Beneath It All (Beneath #1) (14 page)

“Do you have any more questions?”

“Not at the moment,” I said, turning toward Noah to see if he had any.

“When will the fill process start?” Noah asked.

“The earliest I’ll start filling the expanders is four weeks post-op. I want to make sure the area is healed and the swelling has completely disappeared. However, we will have to see how chemo treatment goes, as some patients choose to put reconstruction on hold until chemo is done. It’s a lot of stress on the body . . . and the mind.”

“I see,” Noah said brusquely.

I looked over at him, wondering what the hell he meant by “I see.” He almost sounded irritated, and that wasn’t sitting well with me. Ever since we had arrived in the office, he had been acting strange and something was off. I was pretty sure Dr. Forrester noticed it as well.

“Well, if you have no further questions, you’re good to go. I still want you to avoid lifting things until the last drain is removed. Call the office when you’re ready for it to come out. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing; everything is healing up nicely.”

“I’ll be in touch, thank you again,” I replied. He helped me step down off the table.

I slid my arms out of the gown after he left the room and confronted Noah. “Is everything okay? You seem angry.”

“Yes, I’m angry,” he barked. “I feel like he didn’t tell us everything. I mean, it would have been nice to know that you wouldn’t have any feeling in your chest and that the reconstruction was going to take longer than he made it sound.” He calmed his voice after I gave him a stern look. “I just want this over. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Shocked by his statement, I was now the one who was angry. “You can’t stand it anymore? Are you kidding me?” I seethed. “It has been one week, Noah, one goddamn week, and
you’re
angry? I cannot believe you said that.”

Feeling like I had been hit in the gut, I turned my back on him and started to pull my shirt on. I felt his hands reach out to help me, but I moved away. “I can do this without your help.”

He stepped in front of me. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me, and I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on you. I’ve nothing to complain about; I’m not the one going through it. But I can’t stand by and keep my mouth shut when I feel like we weren’t told everything.” He let out a heavy sigh.

“You need to step back, Noah. I cannot have you doing this. I can’t.” I paused to gather my thoughts before continuing. “The next several months are going to be full of unknowns. Do you honestly believe that we will be prepared for everything thrown our way?”

He looked away as I continued: “No way. I’m not giving myself false hope that everything will go smoothly because I’ve no idea what to expect. I’ve never dealt with this, and I’m just going through the motions of what the professionals are telling me I need to do. I have to have faith in their judgment and their guidance. I . . .” My emotions were starting to get the best of me, but I pressed on. “I just need to keep getting up every day thankful that I’m alive, thankful that I found the lump when I did, and thankful that I have a team of doctors who are helping me battle this beast.”

I reached out and grabbed Noah’s hand. “I need you to believe in me. I need you to trust my doctors. I need you to have faith that I’ll be okay. It isn’t going to be easy for either of us, but blowing a gasket isn’t going to make it better. If you need more breaks and need more help, tell me. Every day I get a little stronger, and I’m able to do a little more. A month from now, it will be even better. We need to measure progress week by week. Look at where I was a week ago and where I am now. That
is
progress. We need to see the little things and pay attention. Can you do that?”

Noah looked up at me, and I could see the tension in his face as his eyes met mine. Looking defeated, he replied, “I’ll try my best.”

While his comment wasn’t what I expected, I tried my best to understand that he was hurting too. “Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

*

The next few days passed, and I was getting stronger and able to do more things on my own. The final drain was removed, which helped me feel more like myself and not so broken.

My appointment with Dr. Guthrie, my oncologist, was scheduled for two o’clock, and Noah had gone into the office for a few hours. Soaking in a bath still wasn’t an option after surgery, but a hot shower would help to relieve some of the tension in my shoulders.

I turned on the shower to let the water warm up while I brushed my teeth. As I undressed, I realized that Noah wasn’t home to help me with the bandages. He was still helping me even though the bandages only consisted of a gauze pad and tape. The incisions weren’t weeping anymore, but I kept the gauze on to protect the incisions from rubbing up against my camis.

Reaching down with my left hand, I held the skin taut by the outside of my left ribcage and reached across my chest with my right arm and carefully lifted the corner of the tape. Slowly pulling it off, I let it drop onto the bathroom counter before repeating the process on my right side. As the last bandage landed on the counter, I opened my eyes and slowly looked down at them lying there. Two large white pads with tape still attached; they weren’t flat, but slightly curved from the warmth of them hugging my chest.

Taking a deep breath, I raised my head and looked at the bottom of the mirror, daring myself to raise my eyes to look at what was left of me. I carefully moved my arms up around my chest in a gentle hug, but it wasn’t a hug to comfort myself, it was a hug of protection. My hands settled in place and curiosity took over as they started to move around. The skin under my fingers was soft and squishy, but I could feel ridges along the line of where my incisions were. They were rough and hard, a sharp contrast from the rest of my chest.

Drawing my eyes upward in the mirror, I found my stomach and moved up past my arms that were crossed over my chest until I met eyes staring back at me in the mirror. These eyes were familiar but held something I had never seen before—fear. Fear of what was hiding underneath. Fear of what I would see. Fear of what cancer had done to me. Fear. Plain and simple.

I kept staring back into the eyes in the mirror as I slowly started to drop my arms down to my sides. Focused on slowing down my breathing, I tried to calm myself. When I felt strong enough, I let my eyes travel down past my mouth to my neck and along my collar bone. Yellow and green discoloring started to come into view as my gaze dropped farther down until I saw two long lumpy and twisted-looking scars where my breasts once were. I no longer had areolas or nipples. If I ever questioned what a medical experiment was, I now knew. I looked and felt like one.

