Better Than None Page 8

  “Mom, flu symptoms and vomiting are the top two side effects of these types of chemo. Do you remember we read about this in the handouts they gave us?” I tried to sound comforting rather than chastising. I thought if she knew this was expected, it might help.

  I could hear her teeth chattering as she sounded beyond feeble when she answered. “I know. I just had no idea it could be this bad. I don’t know if I can do this, Stephanie.” It was rare that my mom used my full name, and when she did, I knew she meant business.

  It was gut wrenching hearing her like this, but I had no idea what to do. “I’ll come over.”

  “No! Do not come over! You’ve already missed enough work. There’s nothing you can do.”

  I knew she was right. There wasn’t anything I could do, other than sit at work and feel guilty and worry about her. Still, to leave early again, if I absolutely didn’t have to, I really couldn’t.

  “All right. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Ok honey.” She barely got out as hard as her teeth were chattering. I hung up and put my head in my hands.

  “Steph?” Marty appeared in my doorway. I knew my eyes were full of tears and he probably heard half the conversation.

  I sniffled and tried to recover as best I could.

  “Hey, Marty, what’s up?”

  He walked in and closed my door. Here it comes, I’m getting fired for having taken too much time off for my mom.

  “Steph, I’ve tried to respect your boundaries, but I can’t pretend to not see what you’re going through. And I can’t not ask how you’re doing, or how your mom is. It’s just not me.”

  “God, Marty, please don’t make me feel guilty on top of everything else. I don’t think I could handle that.” I pleaded.

  “I’m serious, Stephanie. I’m worried about you. You’re here at the crack of dawn every day, and the walls are thin, I know the only person you talk to is your mom, I know you go see her every night, and I’m worried you’re going to burn out.”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to tell you. My mom is my best friend. And I’ve always taken care of her, for as long as I can remember. This is who she and I are. This is what I do. It’s never been as intense or sad as this, but, there’s no other way for me to be.”

  “There’s no one else? She doesn’t have any friends?”

  “She does, but it’s not the same. And she doesn’t want to see any of them like this.” I paused. Trying to hold back from Marty made me feel like Sisyphus trying to keep the boulder from rolling down the mountain. “It’s always been me and her against the world. She would always say we’re an ‘entrée’. I know it’s weird. But that’s just who we are. I’m her person and she’s mine. Sometimes it’s fucked up, but I just don’t know any other way.”

  ****

  When I got to Barb’s that night, she looked awful. I walked into her bedroom and she was huddled under the covers shaking. Her two cats and dog were all on the bed with her, and I couldn’t tell where all the hair was coming from, but it was everywhere. She smiled weakly at me and as I pushed her hair back to kiss her forehead, I realized the hairs were hers as strands came off in my hands just from that brief touch. I knew how vain my mom was, so I tried to hide the clumps sticking to my palm as I went to wet a washcloth to put on her clammy forehead.

  “Oh, that feels nice. Thank you honey.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed holding her hand and wiping her face, her head, her neck, grateful that her eyes were closed so she wouldn’t see the tears in mine. I had taken care of my mom after other surgeries in the past, so caring for her wasn’t new to me, to us. The difference was how weak she was, how fragile she had become, and of course, the knowledge that this time, she might not get better.

  “So what did Dr. Rosenberg want to talk with you about yesterday?” her voice was so weak, it didn’t even sound like the woman I knew.

  I was sure that if there were a hell, I’d be burning in it some day for all the things I’d done in my past. But after what I did with Dr. Rosenberg, and now lying about it to my mom would probably earn me a special place even closer to the fire.

  “He just wanted to go over your course of treatment, what to expect, things like that.”

  “Why didn’t he want to talk about it in front of me?”

  “Oh, because he wanted to let you rest, and since you’re out in the open there in the treatment room, he wanted to maintain your privacy.”

  “Oh, well that was very thoughtful of him, don’t you think?”

  I nodded and smiled.

