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I rode with Layla in the ambulance to the nearest ER. As soon as she was rolled through the sliding doors, a team was ready to do tests. By that time, she’d started to come around, but she was still disoriented. Labs and a CT scan with contrast were done from head to toe.
As soon as the radiologist read the results, one of several doctors who had been waiting to examine Layla upon our arrival walked into the private room, where I was waiting with Emmie and Nik while Layla slept.
“Mr. Thornton, your wife has a tumor on her pituitary gland. It’s one of the biggest I’ve ever seen in my twenty years as a neurosurgeon.”
My knees went weak at his words, delivered so cavalierly. Nik caught me and helped me sit in the chair that was thankfully right behind me, but I was shaking as I looked up at the man in green surgical scrubs. “She has a tumor? Cancer?”
“Most pituitary tumors aren’t cancerous,” he assured me, and my heart began to beat again. “They are typically slow-growing tumors that don’t spread to other parts of the brain or body. But as I said, your wife’s is quite large. I would like to remove it first thing in the morning.”
Numb, with relief that it was most likely not cancer, but that Layla still needed brain surgery, I listened to him tell me the risks and what to expect following the removal of the tumor. He explained that, for the mass to be as big as it was, it would have been growing for years. At least a decade, maybe longer. After it was removed, Layla would most likely need hormone replacement and adrenal steroids, but an endocrinologist would monitor her and decide if and when she would need to start medication.
“This tumor,” I choked out when he asked if I had any questions. “Could it cause mood swings? Maybe personality changes?”
Emmie sucked in a harsh breath and grasped my arm. “Oh my Gods,” she whispered as we looked up at the doctor, who was already nodding.
“The pituitary gland regulates hormones that can cause shifts in moods and even personality. I’m not at all surprised that she may have been having these symptoms, especially given the size of the tumor.”
There it was.
The answer to why she hadn’t been my Layla at times.
Guilt threatened to swallow me whole.
I should have made her see a doctor when I first noticed the mood swings and differences in her personality.
Instead, I’d made excuses and ignored what had actually been a sign of a serious illness.
“Will…” I paused to swallow around the tightness in my throat. “Will she be okay?”
“The survival rate for a pituitary tumor is high,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Full recovery can take up to six weeks, but I’m confident that your wife will make a complete recovery. As I said, the endocrinologist will keep a close watch on her levels and medicate her as necessary.”
Emmie relaxed beside me, but I was still tense. “How many of these types of surgeries have you done?”
The doctor gave me an understanding nod. “Great question. I can understand your need for reassurance about my abilities. If it were my wife, I’d be worried about who was in charge of her care as well. I specialized in neurosurgery and graduated top of my class from the University of Kentucky, which is the top neurosurgery school in the country. Pituitary tumors make up about seventeen percent of all brain tumors or masses a year. I’ve seen more cases like this than I can count—the only difference is that your wife’s tumor is considerably larger than I usually encounter. She might have to undergo radiation following surgery due to the extreme size, but we won’t know for sure until after I’ve removed the tumor—or as much as I safely can.”
“So, it’s not a simple surgery and then medication as you first led me to believe.” I balled my hands into fists. “Emmie, find the best neurosurgeon in the country. Whatever it costs, make it happen.”
“Jesse,” she murmured. “I already ran a check on Dr. Dvorak, and the other doctors who are working tonight, when we first got here. Heisthe top neurosurgeon in the country.”
“You’re sure?” I choked out.
“I wouldn’t let some novice touch Layla,” she reassured me. “He’s the best. I promise.”
Knowing I could trust her, I looked back at the doctor. “She’s going to be okay?”
“The statistics are in her favor,” Dr. Dvorak answered.
I didn’t like that answer, but apparently it was all he could offer me.
The helpless feeling that had hit me when Layla first lost consciousness only kept growing.
Fuck.
I couldn’t lose my wife.
Chapter 10
Shane
