Page 150 of When Ben Loved Jace
I snort in amusement. I can’t help it.
Jace manages a chuckle. “I used to like his sense of humor. What’s wrong with me? I don’t feel like the same person anymore.”
I know what he means. The guy with seemingly infinitepatience now has a short fuse. He never had a problem with Adrien’s abrasiveness before. I’ve been keeping my sister at arm’s length for that very reason.
“You’ve gotta give yourself time to heal,” I tell him. “We can talk to the doctor about it next week, when you have your follow-up appointment. Maybe there’s something they can do.”
“Oh wonderful, more rehab. Or let me guess, even more stupid pills to choke down?” He takes a deep breath. “There I go again.” His eyes fill with concern. “What if I don’t get better? What if this is who I am from now on? Could you still love me?”
“Hmm.” I feign deep thought. “Let’s see. Back in high school, I used to date an asshole who would make me duck down when we drove past his girlfriend’s house, and I still managed to love him. So no, this isn’t a dealbreaker for me. Karen is a bitch. Adrien is a dick. I’m a little shit. I love them. I love myself. You’re a human being, Jace. I already love you and always will. Having an edge isn’t going to scare me away. If anything, it makes me feel better about all the times I lost my cool around you. So thanks. This has been great for my self-esteem.”
He stares at me. Then he laughs. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You probably deserve better, but it’s too late now. You married me.” I reach across the table to take his hands. “We’re fine. You never have to worry about that. But if it makes you feel better, let’s ask the doctor if there’s anything they can do. Okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, bringing my fingers to his lips. “Thanks, Ben.”
“My pleasure,” I assure him. “Really.”
— — —
We report to Jace’s first post-op appointment with a list of questions I wrote down the night before. I hold on to the sheet of folded notebook paper like a talisman while we go through the planned procedures. Jace is given another scan. I try to keep his spirits high in the waiting room while specialists determine the results. Eventually we’re ushered into an exam room where the surgeon pulls up an image of Jace’s brain.
“How are you doing?” she asks.
“Struggling with side effects,” he says. “I’m always tired, have a short temper, light still bothers me—”
“The brain can take a very long time to heal,” she interjects, her attention on the screen. I notice the way her finger is rapidlytapping the mouse. Not to click any buttons. It’s the same nervous rhythm of my bouncing knee. “The good news is that the coil is still packed nice and tight. We’ve nipped that aneurysm in the bud, so to speak.”
I go perfectly still.
“Thataneurysm?” Jace repeats, picking up on the same nuance.
The surgeon licks her lips nervously before facing us. “Roughly one in four patients discover they have additional aneurysms during their follow-up appointment. I hope that puts you at ease, since this isn’t—”
“Atease?” Jace growls.
I place my hand over his and squeeze. “Let’s hear her out.”
“This isn’t unusual,” the surgeon continues. “Neither of the aneurysms have ruptured, obviously, which means the surgery won’t be nearly as traumatic.”
Jace’s hand clenches into a fist. “Why didn’t you take care of them when you had the chance?”
“They weren’t detected. The bleeding you experienced could have obscured them, or the vasospasm of that first rupture might not have allowed the contrast through.” She shows us two bright dots, one larger than the other. “I’m not too concerned about the smaller one, but its older brother is pushing five millimeters and is close to the anterior communicating artery. I’d like to schedule a surgery eight weeks from now to take care of both.”
My stomach sinks. “Why so far away? Can’t we do it sooner?”
The surgeon shakes her head. “To do so prematurely would double his risk of stroke. We need to give his brain more time to heal.” She looks at Jace. “To further complicate things, we're still tapering you off your medications. Once you’re back on your feet and recharged, we’ll take care of the rest. Do you have any questions?”
I glance down at the folded piece of notebook paper, our prior concerns seeming small and insignificant now. My lips are pressed together, unwilling to ask the obvious. I look over at Jace for guidance. He remains quiet. Maybe he doesn’t want to know, but for better or worse, I need to.
“Isn’t there a chance of something happening between now and the surgery?”
“Yes,” the surgeon admits. “I have to weigh that risk againstthe potential danger of taking action sooner, which is far greater. Let me show you.”
She writes the numbers down. “Imagine needing to cross a busy highway, and immediately beyond it, railway tracks. You might be able to sprint across them both to safety, but if you wait until after a train has already gone by, your chances greatly increase.”
“Or I could just go play in traffic now and get it over with,” Jace grumbles.
