Page 40 of Hollywood King
Sixteen
Cathy
Step one,get out of bed. Step two, take a shower and absolutely do not masturbate to thoughts of Heath’s hands battering my ass. Fail step two, move on to step three: get dressed. It’s strange how the effort needed to care for yourself in the morning can seem like so much more after being ill. I felt like my insides were hollowed out, and my will to move had been stolen with the organs and attitude making up my guts.
Food called my name, so I made some oatmeal and dumped a scoop of protein powder into the mass of oats and fruit. If I wanted to stay healthy longer, I had to start taking steps now to remain so. I ate all the oatmeal, drank a bottle of water, and packed some snacks for later. Today turned into test day, and so Dr. Rogers and Eddy expected me to subject myself to a bevy of blood draws.
Since I wasn’t working, seemed the least I could do with my time. Until Heath calls demanding my help with something, or the cancer surges up in full force, it seems I’d start becoming a woman of leisure.
I grabbed my bag and headed out. Once I arrived the hospital, I kept my head down. The news of my diagnosis would have spread through the hospital the first day I passed out, and I couldn’t stand the idea of seeing pity on all my former colleagues faces.
The labs whisked me in ahead of the line, and they actually went a lot faster than I thought they would. After, I had to go wait outside Eddy’s office for him to finish his rounds and see me. His nurse returned before him, and eyeballed me half laying in the wood chair sitting outside his office door. She clucked as she led me into an exam room and left me a gown. It made me laugh to think Eddy and I had joked about having sex only a short time ago. And now, this was the only way he would see me naked. I wondered if I should screw with him about it. When I had the energy.
I changed and sat bare assed on the crinkly paper. His exam room smelled like alcohol and hospital linens. Not a bad thing, but being away for a few days made me realize how my nose had gotten numb to the scents of the hospital.
A few minutes of sitting and Eddy bustled in with his usual Ken-doll smile and took a seat on the rolling stool in front of me. “How are you feeling?”
“A little lethargic. But probably still recovering from that fever or bug or whatever.”
He nodded, still smiling. Did he smile this much with his real patients?
He checked my blood pressure, temperature, all normal. Then looked at the lab work which the labs rushed for him. I should send them some wine over there for hooking me up.
Time passed while he stared and scrolled until I got tired of waiting, hopped off the table, and leaned over his shoulder.
I pointed at a number down the column. “There, my CBC is low.” And I ran my finger down the monitor to the protein counts. “And those are bad too.”
He brushed me off his shoulder with a glare. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Instead of arguing, I went back to my paper covered table and waited. A few more minutes, and he spun back to face me. The smile gone now. Disconcerting.
“You were right about those, and I saw a few more that concern me. You have a history of blood cancer. Several reoccurrences and remissions?”
“This was my longest. I haven’t had to fight in over ten years. I thought it was gone for good this time.”
I let out a stuttered breath, fighting not to cry.
He rubbed my arm, and I tried a weak smile. “Did you have a plan yet? I know you’ve been thinking about this.”
I shuffled through my bag at the end of the table and pulled out some papers folded in quarters. He took them and unfolded to read. “Are you sure about this?”
I pointed to the number at the bottom, and he whistled. “Are you really sure about this?”
“The way I see it, if I do chemo and fight, I still won’t have long to live, and it will be awful and painful. If I try the Johnson Experimental Treatment, then maybe I have a shot, and I’m going to die anyway.”
He flinched as if my death reference physically bludgeoned him. “I’m not going to let you die. So, let’s figure this out. Have you spoken to Dr. Johnson yet about joining his trials?”
“Not exactly. I need to make sure I have the money first.”
This look held no pity. “Are you joking?”
“No, when I left home, I vowed not to take my family’s money. And outside of school loans, I haven’t. But I’m working on it, and I think I’ll have enough with my trust to pay for it.”
“What about care before you go to the treatment? This says his next trial doesn’t start for another month. What if you have another episode like the other day? You should come and stay in the hospital.”
I hopped off the table and dragged my clothes into a pile to put some distance between his all too real questions and my feelings. “If I only have one good month left, then I don’t want to spend it in the hospital.”
“You want to spend it with Heath. What is he going to think when you just pack up for three months and he doesn’t hear from you?”
