This is a bit of a longer chapter, so settle in with a warm drink of your choice. If you'd like to know what kind of mood this chapter was written in, make yourself a new playlist with these songs;
Shopping Trolley by Beth Orton, Sea & the Rhythm by Iron and Wine, One Crowded Hour by Augie March, This Old Love by Lior, Title and Registration by Death Cab for Cutie, Night Birds by Ryan Adams and See Saw by Youth Group.
And, as always, please, please review. Enjoy!
Sandy stayed in her room at first, sitting in the visitor's chair. It was strange; a hospital room without a bed. It seemed pointless to him, and he left before he could begin considering how long until she came back in it or, worse still, it came back empty.
He strolled down to the waiting room. Obviously, the interior designer had decided yellow was the happiest colour, and the walls surrounding Sandy made him feel as if he was sitting inside a lemon. He wondered what colour the inside of the operating theatre was. He wondered if Kirsten had noticed, or if she'd been given anaesthetic as soon as she got in there and was blissfully unaware of the activity going on around her, the cutting of her fine flesh, the manipulation of her limbs to let the surgical team get as deep as they could.
Sandy sat on a sunrise coloured couch and rested his elbows on his knees, forehead on his hands, eyes cast down. It seemed easier to concentrate on the muted carpet tones than the yellow walls. Yellow reminded him too much of Kirsten. The colour of her hair, out of the sun. He preferred seeing her in the sun, the warm glow illuminating her honeyed curves, turning her hair from mere yellow to a royal golden. She was the yellow in his life, the brightness, the spark. She was the sun's glow in the morning, and the moon's whispering light at night. She was his human credential, the other half he couldn't live without; the better half.
Sandy checked his watch. They were two hours into the operation. He felt like it had been days since her hand had slipped from his, since he'd heard the murmur of the wheels on her bed echo in from the hallway. She'd been so pale this morning, when she brought him his coffee. Her eyes had been rimmed with smudges of exhaustion. He loved those eyes, the cerulean colour of them, the long lashes, the way she could convey everything with a glance, a flicker of movement. He loved waking up and looking into those eyes. He loved seeing them before he went to sleep. Loved making love to her, watching the lids flicker, the pupils dilate with desire. He loved everything about her eyes. Even when she was angry with him, he couldn't turn away from those eyes. Luminous, wrenching, so familiar he could shut his own eyes and recall them in perfect detail. Closing out the bland carpet, watching his wife watch him in his mind, Sandy didn't notice the tears until they hit his hands, cooling and evaporating immediately in the air conditioned room. He wiped them quickly away, pressed the pads of his thumbs to his eyes, stemming the flow. He knew he needed to be strong for her when she came back, needed to set aside his own fear to abate hers. She was the one whose skin had been broken under the weight of scalpel blades. She was the one whose insides had been discovered, chartered, removed if necessary. She was the one whose mind was motionless, suspended in uneasy dreams under the effect of anaesthetic.
He was just looking forward to holding her hands again. That morning, he'd covered her hands with his own after she'd handed him the coffee cup. They were so much smaller than his own, almost child sized. Her nails were short, cut square, delicate. Her hands, tiny and ineffectual, had wound with his. They'd looked down, seeing her pale fingers against his tanned ones, overlapping like piano keys, highlighting his good health and her failing wellbeing. He could still remember holding her hand when he'd proposed. He hadn't been able to find the money for a real ring, and he'd proposed with a cheap plastic one that he'd won at an arcade. She'd been excited, pulled him up off his knees and hugged him, barely giving him time to put the ring on her finger before she kissed him, made love to him on the floor. They hadn't been interrupted by his hands sliding over her skin and finding a lump under the surface then. He wondered if it had been there, hibernating, hiding, lurking underneath, waiting until she'd been through hell before surfacing.
The last year hadn't been easy on either of them. Sandy knew it wasn't just Caleb that had pushed Kirsten over the edge; it was him, Rebecca, the news of Caleb's affair, the fact that Sandy had known and kept it from her, juggling the Newport Group mainly on her own and not finding appreciation anywhere. He blamed himself for not noticing until it got bad enough to put her in hospital. He still remembered the screeching brakes, her scream, chilling him along the phone line. Him, driving like a maniac to the nearest hospital, seeing her rolled in, bloodied, apologetic. The heartbreak of letting her go at Suriak, then hearing she could come home but didn't want to… Sandy still didn't quite understand why she'd stayed away as long as she had. She'd come home eventually, to an empty house. Sandy still hadn't forgiven himself for neglecting her so completely. Hearing her tell him she was home for good had somehow allowed him to forget that home for good didn't mean sober forever, or happily ever after. It meant still struggling, fighting the urge to run back to her past undoing. And now, after she'd struggled for so long, was looking like she was winning… now they had this new low to sink to.
