Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Ben
Knowing the mother of my son has cancer, but pretending I don’t, is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. She’s six months into her treatment and still completely silent on the issue.
I only know because I’m abusing my position at the cancer clinic to monitor her case. Eamon has been my informant as Bex is attending his colleague’s support group. He says she’s quiet but never misses one. She comes with another woman called Katie, who Bex has never mentioned.
According to Eamon, Katie is brash and a long-time person living with cancer. It gives me some relief that she has someone sharing the journey with her. I’m grateful she has Katie, but part of me hates that it’s not me. That she won’t lean on me, won’t even try.
Over the past few weeks, she’s been asking me to look after Liam more often. The chemotherapy drugs must be taking their toll. When I dropped Liam home last night, she was already in bed with a migraine.
It grates on me that I can’t support her more. But if I tell her I know, then she will realize I’ve been spying on her. Regardless of the fact she has cancer, that will not go down well.
And it shouldn’t. This Bex is fiercely independent, and I love that. Which makes this betrayal—watching her without permission—feel all the more wrong. But I can’t stop. Because I’m terrified that if I blink, I’ll miss her slipping away.
Our relationship is improving slowly. There are more coffees at drop off or pick up. We attend parent meetings together alongside Kelsey, since the boys are in the same class. It makes for some interesting conversations.
Today is my shift at the Cancer Center. I spend my time here with my eyes peeled, praying we don’t bump into each other by accident. Eamon keeps a note of her treatment and appointment schedule, so we know when to expect her, but this isn’t always foolproof, as appointments change regularly.
The last thing I want to do is surprise her. Bump into her and have her realize I’ve known the whole time. Every week I think, maybe she’ll tell me today. Maybe she’ll let me in. And every week she doesn’t, the silence between us grows heavier.
My support group starts in ten minutes. I’m chatting with the receptionist while reading the list of names attending. It pleases me to see my patient, Anita, on the list.
She hasn’t been for a few weeks after she received a poor prognosis. Further treatment is limited because her case is terminal. When I spoke to her consultant, he said he’d advised she should expect only twelve months.
If memory serves me correctly, her daughter is due to have a baby soon, so she should be here to welcome her new grandchild, but the child will never know her. The knowledge guts me, and my mood nosedives at the depressing thought.
This is the part of being a doctor I hate.
At times like this, I understand why many of my colleagues don’t become emotionally involved.
They keep the relationship between doctor and patient at a distance, just another number on the list. But I feel being a doctor is so much more than that. It’s about the people, not the illness.
A booming female voice sounds through the department.
Looking up, I see a voluptuous woman with blonde curls strutting into the room.
She’s talking to her friend, who I realize, in horror, is Bex.
I dive behind the receptionist’s desk, before she sees me, and crouch beneath the legs of the poor woman on duty who startles.
“Doctor, what are you doing?” She sounds ticked off at my bad manners.
I point up with my finger. “That woman can’t see me.” Then, I lay a finger across my lips in a sign to say, keep your trap shut.
“Katie Clark and Rebecca Corrigan reporting for chemo,” Katie says. She probably saluted the receptionist, and I nearly crack up.
My eyes move to the set of legs I’m currently hiding between. She’s an older woman, but I notice she’s wearing stockings with a suspender belt under her skirt. The angle I’ve perched myself at means, when I glance up, it’s directly into her crotch.
Not sure whether to laugh or cry, I almost lose my balance. Rocking backward, I grab whatever there is to hold on to. Unfortunately, it’s the set of legs in front of me.
“Oh!” the receptionist shouts above me, steadying herself, then continuing with her work as if nothing happened as I hear another set of heels approach the desk.
“Is Doctor Jones here yet? I need to speak to him in private.”
I recognize the voice as Anita’s. She came; I’m glad. The receptionist tells her I’m here somewhere, to head into the meeting room, and she’ll book her ten minutes with me at the end. That’s why my schedule changes every hour, I think, this bloody woman is messing around with it.
Bex’s voice grabs my attention. “Doctor Jones?” she asks.
“Yes. Doctor Jones. He’s one of the oncology consultants,” the receptionist answers professionally.
Bex murmurs something, then the two women head off to their chemotherapy session. The receptionist taps me on the head.
“You can come out now.” She sighs.
I stand to the surprised faces of an elderly gentleman and his wife. They look between the receptionist and me. I wink at them cheekily. Then, leaning forward, I whisper, “Nice stockings.” She flushes, and I walk off toward my meeting room.
I send a quick message to Eamon, updating him on the situation. He takes it upon himself to investigate where Bex’s treatment is taking place and how long for.
Her chemotherapy is intravenous and requires her to sit for hours at a time to receive the drugs. Apparently, Katie and Bex attend every appointment together. They sit and chat throughout the process.
According to the chemotherapy nursing team, they treat their chemo as a day out rather than life-saving treatment; enjoying every moment is what the nurse told Eamon. My phone pings. Eamon.
Lunch at two. Need to talk.
I send back a thumbs up, wondering what he needs to speak to me about in private and so urgently. But deep down, I sense it can’t be good. Two o’clock is only a few hours away, but it can’t come soon enough.
