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My jaw drops.
“We found a small tumor on the edge of his pancreas, Ms. Sandusky.”
“A tumor?” I gulp.
He’s alive. Everything was supposed to be okay as long as he lived.
Everything is not okay.
“Yes. We have to send it to pathology, but at first glance, it looks like it is probably cancerous.”
I gulp. No. No, no, no.
“But this is good news, Ms. Sandusky.”
Her words hover around me, echoing. Good news. Good news? Cancer?
“Good news? How is cancer good news?”
“We were able to excise the entire tumor. If it is cancer, and we got clean edges, that gunshot wound to the abdomen just saved Mr. O’Connor’s life.”
“What?”
My mind goes blank.
“Pancreatic cancer is almost impossible to diagnose until it’s in its advanced stages. Almost no one survives. But this tumor is small. Mr. O’Connor wouldn’t have begun to show symptoms until two or more years down the road. And then it would’ve been too late. Now, he can be monitored. Yearly CAT scans of his pancreas to make sure the tumor doesn’t return. And if it does, we’ll get it early. He’s going to live, Ms. Sandusky. Your boyfriend is going to live.”
I stand there, my mouth dropped open.
I know I must look like a halfwit, but how do I process this?
How do I process that those horrible armed robbers, who permanently scarred those two children and the rest of us, may have saved the life of the man I love?
Yvette’s words ring in my mind.
I see something when he looks at you. I see something I’ve never seen in him before. I believe you’re the one. You were placed in his path and he in yours.
“He’s in the ICU right now, and I can’t allow you to see him until after the anesthesia has worn off. That will be a couple hours. But he’s okay, Ms. Sandusky. Go home. Take a shower and change your clothes. He’ll still be here when you get back.”
“He will?”
“I can’t make any guarantees, but he’s strong. He’s had a blood transfusion. His vitals are looking good. He’s a survivor. It’s a miracle that we found the tumor.”
I’m still trying to process her words.
“You can’t see him for a while anyway. So go take care of yourself.”
“His grandmother’s on her way. His parents are out of the country. They won’t be here until tomorrow.”
“Good.”
I’m babbling. I know I’m babbling. I’m still trying to process everything this nice doctor has told me.
“Please. Go home and take care of yourself. He’s going to need your strength when he wakes up.”
I can’t take the subway. I had to throw away my white cardigan. And there’s still blood on my arms and my corset.
I grab a cab, go home, throw the corset in the trash, and take a deep breath.
