Chapter One #2
“What are the odds of surviving this sort of surgery?” The numbness was being replaced with a gnawing panic, but Michael didn’t show it. He was a master of calmness no matter the turmoil he might feel inside. “What sort of damage?”
“One in two patients survive,” the doctor waited for that to sink in.
“If I do not have the surgery, I die. If I do have the surgery there is a fifty percent chance I die,” paraphrased Michael. The whole thing seemed surreal. Michael repeated his earlier question. “What sort of brain damage?”
Dr. Reynolds took out a sheet showing one of the many scans that Michael had undergone. “This is the small mass. Dr. Hemmond can carefully remove your eye and then remove the mass, reinserting the eye without any problems to your vision. That is the easy procedure.”
It did not sound easy. Michael is stomach rebelled. He liked his eyes and preferred to keep them in his head. He did not particularly care how skilled the surgeon might be.
Dr. Reynolds pulled another scan from the bottom of the file folder and placed it on top.
“This is the larger mass. We need to approach it where there will be the least consequences to your daily living. Essentially, he is choosing what brain damage to give you. By removing a part of your skull here and coming through this area of the brain, we would affect the area of your brain that deals with language. After the surgery, it is very likely that you would have a condition called Speech Aphasia. While you will be able to understand everything spoken, you would have trouble replying. You might forget a word. You might mean to say a word like ‘fork’ but insert ‘onion’ instead. You will not be able to read or write. The words and letters will get mixed up. It will be a permanent condition.”
“How likely is this brain damage to occur?” Michael felt like he had been punched. To never speak properly, write or read again?
“It would be almost certain,” the doctor said with sympathy.
“But there is a chance that it would not happen?” he had to ask.
“Michael, I would not count on it.” Dr. Reynolds shut the file.
“This is the best chance that you have to live. I am going to schedule the surgery. I would respectfully suggest that you update your will and see to any unfinished business in the next three days. If you survive the surgery, we can biopsy the removed masses and find out if it is cancer. We will proceed from there. Please go to exam room one and the nurse will take you through the pre-op forms and liability forms.”
Michael nodded and swallowed thickly.
Dr. Reynolds squeezed his shoulder. “I will do everything I can to get you through this. In the meanwhile, I am going to up your dosage for the pain medication that you are on to help with the migraines.”
Michael shook the doctor is proffered hand then proceeded to exam room one.
The nurse walked him through the paperwork.
He agreed not to hold the doctor or the hospital responsible for anything that might occur during the surgery including death.
He received paperwork detailing his aftercare and what to expect.
His head would be shaved at the hospital for the surgery.
No food or water after midnight the day of the surgery.
He would remain in hospital for a minimum of three days, perhaps more depending on how things progressed.
He was given a prescription for the medication increase and told not to drive or operate heavy machinery.
Today was Monday. Surgery was scheduled for Thursday.
He was to be at the hospital at seven in the morning.
How was he going to deal with the Claymont acquisition?
What about the other legal issues he had sitting on his desk?
Who would take over his work? Moreover, who would take his place as head of the company?
Michael did everything on automatic. He listened politely to the nurse, nodded in all the right places, signed his name where he was supposed to.
He took his paperwork, folding it, he placed it in the inside breast pocket of his suit.
He did not need anyone knowing about this.
Not just yet. He thanked her for her time and was silent as usual on the drive back to corporate headquarters.
He pretended to be checking emails on his phone, however the truth was he didn’t even see the screen.
Going through emails was pointless. He could not concentrate.
It was four-thirty-one when Michael came back to his office.
He knew this because he grabbed his current journal, wrote down the time and date and then wrote down his prognosis.
It seemed so permanent when written down in his script.
Michael had kept a journal since the age of eight.
For a moment he sat, staring at the words.
Then he began a list of things that needed to be done.
He would have to adjust his will, Ethan and Evan, his two nephews from his brother Noah and his wife Elle had not been alive when he made the last will.
