My mouth dries up as I look at the night nurse and try to pay attention to what she’s saying.
“After you take this pill, you can freshen up, put on this gown, and lie down. I’ll be back in ten minutes to take you downstairs.”
I nod, too stunned to respond. Everything’s happening so fast.
At the door, she pauses and turns back. “Are you worried?”
Defeated, I shrug and look at her. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m feeling.”
She regards me silently. “Would you like me to accompany you and wait until they take you to the OR? I know from experience that waiting alone in the pre-op room, especially for such a serious operation, can be tough.”
My eyes scan her face again before I nod. “Yeah, I think I would like that.”
I’m no coward, and I’m not easily frightened, but the idea of having someone with me who’s been in the same boat is somehow comforting.
Sure enough, she returns ten minutes later, a peculiar gadget in her grasp. “Don’t fret, it’s not a defibrillator. It’s just a remote for the bed,” she jests, catching my wary glance at the odd contraption.
Despite the anxiety beginning to gnaw at me, I can’t help but chuckle at her humor.
The hospital hallways are still relatively serene as she skillfully maneuvers my bed through them. The only people in sight are nurses and doctors. It’s only when we near the emergency room that we spot the occasional lost visitor.
As we are made to wait before being allowed into the pre-op room, my nerves start to take over, my hands clenching involuntarily.
Suddenly, I feel a small, warm hand cover my cold, clenched fist. “Are you okay?” she asks.
She cuts me off before I can finish. “You don’t need to explain. It was a dumb question. Of course you’re not okay. You’re probably a bundle of nerves,” she says.
I remain silent, only nodding in agreement. She’s right, I am nervous. Then it hits me. “You’ve been taking care of me for hours, but I still don’t know your name.”
She looks surprised, then glances down at her chest. A sheepish smile spreads across her face. “Oops! I forgot to put on my badge again. Anyway, my name is Alex, short for Alexandra.”
I flash her a wide grin, momentarily forgetting about the impending surgery. “Nice to meet you, Al—”
Before I can finish, the door of the operating room swings open, and a man strides toward us. “Mr. Winter?”
I nod, my stomach churning. This is it.
Alex leans over before I’m wheeled in. “Sleep well, Edward. I’ll see you tonight.” Then she’s gone, leaving me alone with the surgical team.
As I change back into my regular clothes and toss my soiled uniform into the laundry bin, my thoughts drift to Edward.
I don’t usually accompany a patient into the pre-op room, but something about this burly man stirred my protective instincts. He might be large and intimidating, but a small voice in my head told me he didn’t feel as tough as he looked.
Fortunately, an early-arriving colleague from the day shift agreed to cover for me, allowing me to escort the rugged biker to the OR.
I glance at the clock—it’s already 8:30 a.m. Bart must have left for work by now. I just hope he woke Nena up. It wouldn’t be the first time he forgot.
I hurry down the hall to my oncologist’s office for my appointment. Luckily, I’m the first to arrive, and the receptionist is a familiar face. As I sign in, my colleague is already paging the doctor, who appears less than two minutes later. “Good morning, Alex. How are you?”
Her bright smile bolsters my spirits, and I follow her into her consulting room with renewed confidence.
“Have a seat. I hope you had a quiet shift,” she says as she’s looking at her computer.
With a broad smile, my doctor looks up from the screen, and as her eyes meet mine, her eyebrows shoot up and her smile falters. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to make you any more nervous than you already were. I just noticed another message came in from the lab. But I will help you out of the suspense. As far as we can see, everything is fine and there are no metastases, so you can stop the medication. Just remember that your body needs time to recover. It can take—”
Less than ten minutes later, I’m back outside her office, feeling as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The results were good, and I don’t have to return for another six months. But the best news is that I can stop taking the medication that’s been keeping me in menopause.
As I’m driving home, I call my mother to tell her the good news. When she doesn’t answer, I remember that she had to get up early today to go to the GP herself. For a moment, I hesitate whether to tell her the results myself or leave it on voicemail, but I decide to wait until tonight when Nena will also be there.
I then call Bart’s number, but get his voicemail right away. Disappointed, I hang up. I’ll try again when I get home.
As I pull into the empty driveway, I sigh. On one hand, I’m relieved Bart’s not home and I won’t have to listen to his complaints about looking after Nena in the evenings. As if she’s still in diapers—she’s thirteen!
But what irks me most are his repelled glances. I know I’m not the woman I used to be, but that’s to be expected, right? On the other hand, I miss having him around. I miss my friend. My rock. But if I’m honest, he hasn’t been that for a long time.
The house is eerily quiet. As I step into the living room, a note on the dining table catches my eye.
The sweet note, clearly penned by my thirteen-year-old daughter, brings both joy and tears.
The mention of Bart, however, bothers me. Who is this Mark? I’ve heard him talk about his colleagues, but never about a Mark.