  “See, honey, he’s not as bad as you make him out to be. I think you just overreact to him. You didn’t argue with him, did you?”

  “No mom, no arguing. I gave you my word.”

  “Thank you, honey.”

  ****

  Barb was nauseated and queasy for days, unable to keep anything down. As the week wore on, she got weaker and weaker. She could barely take care of herself, much less her animals, so my days would start around 5am, running my dogs, then to Barb’s by 6ish to feed her cats and dog, walk her dog, make her some breakfast and tidy up the house, then back home to take a quick shower and make it into work by 8. I still tried to get in early to make sure that my work was on track. After work, I’d go to her house, repeat the routine and then make it home by 9ish. By the end of the week, while it was becoming the new norm, I was exhausted. It wasn’t just the physical toll, it was the emotional one as well.

  When we got to her next chemo appointment, she had lost seven pounds. And even to a woman who lived her whole life thinking being thin was the ultimate accomplishment, even she knew this wasn’t something to celebrate.

  I had been so focused on just getting through the days that I was able to push thoughts of Dr. Rosenberg out of my head whenever they’d pop in, which was often. Every time I’d think about him, my body defied my mind, reacting on its own accord. I was both dreading and looking forward to seeing him again, though I tried to keep my expectations low assuming he would likely blow me off and pretend nothing had happened.

  “Barbara, how are you feeling? You’ve lost more weight than I’d like to see.” Brad scowled as he looked up from her chart, at her. He clenched his jaw, making the muscles in his cheeks flex and relax, and then flex again.

  I couldn’t tell if he was blaming her or if there was concern in his voice. It was like his concern pained him to the point that it angered him. I didn’t pretend to know this man, but from what I’d seen, I guessed that if his patients got worse, he blamed himself.

  “She can’t keep anything down, doctor. She’s only had a couple days where she hasn’t been puking her guts out since the last chemo.”

  On the one hand, it was so odd talking with him like a patient’s advocate and nothing more. On the other, it was easier this way, especially if he did rebuff me, I could just keep to my role as my mother’s caretaker and nothing more. If I didn’t gush or show any interest then I could somehow keep my dignity.

  He stared at me for a long time, still working his jaw before nodding. “I’ll prescribe some anti-nausea medication that should help.” He folded his arms over his chest and looked even angrier. “And what’s your excuse?”

  I furrowed my brows. The semblance of care I’d heard when he asked after my mother wasn’t even close to being in his voice this time.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not getting chemo. Why are you losing weight?”

  I opened my mouth and stared at him but then closed it, remembering my promise from last week. This man had better be a genius doctor, because he really sucked as a diplomat. Part of me was actually touched that he seemed to care about my wellbeing, but his delivery just made it sound like he was mad at me. I had no comeback. We simply stared at each other. It was like I was a little kid, waiting to see who was going to blink first.

  “Perhaps we should discuss this in my office.” He said and started walking away. When I didn’t stand he turned around and looked at me with
a smirk. “Would you like to come, Stephanie?”

  If I’d had half a brain I would have stayed right there. Of course, I wasn’t thinking with my head. Even when he was being a jerk, my body tingled and throbbed as I sat there. I wished I didn’t react the way I did, but after a lifetime of being numb to feeling anything. I couldn’t ignore it when I felt so much.

  I kissed my mom, got up and once again followed the good doctor to his office. This time, when we got in there, he didn’t wait at all. He was on me the minute the door closed. It was like he couldn’t get to me fast enough, and once he did, he couldn’t get enough of me. His lips, his teeth, his hands, he was like a man possessed the way he pressed up against me, kissed me, grabbed me. I was lost in the intensity of his actions, the pure need. My body responded to his like it had the time before. My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could feel it, and everywhere he kissed me, everywhere he touched me made my skin feel like it was on fire.

  He moved us backwards until my legs hit the couch. We broke apart only long enough so that he could pull my sweater off before he dipped his head back in and nibbled on my neck as he unclasped my bra. As he took one nipple into his mouth I moaned and sank a little.