***
We meet at our usual place at two o’clock sharp. Eamon is sitting at the table waiting, already gnawing on a chunk of bread. His wife, Melissa, is next to him, her face sullen. A bottle of white is ready in an ice bucket with three glasses waiting to be poured.
I walk over, and Melissa grabs me in a bear hug. Eamon stands to shake my hand even though we saw each other only a few hours ago.
“What’s wrong?” I ask them, concerned. “Why are you here, Mel? Are you alright?” Eamon gestures to me to pour the wine and clears his throat.
“You won’t be going back to work today. I’ve already called them,” Eamon says. I stare at them, perplexed. Eamon ignores my confused expression.
“I caught up with Bex’s consultant today. He’s concerned. Things aren’t good. It’s stage three, Ben, and it’s spreading. Her chances now are about fifty-fifty.”
My stomach drops, and I grip the edge of the table, willing myself to breathe. Eamon places his hand on my back. We just sit there for a while, letting the reality of what he said sink in.
The truth is, he shouldn’t be telling me this. He could lose his license. We both know it. But he hears the way I talk about her—and maybe he’s tired of watching me drown in silence. Suffocate, while losing her piece by piece, before I was even able to make things right.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” he asks.
I nod and start chewing on my bread. Lunch stretches into four hours as Eamon explains Bex’s cancer and treatment. The drugs are aggressive. They’re blasting the tumor with everything they can to stop it from spreading.
Melissa holds my hand across the table. Her worried eyes never leave my face. With few words spoken, tears stream down her cheeks as more facts are revealed.
Another thing I hate about being a doctor is the fact treatment results can’t be guaranteed. One person can respond well while another doesn’t respond at all.
It seems Bex’s response hasn’t been as good as was hoped. Her body is feeling the side effects of the treatment, like her migraine the other evening. It’s noted in her file she’s also experiencing the early stages of hair loss.
I think back to last Sunday when she collected Liam. She was wearing her hood up, which is unlike her. It made me pause. I wanted to ask a probing question. But I didn’t, not wanting her to push me away.
We say our goodbyes before leaving for home. All the children are with their mothers tonight, so I have plenty of time to stew on the information. As we leave, Melissa turns to me. It’s obvious she’s considering saying something, but thinks better of it.
“Just say whatever you want to say,” I tell her. Eamon nods to his wife in encouragement.
“I was just thinking about how short and unpredictable life is. It’d be a waste not to take a risk before it is too late.”
Then she takes her husband’s hand, and they walk away toward their car, leaving me standing on the pavement, watching their burly backs waddle away. Her words spinning in my mind.
Sitting at home alone in my apartment, I feel completely at sea. My head’s telling me to continue along the path I’m on, being the father Liam needs. Bex will tell me when she wants me to know. When I need to know.
However, the situation is critical. How long is she going to wait before she bloody tells me?
I feel like I should be brave and tell her how I feel.
I let her walk away before. Told myself it was the right thing.
That she’d be better off without me. But watching her do this alone?
That’s not love, it’s cowardice. And I’m done being a coward.
One bottle of wine becomes two. I toss and turn, plagued by regret and "what ifs," until sleep finally offers solace.
But within hours, I’m startled awake by my dreams. Terrifying movies of Bex in a coffin or sitting at home alone, ill, with no one to support her. Before I can change my mind, I launch myself out of bed and start throwing things into a bag. I can’t cope with this.
I need to go.
Pulling on yesterday’s clothes and shoes, I head out the door and jump into my car. Then I do what I should’ve done years ago. I go to her.
Pulling up outside her apartment block, I glance at my watch. It’s one o’clock in the morning, and after everything I drank, I probably shouldn’t have driven. I didn’t think this through. You’re a madman appearing at her door in the middle of the night. Go home.
As I turn the ignition off, I glance up at her apartment. The lights are on, and she’s standing in the window, staring down at my car.
You can’t leave now. She’s seen you.
So I grab my bag and drag myself outside. I may as well take the bull by the horns, as they say.
Climbing the three flights of stairs to the apartment is taking longer than usual. I don’t know if it’s because I am exhausted or terrified, but my feet are not moving as fast as they normally do. When I arrive at the front door, it’s still closed. I wonder if she never actually saw me.
Turning to go, I hear the lock snick. She opens the door and stares at me as if I’m a figment of her imagination.
Her skin is paler than I’ve ever seen it.
Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail. She’s bundled in fleece pajamas with socks and gloves, despite the warm summer night.
Something about it knocks the breath from my lungs.
Tonight, she looks like a woman who’s gravely ill. She goes to speak, but I lift my hand to stop her.
“You don’t have to say anything. But I need to...” This is my chance. My last chance after walking away when she needed me before. I need to make it count, so I say everything.
“I know about the cancer. I know about your treatment. I know about your prognosis. I still love you. Please let me support you. Let me be the man I should have been for you all those years ago,” I beg.
“I failed you before. I won’t do it again.
Not now. Not when it matters most.” I’m nervous, terrified of her response.
Soft brown eyes hold mine. And all I can do is pray she says yes.
If she lets me in, it’s not just for her—it’s for Liam too. He deserves the truth. And so does she. They both deserve all of me, if they’ll have me.