Chapter 7
When Alex woke up the next day, there was a woman sitting in the chair, waiting for her, and the nurse was changing her intravenous. There was relatively little pain, just as Dr. Herman had said, but there was a weight on her heart the size of Hoover Dam as she remembered what had happened.
The woman smiled at her, she was wearing a flowered dress and she had gray hair, and Alex had no idea who she was as she watched her.
“Hi, I'm Alice Ayres. I thought I'd come to see how you're doing.” She had a warm smile and lively blue eyes and she looked old enough to be Alex's mother. Alex tried to sit up, but that was hard, and instead the nurse raised her bed, so she could talk to the woman who'd come to see her.
“Are you a nurse?”
“No, just a friend. I'm a volunteer. I know just what you're going through, Mrs. Parker. Or may I call you Alexandra?”
“Alex.” She stared at her, unable to comprehend what the woman was doing there. Alex's breakfast arrived then, but she told the nurse she didn't want it. It was all soft diet after surgery but all she wanted was a cup of coffee.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Mrs. Ayres said to her as Alex waved her breakfast tray away. “You need your strength and plenty of nutrition.” She was a little like the Fairy Godmother in “Cinderella.” “How about some oatmeal?”
“I hate hot cereal,” Alex said, sounding belligerent, and staring at the older woman. “Who are you and why are you here?” It was all very surrealistic.
“I'm here because I've had the same operation that you did. I know what it's like, and how you feel, probably better than most people do, maybe even your husband. I know how angry you are and how scared you are, and how shocked, and how you feel about the way you'll look. I've had reconstructive surgery,” she explained, handing Alex her cup of coffee. “I'd be happy to show it to you, if you like. It looks pretty good, in fact, it's very good. I don't think most people would know I'd had a breast removed. Would you like to see it?” Alex thought that sounded disgusting.
“I'd rather not, thanks.” Dr. Herman had already explained that she could have an implant put in, and her remaining nipple either “shared” with the other breast, or an artificial one tattooed on the implant. The whole thing sounded horrible, and not worth the trouble. She was wrecked anyway. Why not just leave it? “Why did you come and see me? Who asked you to?”
“Your surgeon put you on the list for visits from our support group. Eventually, you might want to join us for a group, or talk to some of the women about their experiences. It can be very helpful.”
“I don't think so.” Alex glared at her, wishing she would leave, but not wanting to say it. “Pd rather not discuss this with strangers.”
“I understand.” Alice Ayres stood up, smiling gently. “It's not an easy time. And I'm sure you're worried about chemo. We can answer some of those questions too, but so can your doctor. We have a men's group too, if your husband is interested.” She put a little booklet next to Alex's bed, and Alex ignored it.
“I don't think my husband is interested either.” Sam go to a group of husbands of women who lost their breasts to cancer? Not likely. “Thanks anyway.”
“You take care, Alex. I'll be thinking about you,” she said gently, as she touched a foot under the covers, and then left the room. She reported to the nurses that it had been a classic first visit. Alexandra Parker was angry and depressed, completely to be expected. They planned to visit her again on a regular basis, and Alice Ayres made a note to the parent group to send out someone younger. She thought a woman Alex's own age might be more helpful to her. Their youngest group member was twenty-five and she visited most of the younger women. But there were plenty of women Alex's age to draw from.
“What was that all about?” Alex barked at the nurse who had just come on duty for her.
“I think it's fairly routine. They're good people, and they help a lot of women,” her nurse explained as Alex predictably dropped their brochure in the garbage. “Now how would you like a little sponge bath?” Alex glared at her in answer, but she had no choice but to live within the hospital routine. They “bathed” her and she brushed her teeth. She stared out the window from her bed, and then lunch came. More soft, bland food. She didn't touch any of it, and just after that, her surgeon came, and looked at the dressing and the drain. Alex was afraid to look at herself yet, and she looked up at the ceiling, wanting to scream while he changed it. And as soon as he left, Sam called. He was at the office, and planning to come by later that afternoon, he had thought it would do her good to rest and get some sleep. Annabelle was fine, and he said he couldn't wait to see her, and Alex didn't believe him. If he was so anxious to see her why hadn't he come by that morning, or at lunch? He explained that he was going to the Four Seasons with one of his oldest clients. He wanted to introduce Simon and his assistant to some of his clients too. But he was going to drop by and see her on his way home, he promised.
