Always You Page 6

  “Are you okay?” His facial expression tells a story of confusion and worry.

  “Fine,” I choke.

  I’m not okay.

  Watching Will roll over at the sound of the blaring alarm and switching it off, I force one slow breath through my lips before closing my eyes. Today is the day I learn my fate and I didn’t sleep more than a few winks. The entire night I lay here replaying all the beautiful moments of my life. Every one of them holds a significant part of who I am today. I’m now left to chase one more beautiful moment in my life and I know if I’m allowed enough time I can do it…I just need time.

  The last week has been peculiar, like I’ve been moving in slow motion. Mum, Dad, and Gem have been at my front door the moment I’ve returned home from work and refused to leave until my eyes gave way to exhaustion and I needed to sleep. Well, every night except last night. Last night I wanted to lie in my Willard’s arms and be perfect—just how we were before our world came crashing down around us—before the bubble surrounding us in happiness popped. I’ve worked hard at acting normally. I haven’t succeeded. Uncertainty is plaguing both of us, and as much as Will’s been doting, he’s also been distant.

  “May,” is all Will says when his arms wrap around my shoulders and his head tucks into the crest of my neck.

  “Together,” I breathe.

  “Always and forever, no matter the weather,” he mumbles into my neck.

  I smile at this silly saying we repeat when things feel too tough to handle.

  “We should get ready. It’s seven a.m.”

  “Just a few minutes longer.”

  “For you anything.” He kisses my neck.

  Feeling Will’s warmth wrapping me in its false safety net, I force myself to think of a possible future, one with great grandbabies running around our feet. There is no visual of this time for me now…something I could see easily before is nearly impossible this morning. Can you already know your fate before you’re told it?

  Our fate is predetermined and I know this to be true. I’ve no control over what will happen from today onwards, only a spark of a dream that needs my body to be the vessel. Am I built for the sole purpose of being a vessel to a fresh life?

  The drive is eerily quiet this morning as we head to Wellington Medical Centre. There seems to be less traffic on the roads than usual and less people walking the footpaths. When my eyes flick to the skyline, the sun shines brightly in welcome, but the sky also seems to rain doom and gloom over our little car. One stormy rain cloud created just for us is hovering ominously.

  “May, do I turn here?” Will finally speaks, deep in concentration as he studies the street signs. It dawns on me this is the first time Will is going to the centre. Maybe I should have driven even though he was insistent.

  “Two streets down, turn right.”

  “Of course, Wellington Street.”

  “Yes.” A small smile lifts my lips.

  Parking right in front, Will helps me from the car, grabbing my hand in a way that tells me he’s worried I might fade away to a shadow that can’t be grasped anymore. Applying firm pressure to my hand now tucked safely in his, I wish I could turn around again and go home. We don’t. Instead, we enter the sterile corridor. Tugging Will’s arm with my other hand when we reach the glass door, I take one more moment to look deeply into his eyes, but he doesn’t turn his eyes away, only changes his gaze to one of adoration.

  “I love you, May.” His tone is all but a hush.

  “I love you, Will.”

  Don’t cry, May. Stay brave.

  For twenty minutes we wait, reading magazines available on the small tables between the chairs. I’m not so much reading as flicking and skimming…anything to pass the time, I guess.

  “We are ready for you now.” Jessica places her hand tenderly to my shoulder. I finally learnt the receptionist’s name when she called on Wednesday to confirm the appointment. In hindsight, I probably should have sourced it sooner.

  “Thank you, Jessica.”

  With Will’s touch resting against my lower back, we enter Doctor Brown’s room. Will’s head moves left to right, taking in this environment for the very first time. Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Will allows his hand to outstretch when Doctor Brown offers his own in a handshake.

  “Will, good to see you again.”

  He nods.

  Why would Will be keen on another introduction? After all, this doctor oversees something that could quite possibly change our world forever.

  “May, how are you feeling today?”

  “I’m not sure,” I reply before sitting down in the same chair I sat when I first came to this room.

  Doctor Brown is wearing a yellow business shirt under his coat today, the same colour yellow as the cotton T-shirt Will is wearing. His black business pants I guess match my choice of outfit, a long black dress. We must look like a hive of bees. A small giggle parts my mouth at my observation, much to Will’s displeasure.

  “Should we get straight to the findings?” Doctor Brown asks when he sits on the other side of the table.

  “Please,” I respond, causing a sudden barrel of nerves to roll uncomfortably in my stomach.

  Will’s hand automatically clutches mine again before he squeezes tightly.

  A stapled document lies in front of Doctor Brown and he flicks over three white pages, having a brief look as he goes. “I went over these yesterday, May. They are the reports from the radiologists.”

  I nod, even though he’s not looking at me to see my subtle response.

  “Well, it is Ewing’s Sarcoma as I suspected.” Now he makes eye contact. “It is very advanced, May.”

  ‘O’ I know my mouth makes this shape, but I’m not sure if sound follows.

