EXcapades (22 page)

A few weeks later, he disclosed the shocker. The timing was unfortunate, but Blake was being sent overseas on temporary assignment. He said he could possibly find a way out of going, if I thought that was necessary. I assured him I would be fine.

Before he left, he made me promise I would take care of myself. And I vowed to rest and not exert myself while he was away.
He called me as soon as he arrived. “I can’t bear to be away from you. I should be there holding your hand during your chemo. I feel like I’m letting my best friend down during her time of need.”

I held the telephone next to my ear, wishing it was Blake rubbing against me, not this cold metal.
“
Don’t worry about me. The chemo isn’t too bad.
I’ll be fine. We can call each other and text. And Jenny is only miles away if there’s a problem.” But deep inside I felt like I was starting to sink—slowly being pulled into quicksand—with no rope to grab
.
My pain intensified. The stabbing sensation, which had been progressively getting worse, stepped up another notch. Secretly, I knew the enemy within was taking over my body.

I woke up at seven a.m. one Saturday morning, anxious to start my day. Once again, I was relieved to have another lonely night behind me. I had a full day of projects scheduled, which included a trip to my favorite craft store, where I could spend hours searching for just the right shade of colored glass. My imagination would whirl with ideas when I selected the large, fragile sheets.

After walking Elky, showering, and cooking breakfast, I was ready to go shopping. Just as I picked up my purse, the telephone rang. Jenny wanted to come home and spend the weekend relaxing and hanging out. Of course, I was thrilled. I had just enough time to shop and pick up lunch.

I had converted my sunroom into the art studio. In the center of the room, I had a work table and glass grinder. In the far corner, I had a large television and shelves filled with glass waiting to be transformed and brought to life.

I just sat down at my art table when Jenny walked in the sun-filled room. She rushed over, gave me a huge hug, and sat down next to me.

“Will you help me with a glass project this weekend?” she asked, looking down at the blue sheet of glass on the edge of the table.

I smiled. “I would love that, Jenny. Would you like to sell it in my art gallery?”

She looked at me curiously. “Are you really going to do it? You’ve been dreaming of opening that gallery as long as I can remember.”

I looked up at the window in front of me. My eyes locked on the oval stained glass featuring a black horse standing beside a red barn. Instead of walls, the sunroom had floor-to-ceiling windows. Each window had a different glass creation suspended at the top. Each piece of art was unique. Most were my creations, but Jenny made a few. And my favorites were the ones we made together.

I turned to my left to stare at the hanging rectangle comprised of mostly purple glass. Jenny and I made this spectacular creation years ago which featured a tree in bloom on a hill above a field of lavender. We worked on it for months. We had always dreamed of going to France to visit the lavender fields. But time had passed, and we never went. Now that it was almost springtime, I wished we had finally planned a trip. And with Jenny in college, could she even get away? Maybe next year . . .

“Yes. I am going to open an art gallery,” I said softly. “I’m going to use the money from the settlement with your dad and from the sale of the house.”

Jenny hesitated and looked down at her hands. She spun the ruby ring I gave her for graduation. “I’m so excited for you . . . to have that opportunity.”

I turned and looked at her. “I’m not exactly ignoring my sickness. I spent hours getting my financial information and other important documents organized for you. They’re in the filing cabinet.”

She took a gulping breath. “You know I don’t want to talk about any of those details.”

I cleared my dry throat. “Yes, I understand; however, it’s important for you to know where my documents are located. Maybe you can glance at the paperwork today and see if you have any questions?”

“Perhaps later.” She sighed, releasing a deep breath.

“I bought you a pattern book this morning. You want to look at it?” I lifted a shopping bag and pulled out a book.

Flipping through the pages, her breathing rate returned to normal. “These are mostly flower designs. I like them all,” she said.

“As far as the gallery is concerned, I’m going to sell the stained glass, paintings, and jewelry I created over the years. But my main goal is to showcase a variety of artists.”

“What a great idea. You have accumulated quite a collection.”

“Ideally, the gallery will be profitable, but I hope my art will bring joy and maybe inspiration to others. And I look forward to working with local artists,” I said, focusing on the sheet of cobalt blue glass between my fingers.

“You’re very skilled at your craft,” Jenny said, looking down at my hand moving the cutter along the glass.

I snapped the piece in half. “Thank you. Glass is an unforgiving material to work with, but the end result can be stunning. Just like the pieces you’ve created, Jenny.”

