A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (19 page)

Pam frowned. “This seems like a good time to start drinking on the job.”

Valerie had never seen Pam look more tired, and she blamed herself. “I’ll help with all of this. Just because you normally handle personnel issues doesn’t mean you should have to tackle this situation alone.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve got some bad news myself. Keith dumped me.”

“Oh, no! Why?”

“Same old, same old. He thinks I’m more intimate with my BlackBerry than I am with him.”

“Oh, Valerie.” Pam genuinely seemed more sad than disappointed in her.

“He’s also pissed that the age difference still bugs me. And, he doesn’t think I’m completely over Greg yet.”

“Are you?” Pam’s tone challenged Valerie to be honest.

She could never fool Pam. “I wasn’t. Then I saw him at the coffee shop this morning, and I realized . . . I fell out of love with him years ago. And I think maybe he sensed that. But I felt like it was wrong to give up on the marriage, because it’s natural for love to fade over time.”

“Well, no one’s love stays white-hot forever. But a lasting love grows in different ways.”

“Hmm.” Valerie nodded. “And ours just didn’t. Whereas my feelings for Keith have grown stronger than I ever thought possible.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s a great guy.”

“Yeah. So now I’ve got to convince him to give me another chance.”

“Are you sure it isn’t too late?”

“Well, he said he loves me.”

Pam’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in pleasant surprise.

“And if that’s true,” Valerie continued, “I think maybe breaking up with me was kind of a preemptive thing. To protect his own heart.”

“Could be. So what’s your game plan?”

“Not sure yet. But what I do know is that I can’t go for anything short of a touchdown.”

Helen tried to recall exactly when the whole nightmare began. She didn’t have anything else to do as she lay there in the pre-operative room, watching Valerie bang away on that stupid Blueberry thing.

It had probably been about mid-June when she first noticed the pain. But it seemed to come and go, and it always got worse after a big meal. Naturally, she had just assumed her usual bowel problems were to blame.

She finally mentioned it to Valerie . . . what was it, three weeks ago? Two? Anyway, paranoid Valerie got her in to see Dr. Thaxton in record time. Of course, that may have been a blessing in this case.

Dr. Thaxton had ordered some kind of fancy X-ray that showed a tumor. That had been scary enough, but then he said he was going to refer her to a gynecologic oncologist. She had to ask him to repeat that three times before Valerie explained it was a doctor who specialized in women’s cancer. Helen had felt like someone stuffed a rag down her throat, and she wanted to get up and run, but she couldn’t breathe. They told her later it was a panic attack. As if she needed a diagnosis for that.

The cancer doctor was a virtual child, Dr. Repellent or something. Helen could never remember her last name, but her first name stuck like an obnoxious jingle: Tiffany. Tiffany! A child named Tiffany was about to cut her open. She said it was the only way to get a proper diagnosis. Good Lord, they could put a man on the moon, but they couldn’t diagnose a tumor without slicing you open? What good was all of this modern technology anyway?

“Are you warm enough?” Valerie asked.

How nice of her daughter to suddenly remember why she was there. “No. I’m always freezing in these places.”

Valerie stood. “I’ll get you another blanket.”

Two nurses wearing those ridiculous blue “scrub” outfits and shower caps came into the room. Whatever happened to the white uniforms they used to wear? They looked so much more professional.

“Okay, Mrs. Palka, we’re ready to take you to the OR now.”

Why did they always have to speak in alphabet soup? OR, ER, MRI. As if it wasn’t all confusing enough. “All right. Let’s get it over with.”

“I’ll see you in the recovery room, Mom.”

Helen saw the fear in Valerie’s eyes. When was the last time she’d seen
that
? Her heart pounded erratically for a few beats. “All right, honey.”

The nurses who pushed her gurney to the operating room gossiped about a Dr. Callahan, who’d apparently slept with his daughter-in-law. Helen marveled at their lack of discretion until she realized they were talking about a soap opera. Good Lord, she couldn’t even distinguish between fantasy and reality!

