Handle Me with Care (14 page)

Evan sighed and sat back in his chair, his mouth dry and his stomach empty. ‘I’m crapping myself, mate. I mean, an op is bad enough, but one to chop off a ball is fucking terrifying.’

‘I can’t pretend to understand so I won’t patronise you by saying that I do,’ said Ben, ‘but I can
imagine
what it must be like, and that’s terrifying enough for me.’

Evan looked around. ‘What’s taking them so long? Now I’m here I want this over with.’

The receptionist talked in hushed tones on the telephone, another patient sat three rows of chairs away, but apart from that nothing was happening, not even the sounds that you came to expect in a hospital. It was as though in this beige-toned waiting room with its pristine tiled floor, pot plants standing to attention along one wall, they were detached from the reality of it all.

Evan drummed his fingers on the metal part of the arm of his chair, and luckily the man who had taken a seat a couple of rows in front had either managed to block the sound out or he was far too polite to request that Evan stop it.

‘How about we try some good old-fashioned distraction, eh?’ suggested Ben. ‘Tell me about Maddie. Did you ever get in touch with her again?’

‘I did. We went out again for coffee and I took her to Williamstown for fish and chips.’

‘You old romantic,’ said Ben with a wink and a nudge.

‘We’d planned to go running this morning before her shift, but instead I get to do this.’

Ben let him wallow for a minute and then Evan said, more brightly, ‘I spent last night at her place.’

‘You dirty stop out! No wonder you didn’t want to come over to our place.’

‘It wasn’t like that. At least it wasn’t last night. I didn’t speak to her until after midnight to tell her the op was today and I think she was in shock, so I went over.’

Ben pulled a face.

‘She just wanted me near.’

‘Well I never.’ Ben scratched his head. ‘Who’d have thought? Evan Quinn, the big softie.’

‘We spent the night together after Williamstown too.’ Evan doubted it was difficult for Ben to fathom what had gone on that night judging by the smile on Evan’s face.

‘Well that’s a relief. You’re still the Evan we know and love.’

Evan leant forwards, his arms resting on his thighs. ‘She’s fantastic, Ben. And I’m not just talking about the sexy stuff – although that’s pretty damn good too – but I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl who has got me quite the way she does. Somehow we click, and it’s as though we’ve known each other for a lot longer than we actually have.’

‘How did you leave things with her?’

‘I’ll see her again,’ he replied firmly. ‘I’ll get in touch when I’m out of here.’

‘Evan Quinn?’ A nurse with a clipboard stood at the front of the now bustling waiting room filling up with more poor bastards waiting to be operated on.

‘Looks like you’re up.’ Ben looked at Evan. ‘You okay from here?’

His heart raced at the enormity of what lay ahead. ‘Bit late to be backing out now.’

‘You’ll be all right, mate. Now skedaddle. I’m dying to get another coffee and a doughnut from the canteen but didn’t want to torture you. I’ve got my iPad so I’ll be right here until it’s time to go.’

Being alone through all of this had been one of the scariest parts for Evan, so knowing Ben had his back was reassuring.

Evan was shown to a cubicle where he removed his clothes and pulled on the hospital-issue gown. He pulled the cool, stiff sheets over his legs and lay back on the bed, sinking his head into the flimsy pillow and staring up at the stark white ceiling and the lights swallowed up by it. It seemed like forever until the nurse came and ran through his details, including the operation he was in for today, double-checking so they didn’t operate on the wrong body part or remove a healthy organ by mistake, he guessed.

When the nurse wheeled him towards his fate, he felt the bed trundle beneath him. He noticed every crack in the ceiling and counted the lights at regularly spaced intervals. It felt surreal, like he was part of a television medical drama, and he silently hoped this wasn’t a teaching hospital like he’d seen in
Grey’s Anatomy
– Holly was a fan, and Jem – where the love lives of the doctors seemed more of a concern than the actual surgery.