“Well, I still have a lot to learn,” she said, marking a page in the pattern book. “Where are you thinking of locating the gallery?”

“I don’t know yet. Downtown would be nice, and I could get a small condo close to it.” I placed my pattern piece on the glass and traced the edges with my marker. “Right now, I just want to create beautiful art while I wait for this house to sell.”

“It’ll be good for you to have less upkeep,” she said.

“I haven’t actually made any final decisions. I probably shouldn’t take on too much right now,” I said cautiously. “Although . . . I have my mind set that I’m going to beat this disease. I know it’s not very realistic, but I’m still making plans for the future.”

“I love your attitude. And the art pieces you’ve created the past few months are the best I’ve seen you do.”

“I have some artist friends who make it fun. We get together for coffee, gossip, and work on our craft.” I paused and looked directly at her. “I’m so proud of you, Jenny. With your grades, you’ll be able to do whatever you want.”

“This might surprise you, but I’ve been thinking about going to medical school,” she said.

“You will make the best doctor. What a wonderful idea,” I said, putting the glass aside. “Why don’t you tell me all about school while we eat? I know you must be starving. How do barbeque ribs, spinach salad, baked beans, and pecan pie sound to you?”

She giggled. “I’m hungry, and you know my favorites.”

“Great. I’ll have the table set in a few minutes. See you in the kitchen.”

After lunch, we flipped through the pattern book and selected a flower design for Jenny to create. We worked diligently throughout the weekend. As our fingers transformed the glass, we laughed and talked for hours. By Monday morning, our projects were complete. I hung Jenny’s hummingbird and pink flower design in the window. Next to it, I suspended my sunrise and pier creation. We stood, admiring our efforts. A few minutes later, we hugged good-bye and agreed to have a similar weekend again soon.

Chapter 15

Jenny spent weekends with me when it worked with her schedule. The sunroom windows were lined with our artistic creations. She spent the holidays with me except for a few detour trips to visit her dad. She never discussed her time with him and his new family. And I never asked.

Winter was mild this year. Jane and I continued to play tennis; even if I lasted only a few pitiful minutes on the court, we still tried. As the weeks passed, I felt too weak to play tennis, even for a few minutes. Although, Jane encouraged me to get out of the house, I usually stayed home.

We began playing card games in the sunroom instead of tennis, but even that grew too difficult for me. I could not concentrate. I started making excuses every time Jane insisted she come over. I was not sure why I had this sudden urge to be alone.

Blake called every day, twice a day if he could do it. We sent funny text messages and e-mails, but the miles between us seemed greater each day.

I was sitting at my art table in the middle of the sunroom when the telephone rang. I placed the glass cutter on the table and answered the phone. Blake’s voice, on the other end, sounded exactly as it had in college. “I miss you so much—you’re in my night, and my daydreams,” he said.

“Miss you . . . more.”

“I promise that I’ll be back soon.”

I looked down at my chipped fingernails. “I’m excited to be with you again,” I said. Secretly, I was nervous for Blake to see me in my frail condition.

“Why do I have this strong feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

I slid to the edge of my seat. “I don’t know.”

“Your voice sounds weak. Are you getting enough rest? Is the chemotherapy making you feel worse?”

His question startled me. I wanted to hide my weakening state. I didn’t let him know just how brutal the chemotherapy had been on my body. I refused to share my suffering with anyone, even those closest to me. To the world, I put on my happy face or no face at all because I rarely ventured outside.

I had a full range of negative side effects, but fortunately, my hair had not fallen out, only thinned significantly. My skin was a different issue altogether; the healthy color faded and looked sallow. I didn’t feel like eating. And when I finally did eat, it didn’t stay with me. My list of issues started there. Just today, for example, wearily, I tried to eat a cheese omelet. And after two bites, I raced to the bathroom. I didn’t try again. The doctor offered medication to help with the nausea, but I resisted.

Even though I had hardly eaten in days, I tried to stay tough. I forced myself to stay mentally strong.
I can do this. I will do this. I will make each day count.

I tried not to sound surprised that Blake detected my distress. “Don’t be concerned. The medicine is not as bad as you might think. I’m just sad because I miss your superb bedside manner,” I joked.
Fate may be taking everything, but for now, I still had my sense of humor and hoped it would be one of the last things to go. I needed to keep a positive outlook.

He sighed. “I can’t wait to crawl in bed with you again. In fact, I’m admiring your picture right now. It’s my screensaver. You know, the one we took at the restaurant.”

