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“I talked to the chief already, so he knows,” Ryan said, in disbelief.
This was not what he expected. He thought the doctor would give her a prescription for a headache remedy, not a death sentence. He thought they’d go to breakfast and spend the rest of their unexpected day off digging in their new garden, not planning for surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. It made him sick to his stomach, his gorge rising, and the more he tried to block out the droning of the doctors’ voices, the harder it became.
After they left, Caroline looked up at Ryan, concerned. She took his hand, the disbelief of what they had just learned not fully penetrating yet.
“I can’t believe it,” she said.
“I can’t either. Do you want to get dressed?” he asked. It was vital to his well-being to get out of that room.
“Yeah, I want to go home.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you haven’t been feeling well?” he asked.
“Look at you, Ryan! You’re in shock. I didn’t want to ruin our vacation because I had a little headache.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t a little headache, was it? It’s a big, ugly-ass tumor. I saw it, Caroline. I saw the film. It’s pushing the entire left side of your brain over, and it’s ready to herniate.”
“They didn’t make it sound that bad,” she said, grimacing.
“Yeah, because you’re like me. You heard what you wanted to hear. I’ll be right back.”
Ryan ran from the room and found the trio of physicians at the desk, conferring.
“Come back to Caroline’s room, please. You need to tell her the size of the tumor and her prognosis. Don’t dump this on me.”
They looked at him, grim expressions on their faces.
“It’s not that bad, Ryan,” Albert said, squirming.
“Bullshit. She’s a surgeon and you owe her the truth right from the get-go. It’s the only way she’ll survive. I know my wife, and if you give her an out in this, she’ll take it. She’ll try to keep working. She’ll skimp on the treatment you offer her. She needs to know how dire her circumstances are.”
So they reluctantly came back, and the neurosurgeon gave her the facts about the size and location of the tumor, the probability that it was glioblastoma.
“We’ll do a stereotactic needle biopsy first to confirm the diagnosis.”
“Okay, so it’s not like I’m coming in for a craniotomy tomorrow.”
“Right,” the neurosurgeon said. “I didn’t mean to be condescending. It’s a lot to take in at once. So we’ll do the biopsy. I’ll get you on the schedule this week.”
“Then once we’re absolutely sure we know what we’re dealing with, we’ll line up the radiation schedule,” the radiologist said.
“And schedule you to see an oncologist,” Albert said.
They didn’t say anything else for a moment. “I think we’re all guilty here of assuming you can read our minds because you’re a doc. I apologize,” the neurosurgeon said, and they all concurred.
“Thanks for coming back,” Ryan said. “I feel like we know what’s happening now.”
They said goodbye again and left the room. Caroline lay back on the pillow, staring off into space. “Okay, I get it,” she said. “We’re not going to have a family, are we? This is it. Right now, today. This is all we are going to have.”
Although it appeared to be the facts, he knew they wouldn’t survive if they looked at her life in those terms.
“Let’s just get through today, okay? You have a lot coming up. And I’m going to have to get back to work eventually, which I can’t even fathom.”
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m going to faint and not because I have a brain tumor. I need something to eat.”
He offered his arm; she took it and stood up, shaking the hospital gown down.
He put his hand on her flat belly and shook his head. “My favorite part of your body disappeared.”