  “Careful.” He whispered against my lips as he steadied me.

  I wish he hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t just his voice that jarred me back to the present, it was the word itself. A warning. I’d never been careful when it came to men. Safe sex, sure. But when it came to my emotions, I never took care of myself. I worried that if I ever asked for anything — care, tenderness, love, the type of treatment that most women asked for —that all too quickly I’d turn into my mom. Weak. Desperate. Accepting of whatever crumbs tossed to her by the many men in her life. I vowed I’d never be like that. Problem was, I got what I asked for.

  I pulled back and looked down, trying to reconcile the jumbled thoughts in my head with the sensations all over my body. He still held my arms, and as I tried to pry myself out of his grasp, his grip tightened. Instinctively, I looked up at him. The intensity was still there, but along with it was concern. His brows pulled together before his expression softened. He scanned my face, looking for an answer while he gently stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers. It was such a tiny gesture, but to me, it felt like he was giving me exactly what I should have had the guts to ask for. I had no practice at this, though. The sex part, yah. Too much practice. Sex was easy. But the feelings part was totally new. And his damn stare just made me crumple. I had to look somewhere else, do something that could focus both my mind and my body.

  I reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt, forcing his arms to fall to his sides. Once he slid it off, he cupped my face and slowly, tenderly, leaned back in. The fact that I started undressing him should have been his answer, but it seemed his kiss was the final question. It was tentative, sweet, waiting. In the 20 plus years I’d been having sex, I never experienced tentative or sweet. I’d always approached it like a sport, or a challenge. An activity where there was a winner and a loser. For an act that was supposed to be intimate, I always thought of it as adversarial. Until now.

  Whether it was him, or everything else that was going on in my life, or just about time, I had no idea. When I returned his kiss, it was my way of confirming that I wanted this too. As much as I knew how to want something for me.

  We undressed each other the rest of the way. Before he tossed his pants to the side, he reached into his pocket to fish out a condom and smiled proudly before he ripped it open and slowly rolled it on. As he lowered himself on top of me, all the frenzy of just a few moments before was gone. The intensity in his face was still there, but his movements had changed from frenetic to tender as he studied me. He traced my cheek again with his forefinger, dragging it slowly down my chest to my nipple, around and around, and then down my stomach until it got to its final destination. He used both hands to push my thighs wide and then slid one finger up and down to open me up and then slowly slid it in, making me moan. He pulled it out and licked the length of it before rubbing himself against me. He paused and looked at me one more time to make sure before slowly entering.

  It had been so long since I’d had a man inside me, I gasped. Once again with Dr. Rosenberg, I was sober, so nothing was numbed, neither physically nor mentally.

  “Oh my God, Stephanie.” He moaned as he slowly slid in and out letting both of us get used to each other. I rubbed my hands down his back, enjoying the feel of his skin, as he continued moving. Slowly, he increased the pace, all the while never taking his eyes off of me. I couldn’t return his gaze, it was too much too intense, so I looked down and watched our two bodies move together. I got lost in watching it, us, mesmerized by how sexy it was and how good it felt. I couldn’t believe the sensations. It never felt this good before. Not even close.

  “You like how it looks?”

  Once again, his voice startled me. I nodded, somehow embarrassed.

  He leaned down and watched as he slid in and out before he turned his face back to mine and kissed me. “Me too.”

  He pulled me up to him and shifted so that he was sitting and I was straddling him. Facing him like this once again made me feel so bare, so exposed. It sounds ridiculous that making eye contact with him felt more intimate than what our bodies were doing, but it did. I’d spent so many years being so disconnected from the men I was with that doing this, during the day, in the light, without any drugs or alcohol made me feel so much more than just the physical sensations.