Sandy looked up and around the waiting room. There was an elderly couple there, holding hands, obviously giving each other strength. The man looked over to Sandy, gently acknowledging the tears just barely being held back, the worry and fear he knew was evident in every line of his face. They nodded to each other before the older man turned to his companion, murmured something in her ear that made her smile. Sandy put his head back down on his arms. He knew the odds of cancer. He knew Kirsten's mother and grandmother had died of cancer. He knew how lucky it was that his own mother had gone into remission. He knew he might not have the luxury of holding her hand when they were the same age as the couple across the room, the luxury of telling her something only they could share, making her smile.
Standing abruptly, Sandy tried to stop thinking negatively. He paced out to the hall, needing to do something other than sit and consider a future without Kirsten. The truth was, there was no future without Kirsten. For twenty years it had been the two of them, dealing with everything life threw at them together. He needed her next to him, backing him up, gently letting him know when he was being an arse. He needed her warmth beside him in bed every night, her coffee cup next to his in the sink, her voice answering the phone to him when he needed nothing else than to hear it.
Checking his watch again, Sandy noted that another two hours had passed since he last checked. Four hours seemed like an excessively long time for her to be in there. As if sensing his thoughts, a hand alighted on his sleeve, making him jump.
"Mr. Cohen, your wife is out of surgery. She's being wheeled back to her room, if you'd like to meet her there."
"How is she?" Sandy dodged from side to side in the hall, anxiety not yet dispersed and expounding itself in a sudden burst of nervous energy.
"She's still out from the anaesthetic. The doctor will tell you more." The nurse opened the door to Kirsten's room and let Sandy rush past. He pulled the visitor's chair close and picked up Kirsten's hand. She was cold from the air conditioning in the operating theatre and her skin was pale, almost bloodless. Her eyes didn't open when he touched her, and Sandy looked over at the nurse.
"How long until she wakes up?" He wanted Kirsten too look at him, tell him she was feeling okay, ask him to get her water or food or something. The nurse looked at the softly bleeping machines Kirsten was hooked up to and wrote on the chart.
"Well, all her vitals are looking okay. She should come round soon. Once he cleans up from the surgery, Dr. Bradley will be down to tell you how it went." Another scribble on the chart, and the nurse was gone, leaving Sandy alone with Kirsten. He reached over to brush her hair back from her forehead. They'd changed her hospital gown from theatre blue to white cotton, and he could see the outline of several bandages beneath it; one over her breast and one under her arm. A drip silently seeped into her wrist, and he could see the barest flutter of movement beneath her eyelids. Sandy rubbed her arm, trying to warm it up. Her lips were pale, the skin on her face almost translucent, so different from the summer glow she had less than a few months ago. Sandy leaned forward, felt her reassuring, albeit slow, exhalations stirring the air. He murmured to her slowly, not sure what he was saying. He thought it was mostly promises, that he'd do better, that he'd be there more, that he'd stop threatening to sing karaoke at every Newpsie party they went to if she'd just wake up.
Finally, the doctor came in, scrubs exchanged for casual clothing, white lab coat thrown over the top. He looked mildly concerned as he looked over Kirsten's sleeping figure.
"She hasn't woken up yet?" He asked. Sandy shook his head, his eyes staying intently on Kirsten's eyes, willing them to open. The doctor pushed a few buttons on the monitors, changing screens. He pushed the nurse button before looking through the chart. In less than two minutes, the same nurse that had shown Sandy into the room was back.
"Page Masters. Tell her I need her here now."
"What is it? What's wrong?" Sandy asked, knowing something was going on. The doctor pulled a flashlight out of his top pocket and gently peeled back each of Kirsten's eyelids before flashing the light in them.
"It's nothing to worry about. We just need to get her to wake up. She weighs less than we thought, I expect." The doctor talked to Sandy as he lifted her hospital gown to check the dressings. A small stain of blood was spreading at her breast, but her other dressing was clear. Tracy chose that moment to reappear. She was still in scrubs, but, like the doctor, had added a lab coat over the top. Her hair was still distractingly red, but it failed to draw Sandy's eye from Kirsten.
"Dr. Bradley?" She asked, walking over to look at the chart.
"We need her awake. It's been over four and a half." Tracy nodded, searched her lab pockets until she came out with a vial and a syringe. Gloving up, she gave the vial to Bradley, who nodded and charted it. Tracy opened the syringe packet and drew out a small amount of amber liquid before injecting it into Kirsten's IV line. She pulled off the gloves and checked her watch.
"Two minutes. Maybe less." She said. Her beeper went off, and she checked the screen before picking up the room phone and dialling quickly. She gave whomever it was the room number, and an ETA on her time before hanging up and checking her watch again. They were all focused on Kirsten. Sandy clasped her hand tighter, feeling faint pressure answer him back. Her leaned forward seeing her eyes moving faster under her eyelids until they opened, focussing on him. Her lips curved gently into a smile, and she blinked several times. The door to the room was given a cursory knock before it opened. Neil Roberts' head appeared, and he was momentarily stunned to see Sandy and Kirsten in there.