  “As I’ve explained, Ewing’s Sarcoma starts in the bone. What I hoped had not taken place was a further advancement called extraosseous Ewing's Sarcoma. This is when the same kind of the cells form outside of the bone. Both these types of cancer are known as round blue cell tumours. They are rare and highly malignant, May—”

  “Cut to the chase, because you’re killing me here,” Will interrupts with a clipped tone.

  “Will, don’t be rude.” I scowl, unimpressed.

  Will brushes me off.

  Doctor Brown turns his attention to Will and offers him a sincere and polite gaze. “It has spread throughout May’s body. Our treatment will need to be very aggressive if we have any chance of an outcome that will give her more time.”

  “More time?” Will gulps hard, and I eye his Adam’s apple struggling to fall back into its normal place as he squeezes my hand even tighter.

  “This will eventually take her life, Will.”

  “How long?” he snaps.

  “Hopefully a few extra years. Maybe five tops if we can get most of the cells—”

  “Five years, tops. Minimum time?” His voice shakes.

  “Six months.”

  “Six months,” Will repeats, dropping his head.

  “It will depend on how May reacts to treatment.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No, I don’t want a few more years from treatment. If it can’t cure me, I don’t want it.” Two sets of eyes now stare in shock in my direction. Moving back and forth between them, I feel the absence of Will’s hand when he lets go of mine.

  “What would you like to do, May?” Doctor Brown asks politely.

  “My child. I won’t get another chance to have one, will I?”

  “No, May, you won’t.”

  “I don’t want to talk anymore about treatments or trying to save me for a few years, or six months. I want to talk about how I can safely deliver my baby into the world before I—”

  Will stands abruptly, and I follow him with my eyes as he steps behind the chairs and paces back and forth, a couple of steps in each direction.

  “May, this will continue to spread quickly. I’m not sure if you will make it to a gestation that will be safe to deliver a baby.”

  F
licking my head back in Doctor Brown’s direction, I glare hard. I’m angry. I’m not sad, just incredibly angry. “How long do I need to stay alive to give my baby a chance?”

  “Thirty-two weeks would be the most desirable gestation for delivery.”

  “I will make it. Help me have this baby. All I want you to do is to give me one chance to leave a piece of me behind.”

  He bobs his head hesitantly.

  “Help me,” I plead.

  Doctor Brown lowers his hand to a phone on his desk, picking up the handset. “This is what you want?”

  “Yes,” I say, barely audible.

  Punching his finger against the buttons brings me hope. I can see the doctor’s mouth moving. He’s talking, but I can’t hear the words because the only sound I’m registering is the soft sobs of my husband, the man I love with all my heart and who has loved me for almost all his life coming from behind me.

  “Will,” I say comfortingly, getting up from the chair to offer him my support.

  “I can’t, May.” He holds his hand up like a stop sign while backing away. “You can’t sign yourself a death sentence. You never know, the treatment could work. It could be ten years, fifteen years, you don’t know.”

  “Will.” I plead for him to be rational and to understand this will never be the truth.

  My chosen gaze doesn’t work because Will turns and stomps right out of the room, taking the opportunity to slam the door in his wake. I want to take chase, but I have a life to prepare for. For now, my only job is to be a home for this child. My job will be to give it a breath of life and a safe delivery into the world. We have a chance for our baby, a chance at a beautiful life for him or her. Will can survive without me, I know he can, and he will be everything our baby needs. This week I’ve spent a great deal of time preparing for this very moment. I cried tears down the shower drain during my rare moments of alone time. I knew this would be my destiny and I’m not frightened to walk this road if I have Will walking alongside me. Please don’t take my strength, Will.

  “May. I have organised a consultation with a specialist obstetrician.” Doctor Brown pulls me back into reality with a tender tone. “We will have a team gathered to manage your needs and we will sit and consult tomorrow. Once I have an appointment time for you, we can start the process of what needs to happen from here.”

  “Thank you.” I smile. I smile even though I’ve been told I’m dying because I have a chance to give the world one more gift. Placing my hand to my stomach, I whisper, “It was always you.” There would have never been another choice I would have made.

  I know Doctor Brown hears my promise and maybe this is all I can do to show him how very important the next twenty-seven weeks will be for me.

  With a handful of papers, I prepare to leave the room. Doctor Brown opens the door and says, “You’ll hear from me tomorrow afternoon, May.”

  I don’t know why I do it, but I throw my arms around him and fold him into a grateful hug. He instantly hugs me back.

  “Bye, May.” His tone is strained as he releases his hold.

  “Goodbye, Doctor Brown, and thank you.”

  Momentarily I feel free. It’s like the tension holding my shoulders up by my ears falls away and my body relaxes with it. Just as this sense of calm takes hold of my limbs, my stomach knots, causing my heart to commence a frightful gallop. “Willard.”

  Rushing through the glass door to the corridor, I swing my head. “Where is he?” As my pace quickens, the pain in my leg I’ve spent a week without returns. Pushing through it with a scrunched tight face, I continue my search.

  “The park,” I breathe outwardly when I reach the footpath. I wasn’t wrong because when I reach the park on the corner, I hobble across the open space and I’m instantly drawn to Will sitting with his body slumped and dangling from one of the swings. I guess I’ve had more time to consider this possibility we’re faced with…Will has not.

