Chapter 11
I wake up in his arms and can't help the smile that creeps upon my lips . I move slightly to see his face and instinctually his arms tighten around me, as if to keep me there. He is still asleep and I revel in this rare occasion. His face is calm, serene. With each breath, I feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine. He has been called cruel and ruthless. I wonder what they would say if they saw him like this? I slowly reach up to kiss his lips and his eyes stay closed as he murmurs my name. My smile widens and I find his lips again. His eyes flutter open to meet mine then softly close again as he pulls me even closer. Our lips meet again as I whisper "Good morning". "Indeed", he replies. His hands trace up and down my back with one finally resting at the small of it, the other, my bottom, his grip firm. Now his lips meet mine with urgency. We are consumed by each other and I don't want it to end, but no sooner do I think this, I feel him pull back. I'm sure I can't conceal the shock on my face. "Baby", he whispers as one hand moves up to brush the hair back from the side of my face. I lean down and once again softly kiss him while placing his hand back to where it was before. Whatever it was that interrupted him seems to have been forgotten as our passion ensues, but then once again, he stops me. "Nikki, please," he says between breaths in a pleading voice. "Please, what?" I ask playfully. His eyes, once drenched in sleep are now sharp and clear, "Please don't make this difficult," his voice soft but stern.
"Difficult?" I am taken aback, I find his lips again and murmur into them, "I think I'm making this quite easy". He gives a soft groan and I can see the confliction in his eyes although I have no idea what it is about. He gives me a kiss in a parting fashion and says, " Baby, you were in the hospital. You fainted". It all crashes down on me. Now, I get it. He is pulling back because he thinks I'm going to shatter into a million pieces like some fragile porcelain doll. I feel myself become irritated. With conviction I say, "Darling, I am fine". "That may be," he says, "But, I am concerned about your health, and I don't want you to do anything strenuous until we hear what the doctor has to say". I can hear the sharpness in my voice as I say, "So I need a doctor's note to make love to my hus. . . ", and I stop myself. I see his eyes light up as he asks, "To make love to your, 'what'?" I know he knows what I was going to say. Damnit! I have told him a hundred times I don't want to be married, that I can't handle another divorce. And he's told me a hundred times he wants me to be his wife, and there I go, almost blurting it out! I try to dodge his gaze, try to wriggle my way out of his arms to avoid his question, but it seems the more I try to squirm, the tighter his grip on me becomes. I can see his amusement, he is enjoying this game and my discomfort. "Nikki, are you going to answer me?" My right eyebrow raises in disdain, and he laughs. He knows he's got me in a corner and that my refusal is just me being stubborn. I have to work hard to not laugh back, but as I lower my face I can't help the soft chuckle that escapes my lips. He lifts my chin to meet his gaze, his eyes are serious and demanding as he asks, "Now, tell me. What were you going to say?", my eyes close as he softly pulls my chin towards his lips so that ours can meet. When I blink them open, I am lost in his, "You know what I was going to say, Victor," I mutter. "Perhaps, but I want you to say it," he insists earnestly. I feel the air leave my chest as I concede , "My husband. I want to make love to my husband," and I finally say the word. He gently lowers my head to his chest, my forehead just under his chin, his arms are cradled around me and says, "Uh-uh, that's what I thought. Well, we are going to have to have a long talk about that, and soon".
Sometimes I think she purposely tries to torture me. It took every ounce of self control I had to not make love to her. God knows I wanted to, but I still can't shake the image of her falling to the ground. She doesn't want me to treat her like a delicate being, but I can't help it! If anything ever happens to her, I don't know what I'd do. She finally said the word . . . 'husband' . . . She was my wife, should still be my wife, and I promised her we would have that conversation, and we will. I imagine it ends with me giving her a huge ring and her saying 'Yes', and this will happen, but right now, I need to focus on taking her to the doctor where she will undergo an arsenal of tests. She doesn't know it, but with Dr. Costner's help, I have had multiple specialists flown in. With any luck, they should be able to determine what is going on, and while I hope it's nothing serious, I can't let blind faith rule. I have to plan for the worst. I have to be prepared for the worst, so that if it does comes to pass, I can be there for her. I can't help but flash back to the morning, she was so soft and warm in my arms. For a few moments I almost forgot about yesterday and how scared we both were. I want to see her as she was this morning a million mornings more . Truth be told, I am frightened I won't get the chance. Maybe I should have just allowed myself to give in to her, to what we both wanted. I can't help but question my decision. What if in this very minute, I was holding her close to me, basking in the afterglow?