"Sandy," he said. Sandy looked over quickly, not wanting to lose the sight of his wife's open eyes.
"Neil," Sandy replied, nodding. Neil nodded back, recalled why he was there.
"Tracy, need you in surgery now." Tracy nodded at him, then looked at Dr Bradley who motioned for her to leave.
"I'll… I'll see you later, Sandy." Neil said as they left. Sandy nodded, this time not bothering to lift his eyes to meet Neil's.
"Kirsten, I need you to look at me," Dr Bradley coaxed her. Reluctantly, Kirsten turned her eyes away from Sandy to the other side of the bed.
"I need you to tell me how many fingers I'm holding up." Kirsten cleared her throat, gave the right answer in a voice that was slightly husky, only just more than a whisper. The doctor nodded encouragingly.
"And how is your pain on a scale of one to ten, ten being worst?" There was a pause as Kirsten considered, moved in discomfort.
"Five." She said softly.
"Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?" Kirsten shook her head and the doctor nodded again, made another note on the chart. He hung the chart over the end of the bed and pulled the other chair in the room closer to the bed.
"The operation went relatively well. We didn't quite have to do a mastectomy, but we did remove a lot of tissue that was cancerous. We also had to remove some of your lymph nodes, so you'll have some discomfort under there. It was a long operation because of that. We did several scans, all of which came back reasonably clean."
"Which means?" Sandy asked. The doctor flicked a glance over to him before looking back to Kirsten.
"Hopefully we caught it before your lymph nodes could send it around your system. However, you will still need chemotherapy, just in case. You can elect to have chemo for an hour every two days, or you can come in once a week, and take an oral prescription for the rest of the week. You don't have to decide now. Most patients only want to be in here once a week, but if you're finding that you're too nauseous to keep the drugs down, you'll need to come in every two days. I know chemo isn't something everyone wants to undergo, but it is necessary. You'll also need to have blood tests every month for the next two years, then every six months after that. We reopened your biopsy incision for the operation, so that's been restitched and, again, some discomfort will occur. Once you feel the stitches pulling, in about two weeks, come back and we'll take them out. The internal stitches will be absorbed into your body, so you don't have to worry about them. You'll need to stay in overnight for observation, but you can probably be discharged tomorrow. There was a bit of bleeding during the operation, and we need to keep an eye on your fluid levels. I've prescribed some pain killers for you, the nurse will bring them and the script repeat by later. You'll need to start whichever course of chemo you choose next week, I'll get some info brought in for you." The doctor looked between them. "It's not an all clear, but it looks like we managed to stop the cancer before it could go anywhere else. Which is a good thing." He looked back to Kirsten, leaning in to pat her hand. "You will need to have a lot of rest over the next week, though. Bed rest until your body can heal itself. An operation like this isn't a small feat to get through. Any questions?" Sandy looked at Kirsten, and answered in the negative for them both. He could see her strength fading. The doctor got up and moved the chair back to its original position. He scribbled a signature on the chart.
"I'll be back in a few hours." He slipped out of the room, white coat swirling out of the door before it shut softly behind him. Sandy's eyes caught Kirsten's, and he saw the grimace in them.
"Hey, baby. How are you feeling?" He asked. Kirsten shut her eyes for a long blink, had to refocus on him as she opened them.
"A little…" Her sentence trailed off as she shut her eyes again. Sandy squeezed her hand to wake her back up.
"I've been better." She said, looking back at him, managing the smallest curvature of her lips in a replicated smile. There was a silence between them. Sandy brought her still chilled hand up to his face, breathed warm kisses along her fingers.
"He said I have to stay overnight… You should go… home." Sandy shook his head.
"There's no way I'm gonna leave you." Another long silence, and Kirsten managed a wider smile below heavily lidded eyes. Sandy saw her lips move, and he moved in to hear her soft words.
"..Love you." He made out from the faint breath brushing over his cheek. He kissed her forehead, then each closed eyelid, feeling her delicate lashes tickle his lips.
"I love you too." He whispered in her ears, the smile from her lips fading as she slowly drifted into dreams.
"More than you can ever know." Sandy sat back in his chair, delivering the last words to a sleeping figure. Her wounded chest rose gently with each breath, and only when he was sure she was deeply asleep did Sandy let the worry of the past five hours overcome him. His body leaning forward over the bed, head nestled against the soft cotton gown over her stomach, Sandy finally wept.
Oh gosh. I know. Can't you just see the camera zooming out of the room at the end there, the screen fading slowly to black? Gotta love the angst… sigh.
Okay… I don't know if you can get oral chemo tabs, but let's just go with it. It's fanfiction for a reason, right? If anyone has any comments to offer on the factuality on the whole cancer thing, email, review or PM me please. Otherwise, just review and tell me what you thought; love/hate/suggestions/flames/adoration/flattery… it's all welcomed, I just want to know people are reading it!
NB: The first 1,200 or so words of this chapter, featuring Sandy in full worry mode, come to you from a suggestion in a review by MisssIda. Thanks xx.