  Approaching with caution, I wait for Will to lift his head from the downward position he’s hunched in. He doesn’t. Looking at his hands wrapped either side of his body around metal links, I go to speak, but nothing comes out.

  What can I say exactly?

  Placing my bag on the sand covering the area around the swing set, I slip my sandals from my feet and step slowly until I too sit down on a swing at his side. Moving my legs back and forth, I start gaining momentum. Lifting higher from the ground, I look at Will, who remains stationary.

  Hear my heart beating, Will. I’m not doing this because I don’t love you. I’m doing this because I love you…because I love US.

  Laying my head back and allowing the breeze to blow through my hair, I think about the child we’ve created, one day playing freely and enjoying this very act. It brings me peaceful happiness. “Come on, Will, you’ll feel better if you swing.” I giggle just as I did when we were kids and he was sulking.

  Slowly, but surely, Will moves his legs and before long we are both in flight. Rotating his head, Will looks at me and I’m floored by his red and puffy eyes, his tear-stained cheeks and his running nose. Will loves me like no other and his heart is breaking right now, of course it is, but I have a purpose for the remainder of my days on this earth…one that will keep Will strong. I know he can’t see this yet, but I can. This is what life has in store for the two of us and we can’t afford to waste a single minute of our future together. Studying Will’s eyes as he swings backwards, I notice they are drained of their beauty. The robust bright blue has faded to a washed-out grey. I wish I could make this situation better for him. Sadly, I can’t.

  “May, we’re soaring,” he bursts out suddenly.

  “I think we’ve almost reached heaven, Will,” I reply in the same way I did when we were children playing on a similar swing set in the park.

  “If we close our eyes, we’ll see it, I’m sure,” he responds in a very masculine tone. So much has changed since our younger years. His voice for one.

  Closing my eyes, I picture an eight-year-old version of myself and a ten-year-old version of Will in the playground at the end of our street, our innocent and childhood imaginations in full swing.

  “It’s beautiful, Will. Did you just see that?”

  “Wings,” he cries out.

  “So many of them.”

  “You’ll make a beautiful angel, May.”

  I swallow hard when Will confesses a line that we never played out as children. God, I hope Heaven is as beautiful as I imagined it to be back then.

  I’m not sure how long we sit on those swings. I’m not even sure if we spoke another word. But when our momentum finally slowed to a dead stop, I stared into Willard’s eyes and begged for him to take my hand and stand beside me until my last breath is taken. I begged for him to understand my decision.

  I’m not so sure he will be able to.

  Pulling the blankets high to my chin, I find myself weeping. Shouldn’t I be strong? Shouldn’t I be brave? After all, I was the one who made this decision.

  “May-Day, what’s wrong, sweetie?”

  I see my mother approaching as I lift my head and glance at the bedroom doorway.

  “I’m scared,” I confess, allowing my heart’s pain to leak from my tired eyes in warm, salty liquid.

  “I know you are, sweetie. I know. I’m scared as well.” Sitting on the bed, Mum pulls me into a half-seated position and cradles my head to her breasts. “May honey, are you sure you’re making the right decision? You know it’s not too late. You have until twenty weeks of gestation to terminate the pregnancy and start treatment. This is what the doctors explained the other week when we all met, remember?”

  “I know,” I sob, listening intently to each thump of her heart pumping blood to the vital organs sustaining her life. I never took the time to appreciate the sound of her heartbeat or even my own, for that matter.

  “You’re only eight weeks now. You can change your mind, sweetie. I don’t want you to think you can’t.”

  Shaking my head has
mum releasing her hold as I complete the motion of sitting upright.

  “May-Day.” Soft fingers brush my cheek tenderly.

  Swallowing a lump of instant sorrow, I fix my eyes on my mother’s. “Do you think he or she will have our eyes, Mum?” I sniff, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

  Mum smiles softly in response. “Maybe. I mean, your dad has blue eyes, just as Will does, yet you got brown eyes like me.”

  “Lexi got Dad’s blues. I guess it’s a fifty-fifty chance. I don’t mind either way, I’m just trying to picture the baby’s eyes in case I don’t get to see them, you know.” More tears are shed after my declaration of the very real scenario I face. A child I’ll never have a chance to meet, a death at birth.

  “May, the obstetrician said it was a possibility not a certainty. Nobody really knows what will be the outcome. You should see the counsellor Doctor Brown suggested so you can talk about these things now, while it’s early. He said they are wonderful in helping patients prepare for their—” Mum doesn’t finish. Her face pales and her lips quiver.

  “Do you think Will hates me, Mum?” I blurt out, changing the direction of conversation as I roll down the covers before pulling my knees up to my chest, allowing my chin to rest to them.

  “No. Why would you think such a thing?” Mum fidgets with the brown strands tucked neatly under her chin. I can tell she’s trying to be incredibly brave, yet her expressions deceive her. Sadness constantly coats them now.

  “Because he is on his computer every night. He taps away at the keys furiously mumbling to himself. Ever since we went to that stupid appointment with all those doctors he has changed even more. He’s withdrawn.”