He blocked all thoughts of that when he was faced with the masked anaesthetist who tried to make small talk. Evan muttered a response to the question about what books he liked reading, and the last thing he remembered was counting backwards from ten as the anaesthetist talked about Matthew Reilly’s latest book.

Chapter Seventeen

Maddie hated to think what would’ve happened had she not got in touch with Evan last night after Ally left. He had held her and comforted her as they talked about inconsequential things, anything to take their minds off of what was about to happen. They had laughed about the kids in his class: yesterday one of them had let out an enormous fart and nobody had batted an eyelid, never mind admitted to being the culprit. The whole group of twenty had carried on with their painting, splashing bright colours everywhere, oblivious to the amusement of their teacher.

The thought of their conversation allowed a small smile to form on Maddie’s lips, but the thought that Evan could be under the knife right now was enough to stop it in its tracks. At lunchtime she checked her phone again, although it was pointless when Evan had told her his phone would stay at home while he was in hospital. All she could do now was to wait.

*

‘Evan, how are you feeling?’

Groggy and squinting beneath the lights that felt like they were burning a hole in his irises, Evan came face-to-face with a woman about the same age as his mother. For a moment he panicked, thinking he was at home, but when the nurse spoke again, the reality hit.

He fell back to sleep, and when he woke his mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert. His groin ached – probably what had woken him – and the same nurse was at his bedside babbling about a prescription for strong painkillers. She adjusted the bed so he was no longer completely flat and handed him a cup of water. ‘Small sips,’ she urged. ‘We need to make sure you can keep it down. Then we’ll try a bit of lunch.’

The water went down fine and made him feel semi-human, but then another nurse appeared with a tray. For one tiny moment it looked like an oasis for his empty stomach as she pulled off the plastic wrap from a row of triangular sandwiches. Then, quick as any baseball player, glove ready to catch the pitch, the nurse had a bowl beneath Evan’s chin before he vomited.

*

Maddie lay on the sofa, her coat in a heap on the floor. The sky was heavy with rainclouds that matched her mood and showed no signs of clearing. She had forgotten to take an umbrella today, and the smell of rain lingered in her hair, damp and matted from the wind and the downpour that had conspired against her as she ran for the tram.

Over the last few weeks, she had felt a shift in herself, as though she was on a bike, climbing uphill, and as the struggle became tougher, she realised that by shifting into a lower gear, she could make it; she could make it all the way to the top. And that was Evan’s doing. His cancer scare seemed like a test, a test to see whether she could go the distance with anyone else. But with lack of news from Evan’s camp, it was like the chain of her bike had come off and she was rolling backwards, unable to move forwards no matter how hard she pedalled. Sometimes she felt as though she was in a hole as deep as Ground Zero, destined never to climb out.

*

‘Maddie, are you there?’

Maddie sat up on the sofa, still in her work uniform. She must have fallen asleep after she curled up in a ball, mesmerised by the rain outside lashing against the window.

‘This is Ben,’ the voice continued. She realised it was her answer machine and the person was mid-message. Who the hell was Ben?

‘I’m Evan’s brother-in-law.’

She snatched up the phone, cleared her throat and hoped she didn’t sound too groggy. ‘Hello, Ben? How is he?’

‘Hi, Maddie,’ said Ben. ‘The operation went smoothly. Evan’s moaning away anyhow. You should’ve seen how grumpy he was when the nurse told him he couldn’t go home unless they were satisfied that he could piss properly.’

She giggled, more in relief than anything else.

‘Sorry,’ said Ben.  ‘I must apologise for my bad language.’

‘Don’t be, I really appreciate the call.’

‘He said to tell you that he’ll be in touch when he’s up to it.’

She tried not to feel too disheartened that it hadn’t been Evan’s voice on the phone. The main thing was that he was well and the surgery had gone smoothly. ‘Do you know anything more? Was the lump cancer?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know much else for now, Maddie.’

When she hung up she knew she had to stay positive. Whatever the outcome of the operation, whether the cancer had spread or not, she had to believe the past wouldn’t repeat itself. It couldn’t, could it? Surely meeting Evan was a sign that she needed to start pedalling up the hill again, and this time she would refuse to stop until she reached the top.