  Then he put his hands on my hips and started guiding me up and down as I ground myself on him until he hit some ridge inside me. As soon as I felt it, I knew, and apparently so did he as he kept hitting it over and over. I felt my body tingling all over, felt this incredible wave come over me as my head lolled and the wave kept building and building, but as it kept growing, as the intensity of everything I was feeling continued to rise, so too did all my emotions. As the tingling increased and the sensations built I started to feel the tears prick my eyes. My emotions were coming just as fast and strong as what I realized was my first orgasm ever via sex with a man. I couldn’t stop any of it. The tingling and the shaking and the crying finally all crashed over me as I came like I had never come before, sobbing and shaking, my whole body wracked with what felt like every emotion and feeling possible. Sounds came out of me that I didn’t even recognize as it seemed like liquid poured out of every orifice I had. Snot was dripping from my nose, my tears were streaming, and I squirted something all over Dr. Rosenberg’s lap. And as I continued to come, Dr. Rosenberg grunted and growled his release. If I was a screwed up basket case, he was a rabid animal, groaning and pulling at my hips like he was trying to exorcise a demon.

  When my body finally stopped shaking I opened my eyes and looked at him in shock. Unfortunately, he returned the look. As intense as that just was, it was clear that we were both taking stock of what just happened. I doubted very much that was the first time he’d ever come having sex with a woman, but I certainly wasn’t going to admit that was the first time for me. I knew my expression was partly because of that, but looking at him with the passion now gone, knowing that I had literally just poured everything out on him, I was mortified. I felt so exposed, and I had nowhere to hide. I couldn’t even hide behind the haze of alcohol.

  I stumbled off of him and started grabbing at my clothes, hastily putting them on.

  “Stephanie?”

  I looked over my shoulder to regard him still sitting on the couch, my juices all over him, then sniffled, and used the back of my arm to try to wipe some of the snot off of my face while I tried to dress. With drunken sex, I never had to face the reality until the morning after. But this, this was staring me right in the face, literally.

  “Stephanie?” he asked again, a little more insistently.

  “Dr. Rosenberg” I started to say.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, my name is Brad. And after what we just did, it would be nice if you could call me that.”

 
I took a long look at him and just shook my head and rolled my eyes. I couldn’t allow myself to believe that I could possibly hurt this man’s feelings. Men didn’t feel. Not like women did. And even if they did, Dr. Rosenberg wasn’t one of those men. He couldn’t be. So I chose to chalk his tone up to him being a jerk and me being a fool. I’m not sure what it was that attracted me to him, but whatever it was would have to be over and done with. He was toxic. He was bad for me. What we were doing was wrong. And for the first time ever, I finally felt connected to a man I’d just fucked.

  CHAPTER 10

  Neither Barb nor I realized that the chemo was cumulative, so with each session, her side effects were that much worse. She was so weak, so fatigued, so sick feeling that she could barely get out of bed. My routine taking care of her, her animals and her house continued. It no longer felt temporary. It became my new normal. And I was feeling more and more like I was hanging on by just a thread. I had no emotional or physical reserves and thought that Marty wasn’t far off. One strong wind and I just might crumple.

  I suppose it was good that once again, I didn’t have a moment to really think about much anything, because whenever I did have the tiniest bit of time to let my mind wander, it drifted back to what I’d done with Dr. Rosenberg and how amazing it felt. I don’t know if it was because of my fragility due to my mom’s disease, I’m sure that must have had something to do with the fact that I’d finally let some of my walls down. What I couldn’t figure out was why the hell I would let them down with someone like him. Then again, Marty had started softening me up too and perhaps I’d simply made the mistake to open myself up to someone like Dr. Rosenberg instead of someone safe like Marty.

  While this week was Barb’s week off from chemo, she had to go back to the hospital to get her drain internalized. Once again, we were back at the hospital, answering the same questions, even seeing some familiar faces. As I’d guessed earlier, this type of familiarity wasn’t comforting. And what was supposed to be an outpatient procedure turned into admitting my mother once again due to complications. Apparently, while removing the drain, they nicked her hepatic artery. It sounded like a bad joke but the crusted blood that was still on parts of her arm and gown made it clear, this was no joke.