The Empty Jar(63)

While Lena may know what the doctor is getting at, I do not.

“What are you saying?”

Dr. Taffer turns, tight-lipped and firm, to face me this time. “I’m saying that I think her disease has advanced considerably, and we need to know what we’re dealing with so that we can get her on some kind of treatment as soon as possible, even if it’s palliative.”

Palliative.

In my extensive research, done when I couldn’t sleep for worrying about my wife, I came across that word all too often in reference to Lena’s condition.

Palliative.

Palliative care is for comfort only. It isn’t used to treat anything except pain or other uncomfortable symptoms associated with terminal conditions. It isn’t intended to heal or prolong or delay. It’s the use of medication strictly for those who are dying. And who will be in a great deal of pain or discomfort from it.

Palliative.

And it’s used when death is fairly imminent.

A wave of nausea rolls through my stomach. It comes on like a white-capped storm surge, curling over a sandy shore—quickly and unexpectedly. I want to yell at Lheanne Taffer, to tell her that this is supposed to be a happy day and she’s supposed to give us hope, not…not…this. I want like hell to kick her out the door and erase everything she’s said since she walked in.

But I don’t.

I can’t do either of those. My job is to keep my wife calm and uplifted. Throwing her oncologist out on her ass or getting myself forcibly removed by security would accomplish neither of those, so I swallow my complaints like the bitter, jagged pills they are.

Then I swallow again.

“So, you’d give her something to help the pain in her side? A-and the…confusion?” I ask. I hate talking about my wife as though she’s not here, but I need to understand the options.

“Yes. At least those two things. We’ll know more when we can get some testing done.”

I wonder if I pale visibly as I consider what this means because Dr. Taffer reacts as though I did. I catch the quick succession of several emotions as they play over her face.

I can’t help wondering if, in her haste to get my wife on some kind of treatment, the doctor forgot that Lena Grant is someone’s wife and, now, someone’s mother. I wonder if she didn’t even consider the possibility that Lena would want to enjoy her family, uninterrupted, for a few days before she gets poked and prodded and possibly given even worse news.

Whether she had or hadn’t considered these things, I’ll never know. I only know the moment that she recognized those truths, she finally let some compassion in, and let it take the wheel.

Dr. Taffer explains to me that she’ll be putting Lena on a pain patch that will give her continuous relief from the increasing pain in her side. It can be increased incrementally until she gets complete relief.

She also tells me about the Lactulose she’ll prescribe, a drug which will help eliminate some of the excess ammonia from Lena’s body, and hopefully, reduce the bouts of confusion.

When she’s finished, Lheanne glances back over her shoulder at Lena, sadness stealing over her features. “The main thing is that she’s able to enjoy as much of this as she can.” With one hand, she gestures toward Lena and Grace. Grace has fallen asleep after getting her belly full, and Lena is holding her as she sleeps.

Impulsively, I take my phone from my pocket and snap another picture. I never want to forget the tender look of adoration on my sweet wife’s face or the way our baby fits so perfectly in her arms and against her chest. It’s a scene Michelangelo himself couldn’t have adequately captured.

And one that will forever be etched on my heart.

“I hope you’re doing a lot of that,” the doctor says quietly, nodding at the phone before she moves back toward the bed. She lowers her voice to a whisper when she addresses Lena. “Congratulations, Lena. She’s absolutely beautiful. Just like her mother.”

Lena turns proud, shining eyes up to her physician. “Thank you.”

Dr. Taffer nods to her then to me and makes her exit. Although she didn’t give us worse news per se, it feels as though she did. There’s an implied urgency that makes my soul shrivel as if the world has suddenly frozen over all around me.

I hope you’re doing a lot of that.

I hear her words over and over again.

I make the determination right this minute to do it even more.

********

Grace is three days old when she’s cleared for us to bring her home. She’s a good baby, sweet-natured and agreeable, and I know that Lena and I feel the same way about her.

It’s like seeing the sun for the first time.

Or, for me, maybe like seeing the sun for the second time. I’ve known a love like this before. But only once in my whole life. It’s the love I have for my wife. I never thought I’d ever feel anything that could compare to it. But Grace… She snuggled her way into my heart right alongside Lena within thirty seconds of meeting her.

I’m as disappointed as Lena that she won’t be able to continue breastfeeding our daughter, but we both know that it’s for the best. Anything that can keep Lena comfortable and present for longer is, in my eyes, worth it.

The only problem is, the medication that Lena has been given to help lower her ammonia levels hasn’t had as dramatic an effect as we were hoping. In my mind, it should’ve put Lena back to rights. Completely. Only it hasn’t worked out that way, hasn’t worked quite that well.