She wanted to hang up on him, but she didn't. She called Annabelle instead, and they had a nice chat about school, and her “trip,” and Alex promised her she'd be home by the weekend. And after that she had a shot for the pain, but she had to admit there wasn't much. But it was easier to drift in and out of sleep and drugs than to contemplate her future, and the absence of her husband. And when she woke up, she called her office. Matt Billings was out, as was Brock, but Elizabeth Hascomb told her that everything was in good control. There had been no emergencies since she'd been gone, and they all missed her.
“Are you all right?” she asked, sounding concerned, but Alex's voice was strong and she sounded a lot better than she had even that morning.
“I'm fine. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
“We'll be waiting.”
That afternoon, Dr. Herman told her that she could eat regular meals now and leave as early as the next day, or she could wait until she felt a little stronger. But the incision was healing nicely.
“I'd rather stay,” she said quietly, and surprised him. He had figured her for someone who'd want to rush out in two days. It would have been possible for her, but he always recommended staying just a little bit longer.
“I thought you'd be anxious to leave us.” He smiled, not unaware of the trauma she had gone through.
“I have a three-year-old at home. I'd rather be in better shape when I go back to her, so I don't have so much to explain.”
“I'd say you'll be in pretty good shape by the weekend, and the drain can come out by then, which will leave only the dressing. You've had major surgery, so you'll be tired, but I don't think you'll be in pain. We can handle that with some medication if it's a problem. All you have to do after that is get your strength back. And then in three or four weeks, depending on the rest of your tests, we'll begin treatment.” “Treatment.” Such a benign word for chemotherapy. Just thinking about it made her heart ache.
“What about work?”
“I'd say give it another week. Until the dressings are off, and you're stronger. And then, of course, once you start chemotherapy, you'll have to see how well you're able to cope with work, but if we adjust the doses correctly, you should be able to handle a moderate workload.” When was the last time her workload had been moderate? Maybe the day she'd had Annabelle, and never before or since then. But at least he wasn't saying she couldn't work. He was saying she'd have to try it. That was something.
He left her then, and she sat quietly in a chair staring out the window. She had gone for a walk down the hall, and found that she felt weak and dizzy and oddly out of balance. Her dressings hampered her, and she couldn't move her left arm, but at least she wasn't left-handed.
She was alone in her room when Sam arrived at five o'clock, carrying a big bunch of red roses. And he hesitated in the doorway when he saw her. The look on her face was one of such despair that he didn't even know what to say to her. She'd been sitting there, contemplating her fate and her future. And for just an instant, he had remembered a terrify
ing image of his dying mother, and wanted to run out of the room, screaming.
“Hi, how are you feeling?” he asked, trying to sound casual, as he set the flowers down, and she only shrugged and didn't answer. How would he feel? But she didn't see that he was shaking.
“I'm okay.” She sounded anything but convincing. Her chest was throbbing a little bit, and the drain annoyed her, but that was to be expected. “Thanks for the flowers.” She tried to sound enthused, but didn't quite make it. “Dr. Herman says I can go back to work after next week.” That was something anyway. And Sam smiled when he heard it, and felt better.
“Well, that ought to cheer you up. When are you coming home?”
“Maybe Friday.” She sounded anything but pleased, and she was worrying about taking care of Annabelle, and what she would tell her about the dressing. “Will you ask Carmen to spend the weekend? I know she needs a day off, but I don't think I can manage yet without her.”