The operating room had huge, round ceiling lights that made it brighter than the midday sun. It was nothing like the darkened ORs in those medical dramas on TV. Those shows were downright deceptive. Why did she waste her time on them when she could be reading good books?

The nurses helped her scoot over onto the operating table. The anesthesiologist, who had introduced himself to her earlier, reappeared on her right side. “How are you doing, Helen?”

“I’d rather be surfing.” Good Lord, where had that come from? She’d never surfed in her life! But everyone laughed, so it must not have sounded that stupid.

“Me too, Helen,” the anesthesiologist said. He had lovely eyes. Then he picked up a syringe that made him much less attractive. “Now I’m going to inject this into the IV we already have going in your arm. So you just relax and count backwards from ten.”

“All right. Ten, nine . . .”

She heard Valerie talking quietly to someone, and then she heard Charlie say, “Mmm-hmm.” What were they doing in the operating room? She opened her eyes to a fuzzy world. “Where are my glasses?”

Valerie walked up to the side of the bed with Charlie close behind her. “I’ve got them right here,” she said as she took the case out of her purse, opened it, and handed the glasses over.

Helen put them on and blinked hard. “That’s better.”

“How are you feeling?” Valerie asked.

“Groggy.”

A nurse with a rotund face showed up on the other side of the bed and busied herself with some of the equipment. “Are we awake, Mrs. Palka?”

“I don’t know about you, but I am.”

The nurse smiled with all the warmth of an iceberg, but did make eye contact. “How do you feel?”

Helen considered her response this time, since the question seemed more significant coming from a nurse. “All right, I guess.”

“Good. We’ll let you have some ice chips in a few minutes, and Dr. Repella will be here soon to talk to you about how the surgery went.”

As soon as the nurse left, Valerie’s face lit up with an unnaturally bright smile. “I don’t think you ever told me Charlie’s last name. He was my softball coach in high school!”

Charlie beamed as well. “I can’t believe I never made the connection. Valerie was one of our best pitchers.”

“Well, that is a coincidence,” Helen said. “Of course, in a town the size of Evanston—”

The doctor walked into their little curtained-off recovery space, still dressed in scrubs and with tendrils of her thick brown hair escaping from her ponytail. She nodded to Valerie and Charlie. “Hi, Helen.”

“Hi.”

“Do you feel fully awake yet?”

“I guess.”

“Can you tell me what year it is?”

She must have given the correct response because the doctor said, “Good.”

The doctor took a breath. “I’m afraid the surgery didn’t go as we’d hoped.”

Despite the lingering effects of the anesthesia, Helen’s body tensed like a tightrope.

“We did a biopsy of the tumor tissue and confirmed that you do have ovarian cancer. Unfortunately, the primary tumor has numerous finger-like extensions that have invaded the surrounding tissues, so we couldn’t remove it. In addition to that, the cancer has spread to other areas and organs, including the liver.”

A chill washed through every cell in Helen’s body. Valerie had helped her do enough research to know this was the worst possible diagnosis. It all seemed surreal, and yet logic spoke for her. “So that means the cancer is Stage IV?”

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes.”

“I did some reading,” Helen said. Why did young people always assume old people were ignorant?

“I see,” the doctor said. “Then you may already know that our treatment options are very limited when the cancer is this advanced. We would normally try chemotherapy, but considering your age and low weight, and the relatively small chance it would prolong your life, you may decide against it.”

Helen shook her head. “No chemo.” She had decided before the surgery that it wouldn’t make sense if she were Stage IV. She’d seen too many friends suffer through it, and she didn’t want to spend her final days feeling awful. “What about . . . experimental treatments? Clinical trials?”

The doctor’s eyebrows jumped again. “You certainly did do your homework. However, I’m afraid there aren’t any studies that are accepting patients over the age of 75.”

Helen almost laughed.
I’m too old to even be a guinea pig
. Her spirits plummeted.

“So what
can
we do?” Valerie asked, her exasperation apparent.