Chapter Eighteen

Five days after the operation, when the results were in on the Monday morning, Ben took Evan to see the specialist.

‘I’ll take it from here. I shouldn’t be long.’ Evan didn’t want anyone else witnessing the news, good or bad. He wanted to hear it himself, take it in, process what was happening.

He didn’t have to wait too long to be seen by the specialist, who shook his hand and led him to a room at the end of a long corridor.

Evan tried to read the man’s expression, but he had his poker face on for sure.

‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ he said once Evan had carefully lowered himself into a chair beside the desk. ‘The operation went well, as you know, and now that we have the pathology results back, we know that your lump was cancer.’

It was as though a gong had been struck at deafening volume and was still reverberating next to his ear.

The specialist’s voice pushed on through. ‘The good news is that it’s stage one seminoma.’

‘That’s the good news?’

‘I know it doesn’t seem that way when I use the word
cancer
, but stage one means that it hasn’t spread.’

Evan tried to get his head around the complex explanation of what a seminoma was, but he couldn’t process it. He felt as though the specialist was speaking a foreign language. He’d been told all this before, he’d read about it time and time again, but with all the medical jargon it was easy to be confused.

‘You’ll need a round of chemotherapy in four to six weeks, and from past experience that’s usually enough to eradicate any cancer cells,’ the specialist continued.

‘Isn’t that too long to wait? Shouldn’t we get going with the chemo straight away?’

The specialist seemed to sense the panic in Evan’s voice. ‘We need the body to recover from the operation first, and with this type of cancer, it’s fine to wait that short time. And, Evan, please remember the chances of making a full recovery without the recurrence of cancer are extremely high.’

‘How high?’

‘The single dose of chemotherapy that will be administered for you is associated with a cure rate of about ninety-seven to ninety-eight percent.’

‘And what are my chances of getting the cancer in my other testicle now that I’ve had it in one?’ Please God, don’t let him lose any more of his manhood.

The specialist took a deep breath. ‘There is a very small increased risk of patients with testicular cancer getting it in the other testicle. But,’ he said before Evan lost the plot completely, ‘it’s a small risk of about two percent.’

They ran through other details – the expected timing of the chemotherapy; the annual CT scans he would need; the checks with the specialist every few months. The specialist checked the incision and declared that it was ‘healing nicely’.

Evan walked out to the car park to meet Ben and climbed gingerly into the passenger seat. He knew he should be grateful that the prognosis was good, that compared to some people he was getting off lightly. But how could he possibly look on the bright side when he had been diagnosed with cancer? He wanted to crawl into a big black hole and sleep until it was all over.

He managed to relay the information to Ben, who was a hell of a lot more positive than he was, but back in the safety of his own apartment, Evan felt as though the walls were closing in on him. Last night he had stopped the seriously strong painkillers, but when he saw the packet lying there on the kitchen bench, he picked it up, roared as loudly as he could and flung it across the room. Next to go was the empty glass right next to the packet that would’ve been used to swallow the last dose. That went the same way as the pills and made a satisfying smash as it hit the glass sliding door. He upended the coffee table, sending an iPad, a newspaper and a coaster flying, and only when he wanted to kick the living crap out of the sofa and swung back a leg did the pain in his groin kick in along with his senses.

He slumped down beside the sofa, his eyes filled with tears. He touched a hand to the wound in his pubic area to make sure he hadn’t torn open the skin during his outrage, but it was fine, just as before: a florid swelling that would disappear in time. He wondered whether mentally the damage would last a lot longer.

The painkillers had knocked him out good and proper up until now, and today was the first day he had really been able to think straight, to let his emotions try to untangle themselves, but combined with the diagnosis only an hour ago, it was a lethal combination. 