I took a deep, agonizing breath. “I want you here, right now.”

“It won’t be much longer. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Sometimes I do too much. I’ve been bustling about with all of my art and home projects, trying to keep distracted. I’ve had several people tour my house, but no serious buyer. By the end of the day, I’m drained.” I lowered my voice to a whisper, secretly struggling for air and trying to hide my raspy breath. Thank goodness we went old school and stuck with the telephone, not video communication. If he could have seen me, he would have known I was gasping for air between words. I tried my best to hide my ordeal by covering the phone when I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes. I visualized his handsome face when he spoke. His image brought me pleasure and relaxed me.

“Get some rest. Before we know it, we will be enjoying our next adventure,” he said.

“Hurry back so we can get started.”

Part of me wanted to include him in my struggles, but at the same time, Blake had his own issues. This was my fight. I was determined not to feel overwhelmed and have a pity party. I tried to be stronger than that. But at the same time, my weakened condition had me living a sequestered life.

I was counseled to avoid being out in public with my immune system severely compromised from the chemo, especially close-quarter events like movies, restaurants, or sports. Plus, I didn’t have the energy for my usual activities and had begun to isolate myself. I probably needed more help, but my pride kept me from reaching out—to anyone.

I managed to make my doctor’s appointments; however, that took my remaining energy. At this point, I rarely answered my door or my telephone, unless it was Blake. When I did talk to Jenny, Jane, my mother, or anyone else, I put on a happy front and pretended I was fine, but I wasn’t. And, of course, I always put on my game face for Blake.

Jenny was busy with school. She stopped by when she could manage it. Sometimes friends brought meals or groceries that I didn’t even open. I found myself napping more than awake. In fact, the only place I could find relief was curled up in bed.

The days grew warmer as spring approached. Weeks stretched into months that Blake was away. I started to feel like I would never see him again. And this time when Blake called, I couldn’t answer. I was physically depleted. Honestly, I had been lucky to have as many good days as I’d had up until now, but the tables had turned. I was on a slippery slope, careening out of control. There was no traction—only a downward plunge. I could barely get out of bed and just wanted to sleep. And sleep.

Tucked under the covers with the curtains pulled, I faintly heard my name. The male voice grew louder and louder along with the sound of footsteps and my door opening. Using my remaining energy, I lifted my eyes to see a man. His focus was fixed on me from across the room. Was that Blake? The man looking at me wrapped his hand across his mouth and let out a muffled cry.

Without a doubt, I was just a shell of the person he had known. The last time I glanced in the mirror, I looked pale with charcoal circles that skimmed along underneath my lower lashes. My eyes looked like bulging marbles as the thin skin beneath them sank deeper into my face. I had hollowed cheeks. The hair I had left hadn’t been washed or combed in days.

I had struggled to fight the disease.
And lost my drive
. The enemy within was getting the upper hand. I used my remaining energy to turn my head to look at him. I signaled with my face for him to come closer to me. My vision had become blurry through my swollen eyelids. I squinted at him in the dark room and tried to slow my breath because I was practically hyperventilating. I felt like I was getting air through a straw.

Unable to steady my respiration rate, I cried out with panic in my voice. “Blake, is that you?” I could hardly speak the words from my dry, scratchy throat.

Even in the dim light, I knew he could see how frail I had become. “Yes, my love,” he said in a voice tinged with guilt, as he opened the curtain, letting the sunlight flow into the room.

He stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. As the bright rays poured into the room, I could see him standing over me. I was certain the light shining on me accentuated my paleness. The air was still except for the sound of our breathing—his rapid and mine shallow. No outside noise, not even a peep.

He fumbled in his pocket for his telephone and called for paramedics. In the next instant, he took my frail body into his powerful arms and held me next to his broad chest. He stroked my hair like I was a child. At that moment, maybe I was childlike in my vulnerability. I wanted to bawl like a little girl, but I didn’t. I needed to stay strong because I knew if I let loose, I would be inconsolable.

I murmured, “You came back.” My face pressed into his neck, distorting my weary, weak voice. The sounds I made, I hardly recognized.

“I kept my word. I’m sorry I was away for so long. I won’t leave again,” he said.

Seconds turned into minutes that he held me. He sighed as if months of anguish surged out of him. “My heart melted the instant I touched you. I’m here for you,” he said.