“At this point, the focus should be on palliative care.” The doctor took hold of Helen’s hand. “We want to keep you as comfortable and pain-free as possible.”

“Because I’m dying. You can say it. I’m dying.”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. You’re dying.”

Knowing it and hearing it were two very different things. Helen could feel Valerie gripping her other hand, and she wanted her to never let go. “So how long do I have?”

The doctor took another deep breath, this time through her nostrils. “My best guess would be about three months.”

Valerie gasped. “How can that be? I mean, she’s not that sick! She just started having the pain . . . what was it, Mom, a month ago?”

No sense in lying now. “It was actually more like four months ago.”

“
Four
months?” Valerie looked so angry that Helen regretted her honesty.

“I know, I should have said something sooner. I just didn’t want to worry you.”
Heaven knows she finds enough to worry about as it is. Maybe if she hadn’t been so overprotective, I would have told her sooner
.

“Well, that’s water under the bridge,” Charlie said, his voice conciliatory. “What can she do for the pain now, doctor?”

“I’m going to prescribe an opioid that’s worked well for many of my other patients. You’ll need to take it on a regular basis, Helen. It’s very important to stay ahead of the pain. All right?”

“All right.”

“And if you have any side effects that you absolutely cannot tolerate, call me and we’ll try a different med. We have lots of options, so there’s no reason you should suffer. The important thing is for you to speak up, whether it be to me or a nurse, or whoever’s taking care of you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Was she being scolded? The doctor’s eyes certainly appeared sincere, what she could see of them through those goofy rectangular glasses.

“I’ve already arranged for someone from hospice to come and speak to you before you leave—”

“I don’t want to go to hospice!” Helen snatched her hand away from the doctor, whose head jerked back in shock. Helen didn’t mean to strike like a cobra, but, for God’s sake, hadn’t she had enough bad news today?

“You don’t have to go to the inpatient hospice,” the doctor said gently. “You can stay at home and the hospice people will come to you.”

“Oh.” Of course, she knew that. That’s what Evelyn Harbas had done. Evelyn Harbas, who ended up looking like . . .
Dear God, this can’t be happening. I’m not ready. I just found Charlie. How can you do this to me?

“I think I’ll leave you alone with your family now,” the doctor said. “Remember, don’t hesitate to let us know if the pain meds aren’t working. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The doctor smiled before she left. She was almost pretty when she did that. What a lucky woman. Young, healthy, a medical degree . . . Why didn’t I ever do anything that meaningful with my life? Lord, how I squandered it.

“Mom?” The pity in Valerie’s face made Helen want to scream. “Do you want to talk or rest?”

Charlie came around to the side of the bed where the doctor had been, and his reddened nose gave him away.

Helen turned to Valerie. “I want to live.”

Valerie’s chin trembled, and then she began bawling like she was five again.

Helen wanted to cry, too. Wanted to purge herself of the horrible knowledge crushing her. But for some reason, she couldn’t.
Am I in shock?
Instead, she reached out to hug her daughter and comfort her. She rubbed Valerie’s back with a circular motion and actually enjoyed the coconut scent of her hair.
Probably that overpriced salon stuff.
On the other hand, why shouldn’t she indulge? She couldn’t take it with her.

Valerie eventually settled down and withdrew from the embrace, sniffling.

Helen then turned to Charlie and saw him surreptitiously wipe tears from his pot-bellied cheeks.
Even Charlie, a
man
, is crying. Why can’t I?
But when he enveloped her with his beefy arms, all that mattered was the love that surged through her. She felt so protected. How could anything harm her with Charlie around?

That’s not how life works, old woman.
She released him. “I knew this could happen,” she said to both of them, “and I tried to brace myself. But I’m just not . . . I’m just not ready.”

Valerie and Charlie both lost control again, and Valerie whimpered, “Neither are we, Mom.”

Helen reached out to her again, but Valerie said she needed a tissue and went to hunt for one. While she was gone, Charlie cupped his hands around Helen’s face. “I don’t want to lose you, pretty lady.”

“And I don’t want to leave
you
.”