I think I should call Flynn tomorrow as well. Since he moved back to England to teach at Cambridge, I've not had another counselor. I can Skype him, but by the time he left, we had worked through many of my issues. Once I took it all seriously, motivated both by wanting my relationship with Anastasia to stay strong, and a desire to be the best father for my kids, I have been able to release a lot of my old issues. Oddly, Farther Holly has helped.
I lean my head back, resting it on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. The lamp shines up and creates a spot on the high ceiling. I look about the room, remembering how proud I was when I first moved in. This place was proof I had actually made it. No expense was spared when this was done. I insisted on the best marble from Italy for the kitchen, and the bed was custom made. My playroom upstairs had every available apparatus, custom made, for any type of kink I imagined.
I snort, amused at how much I've changed since then. I cast my gaze on the sleeping form of my wife. How she has changed me. My life was filled the finest "stuff" money could buy, but I was empty, soulless, and angry, until that beautiful girl fell into my office. She looked straight into my soul, and saved me. Now, I'm trying to save her and all of my wealth and power seem to have no bearing on the outcome.
I close my eyes and I see Ana and me making love. It was shortly after she had weaned Phoebe because she wanted to increase her hours at Grey Publishing. Having kissed and nibbled down her neck and throat, I drew one nipple into my mouth and began to tease it. Ana jerked in pain, giving a little yelp. I looked at her in surprise. She ran her finger through my hair, and said,
"It's Ok. I'm just a little sore. Phoebe was really good at latching on. Please, don't stop."
But, as I resumed I could feel hardness near the nipple. I stopped and began to use my hand to explore the area.
"Ana, how long has this lump been there?" I ask.
Running her hands through my hair, she looks down at me.
"I don't know, Christian. I just figured it was a blocked milk gland. I really hasn't hurt, and I figured once my milk dried up it would go way."
I look at her, my anxiety starting to well up inside me.
"But, it hasn't, has it? Ana, it's really hard. I don't like it. You need to have it checked."
She scowls at me. .
"What happened to making love? You're going all fifty on me and I'm horney!" she pouts.
"Stop changing the subject." I scold. "I want to call Dr. Green in the morning, or I will!"
"Ok, Ok. I'll call her in the morning. Now stop being the CEO of my breasts and suck on my other one, dammit."
I gladly obey her, shoving my anxiety to the back of my mind while we enjoy a rare opportunity to get really down and dirty with my sexy wife. That was really the last time we did actually get down and dirty. The next few weeks were a blur of mammograms, ultrasounds, MRI's and the biopsy. Then, the waiting.
Dr. Green obviously was very concerned, because she quickly shot down Ana's blocked duct theory and insisted the mammogram be done that day. A week later we sat in her office in stunned silence when she reveled the biopsy results. My perfect world came crashing down by the word, "cancer". My perfect bride, flawless and innocent, cancer. How? Why? She has no family history I argue.
"Well, Mr. Grey, in every family with a history someone has to be the first. Unfortunately, your wife seems to be that one. Ana, I'm starting you on a medication that blocks estrogen since the tumor tested positive for its uptake. I suspect your pregnancies and breast feeding allowed the cancer to get a jump on things, so we need to move quickly. "
Along with the prescription, she provided us with the names of a surgeon and plastic surgeon who frequently worked together to perform the mastectomy and reconstruction at the same time, as well as an Oncologist. Ana mutely takes the papers Dr. Green handed to her and passes it on to me. She knows I will research them all to decide whether they were the best available, and would ask my mother if she knew them. I folded it up and slipped it into the pocket of my jacket before taking Ana's hand again.
I asked for copies of the scans and biopsy, which I showed to Mother. She set her mouth in a thin line, slightly shaking her head.
"I'm sorry, Christian. This is a pretty aggressive cancer. Dr. Green is right that treatment needs to start immediately."
Ana opted for a double mastectomy, which was scheduled the following week. I didn't give a damn. All they were to me now were harbingers of death and all I wanted was that tumor cut out. If that meant my wife lost her tits, so be it. All I wanted was her to be cancer free as soon as possible.
After her surgery, which was extensive and painful, Ana did well. She healed beautifully, and did manage to put some weight on at my insistence. Everything I read talked about chemo talked of nausea, loss of the ability to taste things well, as well as the mouth sores. I knew eating was going to be a battle once she started her chemo and wanted her going in with a little extra. Not that it mattered by this point.
Dr. Sellers had given Ana an 85% five year survival with surgery alone, but it went up to 94% when chemo and radiation were added, although he cited a newly released study that indicated chemo alone had the same survival rate. Ana opted for the chemo over my objections. I argued, unsuccessfully, that the sentinel node procedure resulted in just 3 nodes being taken and they were all tumor free. Wasn't that indication enough that she didn't need to do the chemo?
"Christian, I want to be her to see my children grow up, and I want to grow old with you. If adding the chemo increases my chances of that happening, I need to do it!"
Dr. Sellers believed in giving us all the information about the drugs used in the protocol he wanted to use on Ana. They got worse the further down the list I read. 'Nausea', 'vomiting', 'anemia', 'bleeding', 'infection', 'mouth sores', 'sterility', 'death'! God, no! Surely there was another way. Hadn't I heard that chemo had gotten gentler, weren't the drugs better at controlling the nausea? What about medical marijuana? Maybe we should get some.
Ana was stunned, and furious.
"Christian! NO! You of all people suggesting marijuana! I'm surprised at you! No, we will use the drugs Dr. Sellers prescribes, and only the drugs he prescribes!"
I attempted to breach the subject with the doctor after her hospitalization. He shook his head.
