The next day was unusually grey. Weather forecasters were going crazy with the chance to be able to mention the word rain and Newport in the same sentence. Kirsten was up at four, filled with nervous energy she was unable to displace. She turned on her bedroom lamp, letting out a small sigh of relief when Sandy didn't wake at the newly lit state of the room. Kirsten packed a small overnight bag with toiletries, extra underwear, more extra underwear and a copy of Vogue. She sat the bag near the door, and turned the light off before pulling up a blind to look outside at the dreary day. The sun was straining to break through looming clouds, and it looked as if it would be largely unsuccessful. Sandy stirred at six thirty, and Kirsten brought him a coffee. He didn't want to drink it, since she couldn't have one, but she reasoned with him that he was the one driving, and she'd prefer if he had some caffeine in his system. They took a quick shower, dressed and were ready to leave by ten past seven.
The car ride to the hospital was mostly silent. Sandy held Kirsten's hand all the way there, while she looked out the window at the drizzly day. They booked her in with a minimum of fuss, and Sandy carried her bag to her room as they followed the nurse. She told them the operating team would be there in fifteen minutes, and left Kirsten to change into a hospital gown.
"I hate these things." Kirsten said, as Sandy tied it up at the back for her. She looked tiny in it, all frail limbs and blonde hair.
"Why, because everyone gets a lovely behind view?" Sandy teased. Kirsten pouted.
"That's exactly why. Don't you be checking anyone out while you're waiting for me, either." Kirsten leaned over, kissed him as he finished doing up the last tie. They both knew he'd be pacing the waiting room the entire time, too worried to take advantage of the backless theatre gowns that came standard in most hospitals.
"Of course not." Sandy helped Kirsten settle herself in the bed. They were going to wheel her to the operating theatre in it, then back to this room. He gave her pillow a bit of plumping before he let her sink back onto it. She found his hand, and clasped it with both hers.
"I love you. You'll be fine. The best breast they've operated on." Kirsten squeezed his hand, wrinkled her eyebrows.
"Thanks, I think." He could see the fear in her eyes, knew she could see it in his. Before they had time to say anything about it, there was a knock from outside, and the oncologist came in, along with a surgeon, an anaesthesiologist and two scrub sisters.
"Hi, Kirsten." The oncologist was carrying her chart under his arm, and he checked it out.
"I see we've got some trouble. This is Jane, Amelia, our anaesthesiologist, Tracy Masters, and Dr. Bradley. He's the best in the hospital, and he's going to be doing your operation today." Dr. Bradley stepped forward, smiled at her. He reminded her a bit of Summer's Dad, all steel grey hair and encouraging authority.
"What we're going to do depends on what we find, exactly. We've charted the mass, which was what happened when you had all those tests and the biopsy, but until we actually get in there, we won't be sure of how much has to come out. If it's reached your lymph nodes, they'll be removed as well. We'll be doing x-rays and ultra-sounds as we go, so we won't have to unnecessarily open anything. If we find anything else in your breast tissue that looks risky, we'll have to remove it. A mastectomy." The Doctor paused as Kirsten looked at Sandy with worried eyes. He leaned over, whispered in her ear.
"One is enough for the both of us." Kirsten smiled, looked back to the Doctor as he continued.
"You'll be completely under the whole time." The Doctor looked to the anaesthesiologist who was next to speak. She was younger than Kirsten or Sandy had expected. Her hair was red, tied back but still startling on the light blue hospital scrubs.
"You wrote on the form that you have no problems with any kind of anaesthetic?"
"That's right." Kirsten said.
"Great." Tracy marked something on her sheet, let Dr. Bradley take over again.
"Okay. I think that's it from me, unless you've got any questions?" He looked from Sandy to Kirsten, both of whom shook their head. "Great. I'm going to go prep. I'll see you in there." He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and left the room, his entourage filing out behind him. The oncologist looked back as he stood at the doorway.
"Jane and Amelia will gown up, and be back in five to wheel you down to theatre." He stepped out, and the room was empty again. Kirsten's hands had never left Sandy's, and she clung on now, leaning over to rest her forehead against his. Neither of them needed to speak; everything passed between them, unspoken.
All too soon, the scrub sisters arrived and she was whisked away from him too quickly; wheeled supine down the hallway towards a room where they would cut his wife open, trying to get all the cancer out, all the ugly, black disease that was consuming her from the inside.