I feel nervous. I wasn't earlier. Waking up in Victor's arms was the perfect distraction, but now it seems every mile we grow closer to the hospital, the more my nerves blossom. Outwardly, I seem fine. The symptoms that plagued me yesterday are gone. I am not dizzy, my hands are no longer shaking, but the core of me is still filled with fear. If ignorance is bliss, I think I would rather live in a fools paradise thinking this is just the flu. My hands are damp as we arrive, and as Victor reaches his out to me, I hesitate. I don't want him to feel my fear induced cold sweat. I have tried very hard to reassure him I am fine, but my hands are about to betray me. As his hand captures mine, he says nothing, I don't think either of us really want to talk about what might happen today, he just leads me towards the hospital door.
Dr. Costner is there to greet us with a clipboard full of papers for me to fill out. Although I have told him about my history and symptoms on the phone, it seems as though they must be documented on paper. There must be 20 pages, does he want my whole life story too? I settle down in the reception area and begin the task, most of the questions are pretty straight forward. Do you have a family history of 'this or that'? Are you allergic to any medications? I laugh to myself, yeah, alcohol. I put that down in the additional comment section, that and the fact that once I was addicted to pain killers. Good grief, does he need to know I was a stripper too? The final page is on disclosure, who I will allow to be privy to information and results. I struggle with this. Who do I put? Surely I have to put down someone? I am not going to put my children in this position! I don't want them worrying about this. I finally write down my sister and her phone number. I go back and forth with whether or not to put down Victor's name. I don't want him to railroad everything and tell the doctor's how to do their jobs, that's exactly what he'd do, and if he is allowed access to my results, there goes pretending everything is fine if it's not, but maybe that would be a good thing? I don't know! I still think this is all just nothing. I fainted, big deal. I may have fainted in the past, whatever. Maybe my hands did shake before. So what? This could all be classified as normal under any number of circumstances. Fatigue, dehydration. . . . No, I am not putting down Victor's name, I make a rash decision and scratch out Casey's name as well. I will know the results, no one else, and I quickly turn the clipboard in.
Victor and I are sitting in awkward silence. This is my fault. He is trying to make small talk, but I just can't. It's both frightening and a relief when they call me back. He tells me will be there waiting for me and as I follow the nurse, I look back over my shoulder to him. I am so glad he is there. So glad he will be there. Why didn't I tell him that?
Dr. Costner is flipping through the papers I have just filled out. Most of it being nothing of surprise as I'd recounted it all to him the day before. He puts the clipboard down and tells me that today will be long and possibly invasive. Some of the tests may be painful, some may even seem silly. He reminds me that I didn't want 'run of the mill' tests, and that specialists have been flown in to ensure this.
"Specialists?" I ask concerned.
"Yes. We thought it might be helpful to have every available resource," . He is right, I did ask for more than a basic blood test, I did not however, ask for medical specialists to be flown in and I can think of only one person who would. I test the waters, "You did? Or did Victor?".
When Dr. Costner is not quite able to meet my eyes, I have my answer.
We go through the basic tests first, I think it must be a medical standard. You just checked my heart rate and blood pressure yesterday and it was fine, but go ahead, check it again! Stab me with a few more needles, I don't need that blood anyway! Once these formalities are finished, we begin. The first is an MRI, he informs me this is a test that uses a magnetic field and pulses of radio wave energy to make pictures of organs and structures inside the body. Oftentimes, it can give different information than what can been seen by X-ray, CT scan, or an ultrasound. This process seems to take forever, or perhaps time is suspended and then amplified by my claustrophobia. The second test is something he calls a VER, or visual evoked response, and he explains this is where the eyes are stimulated by looking at a test pattern. I probably look like a science project with all the electrodes hooked up to my head. The final test they will conduct will be the most painful. A spinal tap. I am no doctor, but I can't help but feel this may be a bit excessive. Aren't spinal taps used to find serious infections or to find abnormalities in the nervous system? I can't imagine he wants to do this to 'rule out any possibilities'. The more I think about the tests I've undergone today, the more I can't help but find a parallel, they've all had to do with my brain. Ha, maybe I'm crazy! My short lived humor is suddenly lost. If they thought it was something with my heart, they would have done stress tests or an EKG. Wouldn't they have focused on that? But they haven't. If it was the flu, they would have ran more blood tests, and sent me home with an antibiotic. They haven't even suggested that. When the tests are finished, I ask point blank, "Dr. Costner, it seems to me you know what you are looking for, you just needed confirmation?".
