Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Stephanie McMahon, Dawn Marie, or Shane McMahon. They are the property of the actresses, actor, and the WWE. Again, Vince, I am your humble servant, suing me would be a bigger disaster than the XFL. I do, however, own the character of Dr. Louise McKeon, who can be borrowed with my explicit permission.
Façade
CHAPTER TWO
My palms were sweating horribly. The room was suddenly ten times warmer than I initially thought. I fidgeted in my chair, touching my bangs nervously, wishing that I'd hadn't flow back to Connecticut specifically for this Friday meeting.
A hand gently clasped my elbow, startling me. "It's your turn, Stephanie," the resident therapist, Louise McKeon, said. "Are you prepared to speak tonight?"
*NO!!!* I thought frantically, yet my mouth went dry and I dumbly nodded yes. Watching the doctor return to her seat across the circle, I willed myself to pull it together, just in case anyone would recognize me as THE Stephanie McMahon this time. Plastering on my famous smirk, I stood up and crossed my arms defiantly. However, as the other women turned to look at me, their eyes soft and supportive, I felt my resolve crumble. Desperately, I screwed up what little power I felt inside, and suddenly found my voice. "Hi… I'm Stephanie, and this is my fifth time here."
Louise nodded from across the room. "Welcome back Stephanie. We realize that with your busy schedule it is difficult for you to come to every support group meeting. We are glad you are here to speak to us tonight." A few of the women surrounding her smiled in affirmation, yet I found no comfort in their grins.
Uncrossing my arms, I looked down at my hands and wondered where I should begin. My nerves spiked, and I forced myself to speak. "Well, um…. I'm here because I was diagnosed with infiltrating lobular carcinoma about a year ago, in April. To date, though, the doctors have found no remaining traces of cancer." The group broke out into applause, startling me. I knew this was a common procedure from the few times I have attended before; however it almost felt belittling to have them applaud the worst experience of my life.
Having lost my train of thought, I caught Louise's eyes and sent her a desperate glance. She nodded slowly, and then spoke: "For those of you who are unsure, infiltrating lobular carcinoma first appears in the lobules of the breast, where breast milk is produced. The cancer then spreads to the surrounding tissue and lymph nodes. Is that correct, Stephanie?"
I shivered at her words, flooded with memories of the oncologist, the scientific terms that I couldn't understand beyond the fact that they could form a death sentence. My knees grew weaker, and I felt tears forming behind my eyes. "Yes," I squeaked out, avoiding the concerned look on Louise's face and deciding instead to play with the lapel of my jacket, just above the actual scar. "I found the lump here… it was only about an inch long. My doctor called it Stage IIA breast cancer, since by the time we found it, it had spread to my… my…." my voice cracked. Tears were now pouring down my face unabatedly, the echo of my oncologist's words ringing in my ears. "My…" I tried again, gesturing to my left underarm, and felt the last of my resolve slip away. Falling back into my chair, I covered my hands with my face and let the sobs take over, flashing back to last April.
Waking up from the anesthetic, I was greeting with a dull headache. I could feel tubes and bandages everywhere, pulling at already sore skin. A nurse, checking my vitals across the bed, asked me if I wanted anything. She knew that I had no family or friends waiting outside; she was the same nurse at the surgery check-in. I shake my head slowly, then ask to be alone. She offers a sympathetic look; I scowl at her and demand that she leaves, watching her hasty departure through blurry eyes.
Arms were wrapped around me, and another set of hands ran through my hair. I sobbed my apologies over and over again, and a chorus of soothing words shushed me. Eventually, the pain began to subside and I regained my composure. Lifting my head slowly, I removed my hands and sniffled back the last of my sobs, offering a small smile of thanks. It was then I realized that I had no idea who these women were, besides breast cancer survivors. I never bothered to learn their names, I avoided their monthly support meetings as much as possible, and was even irritated by the support they offered earlier. Incredible guilt passed through me, and I trained my eyes on my shoes, wondering if these women secretly hated me.
"Stephanie," Louise's voice caught my attention. I refused to look at her, choosing instead to glance at the clock mounted on the wall behind her. "I am proud of you for trying." Her words startled me, and I met her soft green eyes with surprise. "You can try again as soon as you want, whenever you feel ready."
The shame of my previous breakdown subsided. "Thank you," I mumbled to the group, who offered me their same encouraging smiles. As the woman sitting beside me, Sharon, stood up to tell her tale, I vowed to myself to come to more meetings, and to learn the names of these people who were so willing to lend me their strength despite my adamancy to battle my fears internally.
As usual, as soon as the meeting was over I bolted out of the room. Walking out of the small office building, I had to admit that I felt better. I had never put much stock into these support meetings before, but to be able to somewhat talk about the cancer with people who had gone through with it was rather refreshing. Happily I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone, turning it back on while I fished for my keys. My phone beeped almost immediately, indicating a voice message.