He held my head up like a baby. Blake stared into my eyes, but I could barely keep them open long enough to return his gaze. My body was failing quickly. I felt so weak and floppy, like a wet noodle. And when I looked at him, I hoped my eyes had a hint of brightness.

He sighed. “What can I do for you, my love?” He fell silent, waiting for my reply.

I whispered in Blake’s ear. “Thank you for loving me.” I knew my once-rosy cheeks were gone. My face looked gaunt—my beauty, but a memory. However, I was still me, even in the body of a stranger.

I forced myself to look at him through my swollen eyelids and winced from the stabbing pain. But for some strange reason, the pain reminded me I was still alive; even if in agony, I was alive. With the last bit of my strength, I squeezed enough air from my lungs to mumble, “I love you.”

Blake stroked my cheek. “I love you . . . always.”

My brain was not working any better than my body. My mind felt creaky and confused. When we made eye contact one last time, I mouthed the word, “Blake.”

I turned slightly and gave him a confused look, before closing my eyes. Had I actually enjoyed his touch again? Were these thoughts, figments of my imagination, perhaps, nighttime dreams leaking into daytime reality? Were they illusions formed in my altered physical and mental state? I felt like I was underwater and couldn’t tell which way was up, but I felt peaceful, floating perhaps. In my delirium, I suddenly found myself wishing to be an unborn baby waiting to see the world.

But most of all, I just wanted to sleep, to close my eyes and slip into a state of oblivion so I could escape the pain. I felt so tired. My breathing became shallow, paltry puffs of air. Slower. Slow.

Blake sat with an intense stare at the window. He cradled me in his arms. “Where’s that ambulance?” he whispered.

I was trying my best to stay conscious and aware, but the pain was shutting down my body and jumbling my thoughts. To deal with the excruciating pain, I became numb to everything. Every sensation slipped away. I felt invisible. Peaceful.

I exhaled and fell limp in his arms. At the same time, he laid his head down on my chest and cried out loud. “Don’t give up.” My breathing rate remained weak, almost nonexistent. “No, don’t leave again, Lila,” he shouted. Without releasing his grip from my body, he reached beside my pillow for an envelope with his name on it. He pulled out the slip of paper and began reading out loud:

Dearest Blake,

The time we have spent together has been the time of my life! I loved you when you were a boy, and I can’t even express with words how much I love the man you have become. And the word love does not even seem powerful enough to express how I truly feel. Maybe infinite love better exemplifies the true spirit of our bond.

Your inspirational words brought me strength in these final months. Your love has filled me with warmth. And your intimate touch gave me the greatest pleasure. I have been the luckiest woman to enjoy you in my life, twice. Oh, if only we could bind together the missing pieces of time when we were apart. I will not cry over our lost days. They just helped me realize how precious and special every instant is that we do share.

I will always be grateful. You are a part of me. I am so sad to say a final good-bye, and for our journey to end. Your love was the best feeling I ever had.

Lila

He whispered in my ear, “Love the ones you treasure with everything you have because really, they are
happiness
. Nothing else really matters in this world but friendship and love.”

I felt his lips touch my forehead. “Lila.” While he held and rocked me, I felt wetness drip on my cheek.

Simultaneously, the wail of sirens cut through the still air, and everything seemed to happen in a blur. The medics rushed into the room with armfuls of supplies. They went to work quickly, pumping air into my body, covering my mouth with some kind of mask and tubes. I gasped for air. I heard a man’s voice shouting. “Breathe deep. Focus on inhaling and exhaling.”
Were they trying to keep me conscious?
Was this all a dream? Am I the center of this drama?

Lifting the outside corner of my right eye, there was Blake pacing in what looked like a frenzied panic, watching the medics in action. This experience felt almost surreal, like I was floating above watching the scene play out, wondering if my body would spring back to life.

Meanwhile, Blake stood with his hand on his throat while the paramedics hoisted me onto the stretcher. I saw his eyes gravitate to a framed photo on the nightstand of the two of us, young, smiling in the bright sunlight. He reached for the frame, pulled it to his chest, and hugged it tightly. Blake appeared lost in thought as his gaze fixed on the photo, and then he looked at me. Clenching the photo in one hand, he flicked the lights off and followed the stretcher out of the bedroom.

The ambulance rushed me to the hospital, where they pumped fluids into my dehydrated body. My skin had become saggy and thin, like I had been crawling through a hot desert for days. I was placed in intensive care, where I continued to fight for my life. A feeding tube pumped in extra vital nutrients. The rehydration proved successful.