He wondered what Maddie was doing right now. He’d sent her a text the first night he was home, to say he was sleeping an unhealthy amount and felt like a bear going into hibernation. They had been firing jokey words back and forth for the last couple of days too even though at times he had barely had the energy to think of anything to say. He knew she was waiting for him to tell her to come and see him, but he hadn’t banked on feeling so bloody useless once he wasn’t so spaced out on painkillers. And now he shied away from contacting her because he didn’t want the girl whom he was trying to impress to see him as less of a man, wincing in pain when he moved or falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

Evan checked the window for damage before he picked up the larger pieces of glass from the carpet. Thankfully his momentary loss of control hadn’t caused any further damage other than breaking the glass and creating a mess. He pulled the vacuum cleaner out from the laundry room at the back of the bathroom to get the tiny splinters that had embedded themselves in the thick fawn pile.

Holly had been over yesterday and filled the fridge, basing her assumptions about what he ate on most men rather than the healthier foods he enjoyed – usually it was muesli or porridge for breakfast, a plain sandwich for lunch, meat and vegetables for dinner – but today he had reached new depths of despair, and when he finished cleaning up he took out eggs, bacon and a fistful of mushrooms. He couldn’t train anyway – no running for at least six weeks – so before long the scent of a fry-up filled the apartment, and he took his plate outside to enjoy it on the balcony.

The food barely touched the sides as it went down; amazing how much of an appetite you could build-up with a cancer diagnosis and a good old-fashioned violent outburst.

When he had slept next to Maddie the other night, she’d suggested using flexible ice packs after the operation, for comfort, and so he had asked Ben to pick some up from the sports clinic in the city. He retrieved one from the freezer now, wrapped it in a tea towel, and pressed it against the wound. He knew he was lucky he hadn’t ripped it open with the little stunt he pulled earlier, and his hand reached for his phone because this was one of those little things he wanted to tell Maddie. It had happened yesterday, and the day before. He couldn’t remember what had been the reason now, but like today, he had stopped himself just in time, before he showed weakness, asked for her pity.

He propped up his iPad on the table – luckily it had survived its unplanned trip through the air – and skimmed through
The Age
. He flicked past stories of doom and gloom, and settled instead on the sport section to read about the build-up of footy fever now that they had hit winter. He’d only made one match this season what with everything going on.

When the phone rang Evan ignored it, pulling a fleece tighter around himself as he skimmed through Facebook’s News Feed before checking his emails. This had become his daily morning routine in the absence of being able to go for a run. His body felt tight, unused. All he wanted to do was get out there into the big wide world, taking in the city skyline with its bossy tall buildings outnumbering the smaller ones that had been there first. He looked across at one of the entrances to the Crown Entertainment Complex, barely feeling the usual buzz of this cosmopolitan city that he loved being a part of.

The phone refused to give up on him and rang again. He shut the balcony door, preferring to feel a part of the noise of the city outside. He knew it would be Holly; she’d phoned umpteen times in the last few days, and he just couldn’t take any more sympathy right now. Perhaps he should be grateful to have so many people worried about him, but at the moment all his thoughts were insular.

When the phone finally stopped ringing and he felt a chill, Evan went through to the kitchen and ran hot water over his plate so the residue from the egg didn’t set hard. At least he’d maintained some common sense amongst the worry that his cancer would return in his other testicle, the fear of infertility, and his obsession that he wouldn’t be able to get a hard-on and have sex like he used to, ever again. He’d started to get paranoid though, which was new for him. A couple of days previously he’d developed a slight cough and had spent hours trawling the internet, concluding that the cancer must surely have spread to his lungs.

Evan flung himself on to the sofa. He was being ridiculous; a weak emotional wreck. Evan reminded himself that he’d got off lightly compared to some people with cancer, but the depression that had taken hold during his cancer journey wasn’t something he had foreseen. It had crept up on him unexpectedly like a ghoul in the night, wrapping him in a cloak of darkness.

With no desire to do anything else, he picked up the remote control and prepared to lose himself again in the stupidity that was daytime television, anything to zone out and take his mind off of what was happening.