Page 72 of Love Beyond Repair
“Katie Clark and Rebecca Corrigan reporting for chemo,” Katie says. She probably saluted the receptionist, and I nearly crack up.
My eyes move to the set of legs I’m currently hiding between. She’s an older woman, but I notice she’s wearing stockings with a suspender belt under her skirt. The angle I’ve perched myself at means, when I glance up, it’s directly into her crotch.
Not sure whether to laugh or cry, I almost lose my balance. Rocking backward, I grab whatever there is to hold on to. Unfortunately, it’s the set of legs in front of me.
“Oh!” the receptionist shouts above me, steadying herself, then continuing with her work as if nothing happened as I hear another set of heels approach the desk.
“Is Doctor Jones here yet? I need to speak to him in private.”
I recognize the voice as Anita’s. She came; I’m glad. The receptionist tells her I’m here somewhere, to head into the meeting room, and she’ll book her ten minutes with me at the end. That’s why my schedule changes every hour, I think, this bloody woman is messing around with it.
Bex’s voice grabs my attention. “Doctor Jones?” she asks.
“Yes. Doctor Jones. He’s one of the oncology consultants,” the receptionist answers professionally.
Bex murmurs something, then the two women head off to their chemotherapy session. The receptionist taps me on the head.
“You can come out now.” She sighs.
I stand to the surprised faces of an elderly gentleman and his wife. They look between the receptionist and me. I wink at them cheekily. Then, leaning forward, I whisper, “Nice stockings.” She flushes, and I walk off toward my meeting room.
I send a quick message to Eamon, updating him on the situation. He takes it upon himself to investigate where Bex’s treatment is taking place and how long for.
Her chemotherapy is intravenous and requires her to sit for hours at a time to receive the drugs. Apparently, Katie and Bex attend every appointment together. They sit and chat throughout the process.
According to the chemotherapy nursing team, they treat their chemo as a day out rather than life-saving treatment;enjoying every momentis what the nurse told Eamon. My phone pings. Eamon.
Lunch at two. Need to talk.
I send back a thumbs up, wondering what he needs to speak to me about in private and so urgently. But deep down, I sense it can’t be good. Two o’clock is only a few hours away, but it can’t come soon enough.
***
We meet at our usual place at two o’clock sharp. Eamon is sitting at the table waiting, already gnawing on a chunk of bread. His wife, Melissa, is next to him, her face sullen. A bottle of white is ready in an ice bucket with three glasses waiting to be poured.
I walk over, and Melissa grabs me in a bear hug. Eamon stands to shake my hand even though we saw each other only a few hours ago.
“What’s wrong?” I ask them, concerned. “Why are you here, Mel? Are you alright?” Eamon gestures to me to pour the wine and clears his throat.
“You won’t be going back to work today. I’ve already called them,” Eamon says. I stare at them, perplexed. Eamon ignores my confused expression.
“I caught up with Bex’s consultant today. He’s concerned. Things aren’t good. It’s stage three, Ben, and it’s spreading. Her chances now are about fifty-fifty.”
My stomach drops, and I grip the edge of the table, willing myself to breathe. Eamon places his hand on myback. We just sit there for a while, letting the reality of what he said sink in.
The truth is, he shouldn’t be telling me this. He could lose his license. We both know it. But he hears the way I talk about her—and maybe he’s tired of watching me drown in silence. Suffocate, while losing her piece by piece, before I was even able to make things right.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” he asks.
I nod and start chewing on my bread. Lunch stretches into four hours as Eamon explains Bex’s cancer and treatment. The drugs are aggressive. They’re blasting the tumor with everything they can to stop it from spreading.
Melissa holds my hand across the table. Her worried eyes never leave my face. With few words spoken, tears stream down her cheeks as more facts are revealed.
Another thing I hate about being a doctor is the fact treatment results can’t be guaranteed. One person can respond well while another doesn’t respond at all.
It seems Bex’s response hasn’t been as good as was hoped. Her body is feeling the side effects of the treatment, like her migraine the other evening. It’s noted in her file she’s also experiencing the early stages of hair loss.
I think back to last Sunday when she collected Liam. She was wearing her hood up, which is unlike her. It made me pause. I wanted to ask a probing question. But I didn’t, not wanting her to push me away.