“Sure. And I can take care of Annabelle. She's no problem.” Alex nodded, missing her terribly, and then she looked up at Sam, wondering what their life would be like now. They had spent so much time and energy trying to have another child, and making love on schedule, what would life be like now without that? What would it be like without a breast? How would he look at her? What would it look like? Dr. Herman had showed her photographs so she would be prepared, and they had terrified her. It was just a clean flat slab of flesh, with no nipple, and a diagonal scar where the breast had been. She couldn't even imagine how Sam would react to that when they finally took off her dressing. Dr. Herman had told her she could shower once the drain was removed. The sutures would take longer to dissolve, and after that, she would be left with the same flat, scarred chest she had seen in the pictures.
“Why don't we do something this weekend?” Sam suggested casually, and she stared at him. He was acting as though nothing had happened. “Why don't we call someone and have dinner with friends, or go to a movie, if we have Carmen.” Alex stared at him in disbelief. How could he?
“I don't want to see anyone. What would I say? Gee, I just lost my breast so we thought we'd go out to dinner to celebrate, before I start chemotherapy? For chrissake, Sam, have a little sensitivity. This isn't easy.”
“I'm sure it's not, but you don't have to sit around feeling sorry for yourself either after this. There is life after breasts, you know. You weren't that big anyway, for heaven's sake, so what's the big deal?” He tried to joke with her, but it was a very big deal to her. She had lost a part of her self-image and her self-confidence, and her life was at stake now. That was about as big a deal as you get, no matter how small your breasts were. She hadn't wanted to lose one.
“How are you going to feel about me now?” she asked him honestly, facing him from across the small room. She wanted to hear it, since he had never reassured her about it before the operation. But he felt that the fact that he was there told her everything. To Alex, it didn't. He was passing through once a day for an hour, between office and home, and the rest of his busy life. That was a little too easy.
“What does that mean?” He looked annoyed at the question.
“I'm asking you if it's going to gross you out to see me the way I am now.” She hadn't even seen it herself yet, so she wasn't sure what she was talking about, but she was desperate for reassurance.
“How do I know what I'm going to feel? I can't imagine it makes that much difference. Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it?”
“Like when? Next week? Tomorrow? Now?” There were tears in her eyes again, he wasn't saying what she needed to hear, or what she wanted. And he looked faintly panicked by her question. “Do you want me to show it to you, or would you rather see a picture first, so you're forewarned? Dr. Herman has some great ones, very clear, very graphic. It just looks like a flat piece of meat with no nipple.” Alex saw him go pale and he looked suddenly angry.
“Why are you doing this? Do you want to scare me, or just turn me off before we even start? What's the deal here, Al? Are you mad at me, or just pissed off at life? Maybe you better reconstruct your attitude, before you start worrying about getting your breast back.”
“Who said I was trying to get my breast back?” She looked surprised at what he'd said to her.
“Dr. Herman said you could have reconstructive surgery in a few months, if you were up to it. That sounds like a good idea to me.”
“Would you rather I stay hidden till then?” she asked nastily, and he threw up his hands in obvious irritation.
“You're being a real bitch about this. I'm sorry you lost your breast. I'm sorry you've been ‘disfigured.' I don't know how I'm going to feel when I see it. Okay? I'll let you know. All right?”
“Be sure you do that.” But he had said none of the right things for her. There was no reassurance that it didn't matter to him, that she was beautiful anyway. He just wanted to go on with their life, and pretend it hadn't happened. Dinner and a movie with friends sounded fine to him. He refused to realize how distraught she was over what had happened. And she was making no effort yet to get out of her depression, and he certainly wasn't helping.
“Why don't you just concentrate on getting your strength back and getting home? You'll feel a lot better once you're home with Annabelle, and you can go back to work, and get your life back to normal.”
“How normal do you think it's going to be while I'm on chemotherapy, Sam?” she asked him bluntly.
