The Perfect Marriage(23)
“The myeloablation process is basically another round of chemo,” Dr. Cammerman continued. “The intent is to remove the cancer cells in your body and to make room for the transplant we’re going to do in phase two. Now, I know you’re a chemo veteran, so you’re familiar with the drill. It’ll be like it was the last time, except the regimen will be shorter. About a week, give or take. It’s a different type of chemo, different medicines than the last time, so I can’t guarantee—there’s that word again, right? But I can’t predict whether you’ll tolerate it better or worse or about the same as you did the last time. Also, you’re older and stronger than before, so that might help, but it’s a high-dose regimen, so that makes it more likely the side effects will be more severe, I’m afraid.”
Owen touched the ends of his hair out of reflex. It had taken him three years to get it to this length, and now it would be gone in a matter of weeks. As if reading his mind, his mother reached over and caressed his shoulder.
“Okay, now we’re done with phase one,” Dr. Cammerman continued. “We give you a day or two to rest. Then, after forty-eight hours of downtime, the main event occurs. The transplant. Here’s how that works: you’ll be under sedation, so all you have to do is sleep, and my team does the work. The transplant takes only a few hours. We’ll be placing donor stem cells into your bone marrow. Sounds like fun, right?”
That smile again. Out of his peripheral vision, Owen saw his parents wearing stupid grins too.
“Now, I said that there were two phases,” Dr. Cammerman continued, “but I’m going to add a third one: posttransplant. There are some strange side effects to the procedure that you may or may not experience. For instance, you might have a strong taste of garlic or creamed corn in your mouth. Sucking on candy or sipping flavored drinks during and after the infusion can help with the taste. I know, not pleasant. I’m sorry to say, your body will also smell like this.”
“So that might be a little bit of improvement for you, huh?” his father said with a chuckle.
Dr. Cammerman laughed. “Don’t worry. The smell fades after a few days, but this is something that most patients tell me about, and I don’t want you to worry if you experience it. You’re not becoming a vampire or anything like that.”
Owen wanted to tell him that vampires were repelled by garlic; they didn’t smell like it. Instead, he smiled while silently praying that the doctor would stop talking already.
But Dr. Cammerman still wasn’t finished. “So, at this point in the process, posttransplant, we’re waiting to see if the transplanted stem cells engraft and start to multiply and make new blood cells. That usually occurs within a few weeks. Unfortunately, you’re in the hospital this entire time. No exceptions.”
Owen knew this from the internet too. Still he asked, “How long am I going to be in the hospital? I mean after the transplant?”
“Anywhere from three to six weeks. During this period, you’ll be highly susceptible to infection, which is why we require the hospital stay. Your visitors will be limited to your immediate family, and everyone else who comes in contact with you will have to wash their hands before entering and then wear surgical masks, glasses, and gowns. What we’re looking for before we send you home is that you haven’t run a fever in a few days, you’re feeling relatively good, and your blood counts have hit a certain level. It varies from person to person how long that takes. But like I said, it’ll most likely be a month or so.”
Owen timed it out in his head. If the first stage took two weeks, and the second anywhere from three to six weeks, he was looking at about two months from start to finish. And for most of the time, he’d be in the hospital.
As he had predicted, there’d be no opera performance in his future. No final orchestra recital. No chance at first violin. Likely no prom either.
“We’ll get you a tutor,” his mother said. “That way, you’ll still be able to graduate on time.”
Owen smiled again. The timing did permit him to attend graduation. Of course, that would only be true if he didn’t die before then.
Haley sat at the bar at Sant Ambroeus, an upscale Italian restaurant on Madison Avenue. In her previous life, she would stroll past the bar area, take a table inside the restaurant, and order the Dover sole. But now the bar was as far as she dared go. For one thing, she could no longer afford the prices at the tables. For another, she was here not for the food, but the view.
In the morning, her order was a cappuccino. In the afternoon it was a martini, extra dirty. Usually more than one.
It was somewhat disconcerting that this morning the barista nodded when she took her seat. He was about her age, but not handsome enough for Haley to think his gesture was a come-on. More likely, he remembered her as a regular.
Sant Ambroeus was the ground-floor tenant of the building where James worked. By sitting at the bar, Haley had an unobstructed sight line to Madison Avenue, which allowed her to see her ex-husband enter and leave his office.
These stalking measures did not always bear fruit. Far from it. Haley estimated that she saw James less than half the times she visited. Then again, he never spotted her, which was more important.
At 10:15 a.m., Haley finally got the payoff for which she had been so patiently waiting. James was wearing a tie, which he did only when he was meeting a client. Her heart skipped a beat when he stopped directly in front of Sant Ambroeus. She thought that maybe he had seen her, but he was instead checking his look in the window’s reflection, which gave her a few extra seconds to stare.