"Yes. I feel with what you have told me, we have it narrowed down to a possible outcome, or diagnosis if you will. We've undergone these tests today to either solidify this possible theory or to eliminate it and put everything back on the drawing board. I know that a game of 'guess and check' is not reassuring, but sometimes that is all we have to work with,". He sees the look of horror on my face and quickly adds, "Mrs. Newman, I feel the tests we have conducted today will shed light on to what is going on with you. I feel very confident in this. I want you to feel confident in this too."
"Then tell me what you're testing for? I mean, I don't even know what you're thinking? ".
He looks at me with no emotion and says, "Mrs. Newman,". . .
I interject, "Ms. Newman,".
"Yes of course, Ms. Newman, with the test results still pending, I believe you may have Multiple Sclerosis".
She is eerily silent on the way home. She didn't want to talk upon our arrival to the hospital, but this is something different. Is it possible she more scared now than before? In the morning, she tried to convince me she was fine; I was not buying it. Her pleas fell short on me, but I did not question them. I didn't want to add to her stress then, just as I don't want to now, but now that we are finally home, her silence is beginning to unsettle me. She throws her purse on the couch, just as she always does, and sits down. I want a drink, Hell, she probably does too. So, instead, I sit down next to her and gently pull her head towards me. It has been a long day, but it will still be a good day if she is next to me. I wrap my arms around her and pull her snug against me. Our bodies fit together perfectly, I don't question it, I just find solace in it. We say nothing for what seems hours, but after a few minutes, she looks up at me. Her eyes were mine this morning, I lost them at the hospital, but now it seems they have returned. "I love you," she whispers. I still find it hard to believe that these words from her can effect me the way they do, my heart stops. I have to remind myself to breath again. " I love you more," I say.
She smiles, I love that, and she says, "Not possible,". I pull her in even closer to show her she is wrong.
"I'm sorry, " she continues.
"For what, Baby?".
"For being. . . I don't know, crazy today. I was just crazy today and difficult and. . . And scared".
"You were under a lot of stress".
"That may be, but you were so good to me. You waited there all day, and I never told you how thankful I am that you were there".
"Where else would I be?" I asked.
"Well, I could think of a million other places". I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. Doesn't she get it? I would do anything, anything, for her or for our family. I know she needs reassurance, so I lift her chin up to kiss her lips and tell her, "Baby, there is no place on this earth I would have rather been than there with you". I feel her exhale and sink in closer to me. We are quiet for a few minutes, savoring the moment, but I finally ask what happened during her appointment.
"The one with all the specialists?" she asks with humor. My eyes are out of her view and they roll in irritation without my wanting them too . How the hell did she know that? " I don't know what you're talking about," I lie.
"Victor? Really? You don't know about all the specialists you hired? I find that hard to believe,".
"I still don't know what you are talking about," I continue to lie, avoiding her gaze.
"So what If I said it was very cute that you were so protective of me?".
"I would say that is very nice," I counter as nonchalantly as a guilty man possibly can.
"Victor! I know it was you! Look me in the eye and tell me otherwise. I dare you!". This should be easy, she is half joking me, but my eyes can't seem to meet hers. After minutes of avoidance, I see her face and the smug look she is wearing, "You need to work on your story Victor, because Dr. Costner is a terrible liar". I softly kiss her forehead and feel relief she isn't upset, " I admit to nothing, but I will do whatever I have to do to keep you safe, safe from anything and anyone, because I love you that much".
I go to bed early. I have the perfect excuse, exhaustion. Today was a very long day and I do feel drained, but what I am feeling even more is curiosity. What is Multiple Sclerosis, or MS? I want to research it, but I want to do it alone. Dr. Costner couldn't be completely sure that this was the correct diagnosis, so I see no reason in telling anyone yet, especially Victor, but I want to know what I'm potentially up against. I've heard of MS before, sure, but I have no clue what it is. What does it effect? What are the effects? Is it curable? Victor tells me he will be up shortly and I am relieved. 'Shortly', with Victor, usually means an hour, so I have to make the most of my time, I get into bed and immediately Google 'MS' on my iphone.
Preview: Nikki is anxiously awaiting her test results and Victoria has a baby shower coming up, will it work out the way they want?
Authors Note:
Thanks again for all your continued support towards this story. Please leave reviews, they keep me motivated!
