La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} (32 page)

“Yes, but it’s not like I have anything bad to say. You know she was married before she got diagnosed?”

“I know.” But her husband left her shortly after she went into remission. Was it because of the stress or perhaps due to all the physical changes her body had undergone? “You guys talked about that?”

He shrugged. “A little. I don’t know the details or anything, but she’s always telling me how supportive I am.” He shrugged again, minimizing. “It’s not like I’d let you go through this alone.”

On the verge of tears, she grabbed his hand and squeezed. That’s what was so special about him. He did all these great things and didn’t even realize how great they were. “She’s right. You’re the most supportive person in my life. I love that you come to all my appointments, even if it’s just to sleep.”

He waved a finger. “I also play cards. It’s not all for you. I’ve been mopping the floor with your peers.”

But it was for her. There were a million things he could do with his days, but he put that all aside to be by her side, knowing she was too afraid to go at this alone. “I love you.” It was all she could say, yet those three words didn’t seem to be enough to truly express everything he made her feel.

Leaning close, he kissed her nose. “Come on. I want to get food and get back before Rarity leaves. If we nag her enough we can probably get her to cook dinner.” That night they enjoyed a huge pasta dinner in a delicious pesto sauce, compliments of Chef Rarity.

Emma’s life had become totally unrecognizable from what it once was. Based on all her test results and numerous consultations, they decided the best treatment for her unique case. A lumpectomy was in her future, but first, the doctors wanted to treat the tumors with chemotherapy to kill off any rapidly growing cells.

“That’s a pretty common approach,” Anna told her after Emma shared the news. “The unfortunate thing about chemo is that while it kills the bad cells, it also kills good ones. My advice is eat while you can and don’t get hung up on vanity. Cancer’s ugly and when it’s inside of us, it isn’t pretty.”

She appreciated her sage advice, being that it was firsthand. Emma understood more than she did a month ago, but still felt half as informed as everyone else. The doctors had explained that chemo affected the lining of the stomach, which was why people often got sick during treatment. She understood the risks and saw the side effects as a distant outsider, right here in the waiting room.

“I never expected this,” she confessed, a broken record even to her own ears.

Anna’s hand pressed into her knee, but she remained facing forward. “No one does.”

Once the first round of chemo was scheduled, Emma requested an official leave of absence from work and they prepared as much as one could for the unexpected. Riley moved into her bedroom and converted his room into a guest room since her mother and father would probably be staying with them from time to time. Her mother was steadily freezing meals and sending them over. Between her parents and roommates, they were unstoppable and it humbled her in indescribable ways to be so looked after with so much tenderness.

Rarity had become obsessed with nutrition. She believed supplements and eating a plant based diet were key in defeating cancer. Their kitchen was filled with various cookbooks based on veganism and macrobiotics. All processed foods were donated to the local pantry and replaced with organic grains and unprocessed goods.

Though her doctors were strictly supervising any supplements, Rarity insisted she eventually start taking things like black cumin seed, turmeric, and the list continued to grow. Everything they ate was cooked with ginger or garlic or whatever herb claimed to be the miracle plant of the minute.

It was obvious how much her friends derailed their own lives in order to help sustain hers. She’d tried to help as often as she could, but the stress and endless appointments were already exhausting. She couldn’t imagine how rundown she’d be once chemo started.

The plan was to administer chemo in two-week increments. There would be short breaks in between so that her body could recover and they could reassess the cell growth, but as soon as she started feeling better the treatment would start again. This would go on intermittently until the threat was gone or she was, whichever came first.

No one acted like the chemo would finish the job. According to her doctors and what they knew of her strand of cancer, she was constantly reminded that somewhere in the midst of all this the tumors would be surgically removed, but her mind couldn’t handle that yet.

Every time she looked at her schedule and tried to plan ahead, she got physically, emotionally, and mentally overwhelmed. What if there was no ahead?