“As normal as you're willing to let it be,” he said brutally, but not really understanding what was in store for her either. “You don't have to make such a big deal of this, you don't have to punish us too. It's going to be hard on Annabelle if you stay angry like this. You're going to have to make your peace with what happened.” It had only been a day though. “I'm not even sure anymore I know how to help you.”
“Apparently not,” she said unhappily, “you seem to be a little too busy with your own life to be inconvenienced by all this, from what I can tell. You seem to be awfully busy at the moment with Simon and his new clients.”
“I have a busy professional life, so do you. If this were happening to me, you wouldn't be staying home from work, or canceling trials or meetings with your clients either. Try to be realistic. The whole world didn't come to a shrieking stop yesterday because of what happened to you.”
“That's reassuring.”
“I'm sorry,” he said unhappily. “I feel like everything I say just makes you madder.”
“You could try saying it doesn't matter to you, that you love me anyway, with one breast or two, if that's the case. And if not, then I guess you're saying what's true for you. Maybe that's all that matters.”
“How do I know what I'm going to feel? How do you? Maybe you'll never want to have sex with me again after this. What the hell do I know?” He was being painfully honest with her and she wasn't ready for it. Her doctor could have told him that, or any therapist, or even Alex herself, but he wouldn't have listened. He was telling her the truth, as he knew it. And she didn't want to hear it.
“I know that I would love you, no matter what happened to you, no matter how disfigured you were, even if you lost your face, or your balls, or your hair, or had to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair.”
“That's very noble of you,” he said coolly, “but it's also a lot of bullshit. How do you know what you would feel if something like that happened to me? You don't know zip until you get there. It's very easy for you to pretend it wouldn't affect you, but maybe it would. Maybe it would turn you off, even if that wasn't the politically correct thing for you to be feeling.”
“Are you saying it will turn you off?”
“I'm saying I don't know, and that's honest. I can't tell you it won't scare me, or make me a little nervous at first. Hell, it's a big change. But at least we can make an effort not to let it rock us to the core. This doesn't have to be the big deal you're making of it. Besides, there's more to life than just breasts and sex and bodi
es. We're friends too, not just lovers.”
“But I don't want to be just friends,” she said plaintively, starting to cry again, while he tried to hide his exasperation.
“Neither do I, so give it a rest, Al. Just let it be for a while. Let us both get used to this, and see what happens.” Why couldn't he lie to her? Why couldn't he tell her he loved her anyway? Because that wasn't Sam. She had always loved his honesty and integrity, even when it hurt her. And it was hurting her now, terribly. “What I don't understand is how your whole identity can be wrapped up in one breast, and not even a very big one at that. I mean for chrissake, you weren't a topless queen, or a go-go dancer. What's the big deal? You're an attorney. You don't need boobs. You're an intelligent woman. You lost your breast, not your brain, so what's all this craziness about?” It was about losing her life, and a part of her identity, and possibly her sex life. She no longer even felt like the same person.
“I just lost a breast, which even if it was small, I'm still vain enough to not want to be scarred for life … I may lose my hair …my ability to have children …everything's changed, and you're even telling me you're not sure how you're going to feel about me physically. How could I not be freaked out by this, Sam? I'd have to be dead not to feel it.”
“Maybe I just don't get it. If I found out I was sterile next week, I'd be sorry, but I'd be happy we had Annabelle, and let it go at that. Stop making such a big deal out of everything. Your identity is your brain and your life and your career, and everything you are and do and represent, not one boob or two. Who cares?”
“Maybe you do,” she said honestly.
“Yeah. Maybe so. So what? So screw me. Learn to live with it yourself, then maybe I'll feel better about it. But I'm not going to sit around and wring my hands with you, it would drive us both crazy if I did.”
“So what are you saying to me?”
“I'm telling you to stop feeling sorry for yourself, and forget it.” There was something positive in what he said, and yet there was another part of him that was being deeply insensitive to what she was feeling. “I don't want to think about your having cancer all the time. I can't do it.” That was more honest than she knew.
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