Page 30 of Love Beyond Repair
***
I needed the weekend to shake off the mess of that night. Watching Bex dance with someone else lit a fuse I’ve been trying to ignore for months.
But work waits for no emotional wreck, and on Monday morning, I walk back into the one place I always feel steady—the hospital. My career is progressing well. Better than I could ever have expected.
Being noticed during my graduate years by a professor who still works actively within the industry boosted my career. He’s an elite in my preferred specialist area of oncology. When I graduated, I phoned him, and he offered me a job. I pinch myself every day, still shocked at securing the position.
Dr. Eamon Riley is a diamond to work for. I’m collaborating with the master of oncology. He’s respected worldwide.Many doctors ask his opinion on complex cases. I’m lucky to be included in his consultancy work. He opens my mind daily to the range of illnesses and the available treatments.
My interest in oncology comes from losing both my grandparents to cancer within a year. I was in my early teens and had spent every weekend with them since I was a young child. Both my parents worked Saturdays and Sundays at our restaurant, so they had very little free time.
The family picnics and trips to theme parks were shared with my grandparents. I spent many a happy Sunday afternoon sitting by the lake fishing with Gramps. We would spend hours talking about my week at school or just sitting in companionable silence.
Gramps went first with stomach cancer, which stemmed from his esophagus, his decades of puffing his pipe eventually catching up with him. I continued to spend the weekends with Gran until she began to feel unwell around six months later.
My mother took her to an appointment with the local doctor, who referred her directly to the hospital. Within weeks, the cancer was everywhere, even the end of her nose. Before the anniversary of Gramps’ death, we had lost her as well.
The overwhelming emptiness gave my life purpose. I wanted to help people who found themselves in the samesituation; those who were given a death sentence out of the blue and needed a shoulder to lean on.
When I announced my decision to study medicine, my parents had been stunned. I was never the most academic or focused in school, mainly enjoying the social perks of being in the popular crowd, but they rallied behind me and supported my quest. And I made my dream come true.
Eamon’s called a team meeting in his office this morning to discuss our ongoing cases. Some are looking promising, but others I know are marking time until they take their final journey.
As much as I love seeing people recover and move forward in their lives from cancer, the real joy for me is spending time with my patients on a time limit. I always thought working with a patient who is in palliative care would be a depressing experience. However, these people are often the most open and honest.
They relive their memories with you. I’m often humbled by the trust they place in me, gaining a little comfort from the fact that I can help make their final days more enjoyable. Quite often, they come as patients, but when they leave for the final time, they leave as friends.
Eamon has the whole team in his office, but there’s something different about today. He’s quiet and forlorn, not his usual bubbly self. This can only mean one thing—we’ve lost someone.
He continues summarizing each patient’s case. We have twenty on the ward now. Most of them are complicated cases requiring specialist care. Some have lost their mobility, some their minds, and others, both. Finally, all the patients have been accounted for, but he doesn’t close the meeting. I see him taking a deep breath to compose himself before he continues.
“We have an additional patient on our ward this morning,” he says. We all look at each other, confused. Normally, we’re all advised by message before admittance. “My wife is in room E32.” His admission hangs in the air. “She began experiencing headaches a few weeks ago, and last week, she had an episode where she lost consciousness,” he explains matter-of-factly. “She has an aggressive tumor on her brain. We begin treatment immediately. In all honesty, the odds are poor, but I know you’ll all help me to the best of your ability.”
His haunted eyes rise. We all stare at him, speechless.
“I need you all to help me save my wife.” With that, he turns and walks out. We stand in silence, taking in the monumental challenge ahead of us. And somehow, we must succeed.
***
Room E32 is next on my list. I’ve only met Melissa Riley a handful of times. Each time she’s brought in cakes for the team, normally after a tragedy. She’s a bright, generous woman, always proud of Eamon and his work.
I knock on her door softly before entering. She’s small and burly, with a riot of gray hair piled on top of her head. Engrossed in the book in her hands, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose as she sits up in bed. Warm eyes turn to meet mine.
“Doctor Jones.” She smiles. “Have you been sent to check up on me?” She laughs loudly and heartily. “The nurses are correct.” I look at her, confused.
“You’re a handsome young man. I’ve only ever seen you rushing past, but now it looks as if I will have time to enjoy the view.” She winks, and I laugh.
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, bloody awful, but you’ll know that. These headaches are killing me, and if they don’t, that bastard cancer will.”
My face must look so stricken, and she takes pity on me.
“Oh, Doctor, if we can’t laugh, what can we do? We must take these knocks on the chin. Eamon is beside himself with worry. I know this is bad. I haven’t been married to an oncologist for thirty years without learning a thing or two about cancer. As I told him, if I have any chance of surviving, then this is the best team that could be looking after me. He needs to concentrate on being my husband,not my doctor.”
This woman is full of life and energy. She's incredible. Focused, intellectual, and self-aware. It’s that attitude that could help save her life.
“I believe you are correct, Mrs. Riley. That’s his most important task. I will see what I can do with regards to your headaches. Perhaps I can change your medication. Call me Ben, and let me know if you need anything,” I say sincerely.