As the days ticked down, she found it impossible to hide her fear. Not only was she worried about her own mortality and afraid of the pain that would inevitably come with the treatment, she worried about those around her. They tirelessly worked to make sure she had everything she needed.

Their ceaseless openhandedness often brought her to tears and she intended to pay back their kindness tenfold, once this was all over—she just needed the chance.

––––––––

R
iley placed
The Cure
album in the bag on top of the boo-boo blanket. Glancing around the loft, he wondered if there was anything else he was forgetting. The front door quietly opened and Rarity walked in with Marla. He gave the dog a bone so she would settle quickly.

“Do you want some coffee?” he whispered to his sister as he poured a second cup.

“Yeah. She up yet?” She washed her hands, something they were getting in the habit of doing routinely since Emma’s immune system was now at risk and a common cold suddenly ranked as life threatening.

He slid Rarity the Rosie the Riveter mug. “No. I figured I’d let her sleep until the last minute. She was up late.”

His sister nodded. “Will they let you in with her?”

“No. The nurses are all suited up with gloves and goggles. It’s not safe.”

“It’s amazing that stuff’s meant to heal.”

He glanced at the supply of disinfectant products stashed on the counter next to the trashcan liners. How had this become his life? He resented having to take such precautions with her, but her medications could not only be harmful to others, it was imperative they all stay healthy. If they got sick, who would take care of her? They had to be vigilant about containing anything that came in contact with the chemo while avoiding anything contaminated with outside germs.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Rarity said, a dazed look in her eyes as she held her untouched coffee.

It was something he’d try to comprehend for the rest of his life. With a flurry of appointments and staggering results, it had been an ongoing process of elimination, jumping from A to B back to A until they finally landed at C. Cancer.

That word, that horrible fucking word. It was a life sentence people could barely whisper and he heard it every hour of every day. He had no choice but to go against everything he knew and declare, no, it was
not
a death sentence.

His heart demanded he reorder his thinking and now every thought was geared toward what mattered most. Survival. She would survive. She would beat this. She had to, because he couldn’t imagine life without her.

The speed the doctors were moving was horrifying, her treatment had immediately consumed everyone in her immediate circle. What if this obsessive treatment was the last part of her life? She was missing her chance to live because it took so much damn effort to survive.

He shut his eyes. There was just so much resentment.

The prevalent ache in his chest tightened as he once again struggled to come to terms with his despair, hiding it away before Emma could see how badly this was crushing him. The chronic weight he bore was indescribable and beyond anything he anticipated carrying on his shoulders in this lifetime. But what choice did he have? All he wanted was her, safe and alive. It was an eye-opening crush that kept him awake at night, and a daunting responsibility during the day. But he desperately wanted to be her rock.

She wanted to do the chemotherapy to try to save her breast. He respected her choice, but worried it was because she feared losing her breast would steal her beauty. That was bullshit. Take both of them, but spare her life. That was all that mattered.
She
was all that mattered. Still, it was her choice and she’d chosen to shrink the tumors and proceed with a lumpectomy if possible.

And so, today it would begin. Poison poised against poison. He’d done everything he could think of to ensure the process went as comfortably as possible, but nothing removed his hope that this would all suddenly disappear. It was a fantasy, but it crossed his mind every day all the same.

At one point in his life he was foolish enough to believe he had control. There was no control, no guarantee. Now, he was handing over the little control he had and placing everything he loved in the care of strangers. It wasn’t easy and though he’d been gearing himself up for this very moment, he never felt more unprepared in his life.

It would start with an injection, killing tiny, little mutated cells and some innocent ones along the way. Then they’d remove the three pea-sized lumps that started everything. But would it stop there? What if the chemo didn’t move fast enough and the cancer spread? How much would she pay to have her life back? And what quality of life would there be when this was finally over? These were the resounding worries that filled every waking moment of his days.