Sucking in a harsh breath, I slowly moved my hands back up so I could watch them lightly run along the horrifically long scars that were now two weeks old. Watching my fingers move across this foreign part of my body, my eyes instantly filled with tears and my vision became blurry as I stood there, realizing for the first time how very broken I still was.

Suddenly feeling the hot tears landing on the backs of my hands, I snapped my head up quickly and looked at the face in the mirror again. The face of a woman I didn’t recognize appeared with tears streaming down her face and grief heavy in her dark chocolate brown eyes. I quickly turned and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water drown my face, hoping it would wash away the tears that would not stop falling.

I’m not sure how long I was in the shower, but when I emerged, the tears had stopped and anger was in its place. The extreme switch of emotions was unfamiliar and unwelcome. I dried as quickly as I could without looking back into the mirror and stormed into our bedroom to dress.

“There you are,” Noah said with a sound of concern. He looked down at his watch. “I expected to find you in the kitchen ready to go since your appointment is in forty-five minutes.” He moved closer to me. “Is everything okay? What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” I clipped back. I wasn’t about to share my weak moments with anyone. They were mine, and nobody else would ever see them. Ever. “I was in the shower and just lost track of time.” I turned and walked into the closet to attempt to find something to wear, but my options were sparse. I stood in my closet, staring at the tops that wouldn’t fit me anymore.

Feeling defeated, I grabbed a baggy dress shirt of Noah’s and paired it with leggings . . . again. My wardrobe was pathetic. I walked back into our bedroom to find Noah sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me.

“I’m ready to go.”

“Are you sure?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, I’m dressed and ready to go. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He smiled as he stood and walked over to me, turning me toward the mirror above our dresser. “I love the au naturel look you have going here, but I’m surprised you’re going out in public with wet hair and no makeup.”

I looked into the mirror on our dresser and saw that my face was naked of makeup and my hair was in a messy wet heap. I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped me, and I was again reminded of the extreme mood swings I was having. “I think I’ve officially lost my mind.” I continued to giggle, and Noah joined me. It felt good to laugh again.

“Let me help you,” he said as he led me back into the bathroom.

“Thank you. I can’t believe I did this, and I’m finding it quite funny.” I shook my head while I continued laughing. “Give me a second. I’ll just swipe some gloss on my lips and put some mascara on. Maybe that will distract people from noticing the wet-dog look of my hair!”

Noah grabbed my hairbrush and was careful as he made my mop of hair look neat. Well, as neat as a guy who wasn’t a stylist could. He was a keeper!

We arrived at Dr. Guthrie’s office with ten minutes to spare and took a seat in the waiting room. In the lobby, there was a small kitchen-like area with coffee, tea, and hot chocolate, as well as a bowl of various hard candies. There was a hat rack with an assortment of baseball caps, crocheted hats, and scarves set off in the corner with a placard at the top explaining that the hats were donated for cancer patients and to take one. My hair was still long, and I wasn’t ready to start picking out hats yet.

“Victoria Madison?”

You guessed it—there was my name again, but I was surprisingly getting used to it. Noah was right behind me as we walked down a short hallway to a large room that had chairs set along one wall and curtains pulled as dividers. I noticed that some chairs were occupied with patients and others sat empty. I turned back as we were led to one of three exam rooms on the other side of the room.

There was a light tap on the door, and Dr. Guthrie stepped in. “Good afternoon, Victoria. You’re looking good after surgery. Are you feeling well?” she asked with a comforting smile.

“I’m feeling much better since Dr. Forrester removed the final drain a few days ago. What a difference that has made, but it’s still an adjustment with the expanders. They’re different than I had expected, not that I knew what to expect.”

“The expanders are rough from what I’ve been told. They can be a nuisance, but they are necessary to stretch the muscle and skin. Keep in mind that they’re temporary, all of this is temporary.” She turned to face Noah. “How are you doing with all of this? I’m sure being her nurse has been a major adjustment.”

“Yeah, it has been interesting, but we are making it work and taking it one day at a time. It’s definitely more than either of us expected,” Noah said honestly, without hesitation.

“I’m sure it is. All you can do is to take it one day at a time.” She looked down at my chart and cleared her throat. “I’ve reviewed your pathology report, and everything looks encouraging. Your lymph nodes tested negative, which means that the likelihood of the cancer having spread is extremely low. The tumor size was 2.3 centimeters and had clear margins; there was no ‘spidering’ of the cells. That means that the tumor itself was self-contained and that it was surrounded by normal tissue. You’re classified as Stage IIA, since the tumor size is between two and five centimeters and the cancer had not spread into the nodes.”

“That’s good, right?” I asked, trying to sound upbeat and looking over at Noah, who was processing everything Dr. Guthrie had just hit us with.

“Yes, it’s positive. However, we also need to take into consideration the fact that your tumor tested ‘triple negative,’ which will change how we are able to treat this.”

“I don’t understand what that means. I did some preliminary research, but I stopped after surgery because, honestly, the more I read, the more it scares me.”

Noah cut in, “Can you please explain?”

“Definitely. I’m sorry if you’re overwhelmed with all of the technical terms. When Victoria’s tumor was sent to pathology, they ran several tests on it, and a receptor test is one of them; it determines if the cells contain specific proteins. Three specific receptors are targeted: HER2/neu, estrogen, and progesterone. If any of these three receptors test positive, then we have more treatment options available. If they test negative, then we have fewer options. Victoria’s tumor tested negative for all three receptors.”