difference between you and me now, Chris. You still belong to the world of the living and therefore think like someone who actually has a future. I don't."
Then she turned around and left me. I was alone.
Chapter 16
I was sitting on the thick carpet in the hallway outside the bedroom door when William returned from school with Sarah. I had been crying and hid my face in my arms as I heard him calling for me.
"Far? Far?"
I didn't answer. I had dreaded this moment when I was to stand face to face with my son and tell him his mother was ill and would probably die. I still remember when my own father told me my mother had cancer. Every little detail is etched in my memory. My dad was wearing an ugly brown cardigan; the smell of Goulash was coming from the stove making me nauseous. That sensation still returns whenever I smell it. My dad had a small crumb of bread in his moustache when he spoke the word. Cancer. It caused it to vibrate as it followed the movements of the upper-lip. I wondered if it was going to drop off. My dad smelled like cigarettes and coffee ... and cheese. He had just finished a piece of bread with cheese before I entered the kitchen. The clock on the wall made a loud ticking sound in the background. It was seven minutes past four on a Tuesday afternoon. Nothing about this day had seemed special on my way home from school. It had been just as cold and rainy as always and my trousers were wet from the puddles I had ridden through on my bike. I was still wearing my backpack when my world at once dissolved by that one word "cancer" in my kitchen which had so many fond memories from my childhood. The same place I had sung songs with my mother while she played the guitar for me, the same place she had put a Band-Aid on my scraped knee and wiped my tears away with her hands. The same place we had laughed till the tears rolled down our cheeks and cried when my grandmother died, while holding each other's hands and talking about how much she had meant to us. In there, in that same kitchen my life was forever changed and after that nothing was ever the same again.