"Stephanie!" A woman's voice called out behind me. Whirling around, I saw Louise running after me, waving a sheet of paper. Slightly irritated, I stopped and plastered on a grin for the therapist, shoving my phone in my pocket. Stopping just a foot away from me, she took a few shallow breaths and handed me the paper. "Here's the calendar for the next few month's meetings; I hope you can at least make it to a few," the woman gasped out.
I frowned, my eyes running over the paper. The meetings were generally held on Friday nights, which left me little downtime between running Smackdown! and flying back to Greenwich. "I don't know my schedule off-hand, Dr. McKeon, but I'll do my best to come."
A business card was then thrust on top of the calendar. "I was thinking… in case you would like to talk outside of the group, we could make an appointment." Her green eyes bored into mine with veiled worry. "I can be flexible for you."
My irritation grew. *How DARE she suggest that I need private counseling! I have dealt with this by myself since the beginning; I certainly don't need her help now.* Tapping down my anger, I placed the card in my purse politely. "Thank you Dr. McKeon, I will remember that," I answered smoothly. "Now if you'll excuse me…" Turning, I walked over to my car, fuming over the audacity of that therapist.
As I opened the door to my Lincoln, I heard her call out a goodbye. Offering a wave in her general direction, I entered my car and let out a sigh of relief. My cell phone beeped again within the confines of my pocket, reminding me of my messages. Dialing up the voicemail, I turned on my car and deftly maneuvered my car onto the darkened road.
"Message 1," the automatic voice stated. "Hey Steph, its Dawn, call me when you get out of your meeting, my date with John should be over by then. Love ya!" Dawn Marie's cheerful yet nasal message brought a genuine smile to my face. Pushing a button to delete the message, I wondered who John was and why their date would be over before midnight. Dawn Marie could run a successful bed-and-breakfast from her own apartment.
"Message 2," the automatic voice stated. "Little sis, it's Shane. I have big news, I need your help, call me as soon as you get this." I nearly dropped the phone at the sound of my brother's voice; I hadn't spoken to him cordially in months, outside of conversations about Mom.
Listening to his message again, I noticed something I hadn't heard in awhile: excitement. A familiar rush went through me, and I quickly dialed his cell phone, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel in anticipation.
"Stephanie?" Shane's voice answered after the first ring.
I had to laugh. He probably had the phone sitting on his chest again. "Yeah it's me. What's going on?"
"Sis, after RAW on Monday, Kane went berserk. I guess he got a few shots in on Bischoff, and now good ol' Eric is hospitalized for at least a month with broken ribs…"
"WHAT!?!?" I interrupted. "Why didn't I hear about this before?" Even though I was the GM of Smackdown!, I still had a few informational sources on the other show.
"Because he didn't go to the hospital until today. Tried to tough it out. Idiot. But that doesn't matter. Mom called me, and I am the new temporary GM of RAW until he gets out…"
"WHAT!!!!" I shouted again. "You are the GM? Why do you get to be the GM? What about Stone Cold Steve Austin? What about Daddy?" Pausing to catch my breath, I remembered his voicemail and became suspicious. "Wait, why do you need my help? RAW and SmackDown! are rival shows."
It was Shane's turn to laugh. "Stephanie, breathe." I grunted into the phone, wanting answers, which got another laugh from Shane. "Okay, okay. I'm not sure why I was chosen to take over, but I wasn't about to ask Mom why. I don't care what Dad says, I just hope he doesn't interfere with my plans. Same goes with Stone Cold, although I'll try to placate him. And I need you to be my consultant."
"Your consultant?" I questioned, wanting more details. I liked the sound of this.
"You said so yourself, RAW and SmackDown! are rival shows. We both know that Smackdown! usually outperforms RAW. You run Smackdown!, who better to show me how to turn my show around. And I meant to say my show, because I want this job permanently. If I can get the ratings up, Mom'll have to fire Bischoff," Shane explained.
I nearly salivated into the phone. *Consult on RAW? Basically controlling both shows? Bischoff out of power, gone forever?* Despite our joint failure with the Alliance, my brother and I worked well together. I had to admit, this was our chance to shine, to erase the mistakes of the Alliance and show what the McMahon children were capable of. "Alright Shaney, I'm in. But I want a meeting so we can hammer out the details, like exactly what my consulting duties entail…"
A whoop of joy filled my ears and cut me off. "You won't regret this, Baby Sis." Shane affirmed.
"I hope you're right, Shane." *Especially after the last few months.*
END CHAPTER TWO
Author's Notes: I appreciate the reviews so far, thank you for your support! Oh, and to answer a question, I won't be specifically following the current storylines, but will be borrowing ideas from shows in 2001 and 2002. Within the next few chapters I hope to have painted a clear picture of Stephanie's cancer and treatments, as well as get our leading man into the picture!
I will now take this time to shill all stories by DCFanatic4life. She is, by far, one of the best writers on this forum and one of the names I constantly check for updates.
Breast cancer is a serious issue; and has been an unfortunate presence in my personal life. I am attempting to write this story with a strong factual basis, but I encourage you all to visit www.breastcancer.org for answers to your questions. Thanks for reading and take care!