Wednesday July 27, 2005 (97 days to the ginormous family wedding)

Brian received just etoposide for his third treatment, the last one he would need for a while. After a 60-minute treatment, we could leave. The doctor wanted Brian to stay a third night in the hospital, especially after his fever spike the night before, but Brian refused. I was glad. I knew how selfish that sounded, but the one night away from him (I'd snuck in the first night) was bad enough. I promised to call if Brian had any disturbing symptoms.

So halfway through the treatment, I was sitting in a chair next to Brian, chattering on about Daphne and Hunter. Brian did his best to look bored, but I knew how much he'd missed my chattering while I had been 'in hiding' and how much it put Brian at ease now. But I lost my train of thought as my eyes fell on his PICC line. It was a catheter inserted into his vein near the crook of his right arm and slid inside until it reached a larger vein near his heart. I swallowed hard. The doctor had decided that Brian needed to have it left in for the three months he would be receiving chemo (because his veins were small and hard to find). He would have this tube inside him, exposing his insides to the outside world, for three months. I shivered. Course, the nurse would make a dressing for it to prevent infection and blocks in the line, but Brian would have to come in every week to have it flushed and the dressing changed, even when he had no chemo scheduled. I hadn't realized, but my eyes hadn't been the only thing that drifted to his PICC line. My fingers had drifted there as well. I was caressing Brian's arm just below it. I jumped a little when I looked up and found Brian staring at me intently.

I smiled as brightly as I could manage. I didn't want him to know how freaked out I was by his PICC line. How scared I was by the whole chemotherapy process. He just continued to stare. But a couple of minutes later, he let me off the hook, asking, "So Daphne made Hunter a romantic dinner?" Brian rolled his eyes. I smiled for real then. He had been listening to me. Really listening. "Did she serve herself up as dessert?"

I shook my head, but I was still smiling. "She's not ready yet. But she told me that there was a lot of heavy petting."

Brian chuckled. "Poor Hunter. Living with her and not getting any. He must jerk off constantly. If that were me and you, I would be."

I giggled. "As if. You'd just go down to Liberty and find some hot guy to blow you."

Suddenly serious, Brian breathed, "No I wouldn't. Not anymore."

His confession knocked the wind out of me. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe, and my heart stubbornly refused to beat. The entire time, Brian was looking into my eyes. Crazy. But the spell was unexpectedly broken by a strident voice, complaining, "That little asshole at the front desk gave me the wrong directions!"

Oh God. Debbie.

Brian and I both looked in the direction from which the voice had come. Debbie was turning around slowly, no doubt to get her bearings. And, of course, we were in a room with huge windows, allowing those in the hallway to see in. Neither Brian nor I had thought anything of this arrangement until now. Other than me, only Daphne and Hunter knew about the cancer. If Brian had had his way, only I would have known, but very quickly, Brian had realized that I would need someone to talk to, so he'd okay'd Daphne knowing. And then, I needed Hunter's help sneaking into the hospital and he was very persistent and nosey as hell, so I'd ended up telling him, too. Brian had been forgiving about this slip, but he'd been adamant that no one else should know. Fortunately, Hunter was as skilled at keeping secrets as he was at learning them.

But soon that wouldn't matter. Any second, Debbie would see us, and it would all be over. Everyone we knew would be in here, looking at Brian with pity and/or fear in their eyes. Lobbing question after question at him. Acting hurt that he hadn't confided in them. I couldn't let that happen. This situation was bad enough. The last thing Brian needed was to be required to hold everyone else's hand through this terrifying process. And that's exactly what the gang would expect. He'd have to reassure them, when he was the one who needed reassurance, when he only half believed he was going to make it. He'd have to be strong for them, when he couldn't even be strong for himself. And after they'd learned the truth, they'd be watching like hawks for symptoms. Every time he was nauseous or tired, they'd look at him with pity and fear. They'd be over all the time trying to be helpful, but just making him feel like nothing else existed but the cancer. No way was I going to let that happen. I had to act quickly.