"I appreciate you want your wife to be more comfortable, but there are too many variables with the substance. I don't prescribe it, and although I suspect some of my patients self medicate, I am not an advocate of its use. We'll just have to adjust out arsenal of approved drugs."
But, I don't think it made much difference. Initially, she did well after receiving the chemo. The first time she was tired and her hair fell out in huge clumps, but otherwise the 3 weeks passed uneventfully. It was during the night after her second dose that she awoke with the vomiting, continuing to retch despite there being nothing left to bring up. All she had was pills, which she couldn't keep down. It seemed to take an eternity to call the doctor on-call for something else, and then have Taylor pick it up at the all night pharmacy. All the while I held my wife while she retched and cried, feeling so powerless. It was a suppository and once it had a chance to work, she drifted off to sleep.
When she woke up, she was able to take the pill. At the suggestion of Dr. Seller's nurse, Margie, I made sure she took it around the clock to prevent her from going off again.
I insisted we do the same after her 3rd treatment, but she skipped a dose the following morning. There was a meeting at Grey House I absolutely had to attend that morning. It had been postponed twice before and the client was getting testy. A bigot, he refused to have any dealings with Roz. I set it as an early breakfast meeting hoping the early hour would result in him suggesting a later date and time, but he agreed.
Ana rolled her eyes at me when I suggested I reschedule because I didn't want to leave her.
"Christian. I'll be fine. Gail and Sawyer are here, and the Nanny will be with the children. All you will end up doing is wasting the day watching me either sleep or read. Go and be master of the universe. Please?"
I reluctantly went. The meeting ended up being a colossal waste of time. It took a face to face meeting to confirm what I had already suspected, that I had no desire to deal with this sorry excuse of a man, or his shitty little company. I would get my ship parts manufactured elsewhere, or else start a company here in the U.S. to do it. Roz liked that idea and set about looking into how we could achieve that.
But, when I got home around mid-morning Gail met me at the door looking distressed.
"She wouldn't let me call you. I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. I really wanted to, but she insisted that it wasn't necessary."
"What's going on?" I ask as I start up the stairs.
Gail follows me up as she speaks,
"She started vomiting soon after you left and so far the suppository hasn't seemed to have made a difference. She's in the bathroom."
I stride into the bathroom to find Ana curled up on the mat next to the toilet, covered with her bathrobe. She is so pale; she almost looks like she's dead. My heart lurches into my throat as I kneel down next to her.
"Ana."
She opens her eyes and looks up at me.
"Christian. How was your meeting?"
"Baby, tell me what's wrong. What can I do for you? Are you cold?"
She slowly sits up, holding onto the toilet to steady her.
"I'm good. Really." She gives me a small smile.
"It was just easier to stay here in case I have to, you know, throw up again."
I caress her face, so many emotions racing through me. I take a deep breath, calming myself and deciding what to do next.
"Let's get you back to bed. The pail is there, and I'm here now so I can carry you back here if you need to again. Do you think you can keep a Zofran pill down?"
I realize I should have had Gail make sure she took her dose of Zofran which was due at 8. What was I thinking? I know she wouldn't have done it herself! I silently scold myself as I lay her in the bed.
She looks up at me, her eyes so beautifully blue.
"I'll try." She says.
"Ok, let me get one and some water. I think you should take one of those Ativan pills as well, baby. Margie told us if the suppository doesn't work you should try to get the Ativan in, even if we just have to put it under your tongue"
As I speak, I am searching through the pill containers on the top of the chest of drawers where we keep them at both houses, away from busy little fingers, trying to locate the Ativan bottle.
"Oh, Christian! I hate how the Ativan makes me feel, all I do is sleep." She whines.
I take the 2 pills over to her and sit on the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry, baby, but it's better than you to continue to dry heave. Here, take these."
I hold my hand out with the 2 small pills in my palm. She picks them up, and with a small sip of water, takes them.
"Can you drink more of this water? Please?" I beg.
She takes a few additional swallows, then starts to gag. Her eyes water and I hold my breath. God, please, keep the pills down!
She takes a deep breath, then lies back down as I pull the duvet over her.
"Thank you." I kiss her.
"How did your meeting go?" She asks again. Stubborn woman.
"Just as I expected. My suspicions were confirmed. He's a jerk and I suspect the numbers he supplied us were pure fiction. I told him we were no longer interested in doing business with him. You would have been proud of me. He went off on me; I just walked out of the conference room without another word. I had Taylor escort him out of the building."
Her eyes close, as she replies,
"Well, I'm glad you were able to meet with him and end your negotiations while things were still in the early stages."
"I should have stayed home. You didn't take your pill, did you?" I realize my tone is more accusatory than I intended, but I'm upset.
Her eyes fly open as she looks at me. She frowns, and shakes her head, no. I sigh and run my hand through my hair.
"I'm sorry, Christian. I was asleep and forgot. The next thing I knew I woke up with it in my mouth. If the bucket hadn't of been there, I would have gotten it all over the bed and the carpet.
"I don't give a shit about the bed, or the carpet! I read about aspiration pneumonia, you could do that in your sleep! You're sure you didn't get anything down the wrong pipe?"
Gail, who apparently is standing by the door answers.
"I was here Mr. Grey, putting fresh towels in the bathroom. I got her up to the toilet quickly. I didn't hear or see her choking. She really didn't have much to bring up, just a little liquid."
I nod acknowledging her report as I turn my gaze back to my wife. The Ativan must already be working, as the small furrow on her brow has smoothed out. I kiss her cheek.
"Sleep, baby. I'll be right here."