He would like to leave something in trust for them should the worst happen.
Then there were instructions for the Claymont deal.
He would have to get the legal team up here to finish what was necessary and leave everything in order to make it easier for his replacement.
There should be instructions given for the Kellington court case.
They should settle out of court and out of the press.
It would be the best scenario. As for his own replacement, perhaps Deegal for the head of the legal department and Gains for the head of the company.
Noah would not be interested. Max was no longer with the company in any meaningful way.
Gains would be the best candidate. He was trustworthy.
He knew the vision that the company had for the future.
Michael was interrupted as Ann knocked on the glass and entered his office, shutting the door firmly behind her. “Michael, I thought we should talk.”
“Now is not the best time,” he continued to write furiously. “Could you ask Deegal to come here? Tell him to bring Sanders and … what is the other assistant is name?”
“Walkers.”
“Yes, Walkers. Please tell them to come.”
“Michael, I need to talk to you about something important,” Ann came forward and sat across from him. “I have worked here for a long time, and I have decided to make some changes in my life.”
Twenty-two years, eight months and nine days. He laid down his pen and waited to see what she would say, impatient to get to work but taking the time to listen to her. Instead, she took a deep breath and handed him a paper.
“What is this?” but he knew. The first few words gave it away. It was a letter of resignation. He looked at her with some confusion. “Ann, why? Are you unhappy here?”
“I have loved working with you,” she hastily explained. “You are an amazing boss. You have taught me everything I know in the business world. But I cannot keep doing twelve to eighteen hour days, chasing you around, making your world easier for you.”
“We could reduce your hours,” he offered. “If you need more vacation time or anything else, you only need to ask.”
“It is not about working less hours or vacation. I want…” Ann stared at her clasped hands that rested on her knees. “I want some things that I cannot have if I continue to work here with you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am forty years old. I want a family. I want to go to PTA meetings, school plays, soccer or gymnastics or whatever sport event my children might choose.”
Michael felt a flare of panic but tried to tamp it down. His Ann had not dated anyone seriously since that Roy character. He was certain she was not dating anyone right now. Was she? “The company has a great maternity program and daycare…”
“You are not understanding me.”
“Then help me to understand,” he rose from his chair, coming around the desk, stopping when she stood as well. “Anything I can do to help, anything I can give you I will.”
There was a little hitch in her voice. “Can you give me babies?”
Michael stared dumbfounded at her. What could he say? Why on earth was she asking this and what exactly did she mean?
There was disappointment in her eyes and her voice, “I thought not.”
He didn’t know what he had done. Or not done. Or what he should do. She turned and briskly walked to her desk, grabbing her purse. Galvanized into action, he followed her. “Ann. Please wait.”
She kept walking and he continued dog her steps.
“Please stay. I need you here.”
She gave an odd sort of little sound.
“We can talk about this,” he said. He was not sure how, but he was willing to. Anything for her to stay. “Please, Ann.”
She walked into the elevator and pressed a button the doors began to close. He put his hand out to stop them.
“Please stay.”
She looked at him for a long moment then pressed the button again. As the doors closed, she said, “Goodbye Michael.”
He stood staring at the elevator for a moment like the idiot he was.
A hand clamped onto his shoulder. “Trouble in paradise Ramesly?”
It was Colin Ozzit. Michael did not like Ozzit under normal circumstances.
He liked him far less right now. There had always been a bit of a rumor going around that Michael and Ann were romantically involved.
There was, disappointingly, no truth to that rumor but it did not stop people from talking.
He looked Ozzit straight in the eye and lied, “Everything is fine.”
Ozzit chuckled. “Sure thing.”
Michael walked around the odious man and went directly to Geanie Duvell. Mrs. Duvell was secretary to Christian Gains. She was a competent woman. “Mrs. Duvell, I apologize for interrupting, but I find myself in a situation.”
Mrs. Duvell looked up from her filing, “Oh?”