Despite his outward calm, every smile, every encouraging word was carefully pulled from the chaos in his mind. Inside, he hid his fears in the blackest corners of his mind, crevices he was too ashamed to admit his worries dwelled, worries even his sister couldn’t know existed. It was imperative they only give voice to the positive, but the pessimism existed all the same. It was his, a burden he bore alone, speaking not even a whisper of doubt for the others to hear.

The toilet flushed and he turned. Emma shuffled from the hall, her hair standing on end, sheet prints pressed into her face. “Morning.”

His breath sucked in as he committed the image to memory, classifying it in his mind as
before.
God, she was magnificent.

Strolling to her, he didn’t stop until they were hugging, his face pressing into her neck as he breathed in her scent. “Morning, beautiful.”

She sighed. “You guys ready for today?”

Amused that she’d worry if
they
were ready, he brought her attention to everything he’d packed. “I packed you a bag.” Rarity dumped her coffee and his, sensitive to the fact that Emma was fasting.

Emma peeked in the bag. “My boo-boo blanket.” She smiled at him. “I love you for being so sweet and thoughtful.”

“I also packed you a Walkman with fresh batteries. The Cure’s all cued up. Side One.”

“When will you invest in an iPod?” His sister grumbled.

“Cassettes are where it’s at,” he argued.

“You’re an idiot. Vinyl, at least, has some lure. Cassettes are stupid. The sound quality’s shit, they break easily and you have to crank them with a pencil, and no one feels like waiting for rewind anymore.”

He frowned at his sister and mumbled, “Your sound quality’s shit.” So what if they took a little longer to fix than digital music? They were classic and he’d put time into his collection. He wasn’t going to throw them away just because there were more efficient ways to hear the music he liked.

“Don’t fight, guys,” Emma said. She pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re wearing your Save Ferris shirt. Is that for me?”

“Oh, well, you’re
very
popular,” he quoted. “Everyone adores you, geeks, sluts, dickheads, dweebies...” He loved that movie.

She laughed and glanced at his sister. “Rarity, I need you to help me with something before we go.”

“Whatever you need, toots.”

“I can help,” he offered, not wanting to be left out.

She smiled. “Okay. I’m going to take a shower first. We have time, right?”

He glanced at the clock. “We don’t have to leave for at least an hour.”

“Good.”

While Emma showered they grabbed something quick to eat. He made their bed and stashed unopened bottles of water in every room. When he finished, she was dressed in comfortable clothes and had her hair braided to the side.

“Here.” She handed Rarity a pair of scissors.

Riley stilled. He didn’t care about her hair, but this was a big deal. This was her way of taking a bit of control while the ball was still in her court and deciding—on her terms—it was time for kickoff.

Rarity carefully took the scissors. “Are you sure, toots?”

She took a steadying breath. “Yeah. My hairdresser’s connected with Locks of Love. I want to donate it while I can.” She glanced at him and laughed, but the hollow sound was far from happy. “It’s just gonna fall out anyway, right?”

As always, her fear fed his, but so did her courage. He moved into the kitchen. “I’ll do it.”

Emma’s eyes glazed, as her lips pursed in a tight smile. Before anyone could comment about what a monumental moment this was, she tipped her head back and broke eye contact, her braid falling down her back.

“Hand me the scissors, Rare.” He took the shears and stroked her damp braid, another moment committed to memory. “One,” he counted.

“Two,” Rarity whispered.

“Three.” Emma rasped and he carved the scissors through the thick braid as quickly as possible.

Once the ponytail was free, he handed it to Rarity who zipped it in a sandwich bag. Emma exhaled and tousled her hair; sending short curls spiraling around her face. She turned to them and drew in a deep breath.

Her cheeks glowed with a fearless smile, as if she’d somehow relieved a burden she didn’t have the strength to carry.  “Let’s do this.”

****

T
he girl he kissed goodbye, outside of the chemotherapy room, was not the girl that came back to him. Emma walked sluggishly through the double doors, a nurse by her side and he immediately stood.