The Wave by Kristen Crusoe (ebook reader online txt) 📗

as though she was seeing him for the first time. He looked at her through the mirror in the dresser. Noticed her looking at him. Their eyes met. Held. He felt himself warm, grow, shuddered. Turning slowly, so she could see, he moved towards her, easing himself down onto the side of the bed. She pulled him to her. Laid his head on her belly, tucking the drains up under her arms. He raised his head, kissed her. She kissed him back, rocking him gently side to side.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

‘Don’t ask,’ she said. ‘Just do.’

Chapter 15

Clair

The support group was mandated by her nurse navigator, Naomi. At least, it felt like an edict to Clair, along with daily arm exercises, breathing exercises, eating green and yellow fruits and vegetables. Positive thinking. Visioning. Even a glass or two of wine seemed to be on order during treatment. The room was large, surrounded by floor to ceiling windows, looking out over the forested hills, today shrouded in fog and mist. How could this be comforting? It felt if anything too big, too open, too wet and cold. She wanted to turn and run. But Naomi spotted her, calling her over to a cluster of women and, surprisingly, one man, sitting in a close circle. Clair squared her shoulders, still feeling the pull of the scar tissue along her chest. She had been told she might feel pings of nerves reconnecting for several years. Lovely, Clair had thought, I’ll never be able to forget. Even if I live to remember.

There was an empty chair to Naomi’s left. Clair sat, folding her hands in her lap, like a supplicant. What was she hoping to receive, she wondered? Penance?

‘Clair, so glad you made it. We’re just getting started. Let’s go around and introduce ourselves, say a bit about what brought you here, your basic facts, you know – diagnosis, treatment stage, prognosis, and also, what is the most important thing in your life, the one thing that gives you the courage and strength to get through all of this?’

Naomi turned to the woman sitting to her right to begin the talking circle. As people shared their stories, Clair’s mind wandered back to a week ago, her homecoming. She and Adam’s finding each other, maybe for the first time. It was sweet, she remembered. His tenderness, kindness. During dinner, he had talked easily about his classes, students. He had to return to work the next day, Monday, and wondered if she would be OK at home, on her own. She had assured him she would, even though she wasn’t sure herself. On a medical leave of absence from her own teaching, she was finding pleasure in not having to think about anything other than the simple moment to moment happenings in her small, and now even smaller world. The psychiatric unit had been a constant hum of voices and actions. Here, home was quiet. Spacious. And pulsating with energy. Devon’s energy, she was certain. The scientist in her knew this was a fixed delusion. The mother in her didn’t care.

She heard her name being spoken.

‘Clair, are you OK with sharing?’ Naomi asked.

‘Uh, yes,’ Clair said, bringing her attention back to the group. ‘Hi everyone, my name’s Clair Mercer. I was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer, stage IV, last week. I don’t know what my treatment plan will be yet, I just got my Hemovac tubes out. I meet with the oncologist tomorrow and go from there. I think my prognosis is pretty grim, even with treatment, so I’m just taking this all one day at a time. Having cancer is like a full-time job I’m learning. So, I’ll just do my best and whatever happens, happens.’

‘And the most important thing to you, Clair?’ Naomi reminded her.

‘My son, Devon.’

As they went around the circle again, sharing personal stories, Clair relaxed. If any of them did know about her suicide and homicide attempts and stay on the psych unit, they didn’t let on. She felt comfortable around these broken people, one very young, and the man wasn’t a husband as she had first thought, but a breast cancer patient himself. He had shared how embarrassing it had been for him. His work crew making fun of him. His insurance company denying coverage for his surgery, saying he was making it all up to get out of work.

‘Oh sure, put myself and family through this hell just to miss a few days driving a truck?’

The young girl, Brianna, was sixteen. She had been diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma in situ. Because of her young age, a double mastectomy had been done and she was going to have reconstruction. She had laughed, talking about how all of the dancers on the dance team, where she was captain, shaved their heads to support her for their prom. She wore a strapless gown, stuffed with foam rubber. The girls had all sprinkled glitter on their bald heads.

‘My date was horrified at first, then it was OK. We’ve been best friends since grade school, so he said he wasn’t that surprised by my costume. It was my mom who had the hardest time. She wanted me to cover myself head to toe. No way, I said. I’m not hiding from this. I’m meeting this thing head on and I’m going to beat it.’

The group cheered and clapped for her. Clair was amazed at how connected she felt. Her eyes teared up. A lifetime loner, she realized these people didn’t care who she was, what she had done in her life, or what she would do or be after this. They only cared that she was here, now, with them, to share and be a part of their story.

When the talk came back around to her, she told the story of having her drains removed. She described how Adam, her husband, had fainted dead away when the doctor began pulling one of the long tubes out. They all heard a crash and thud,