“On the couch?” I groan, pulling my sleeve up to my red nose and nestling my head deeper into Henry’s chest. I hear a deep rattle inside him as he laughs at my remark.
“Well, for now,” he explains. “But, I mean more living in the moment. We keep each other living for the moment. It’s all we can do.”
My breath grows shallow. I close my eyes, taking in his smell, soaking in every sense the moment has to offer.
Three Months Later ...
I WALK DOWN the dim hall, careful to be as silent as possible, so as not to disturb Henry. Pressing gently on our bedroom door there is a slight creak as it opens. I peer inside. His head is completely under the blankets, and I can hear him gently whimpering in his sleep. I want to go in and hold him, but I know this will only make it worse for him.
Suddenly, my cell phone begins vibrating in my side pocket. I pull the door closed and back away carefully and quietly. As I make my way into the living room, I glance at the face of my phone. It’s Emmie. I haven’t answered her last two calls, and I know she must be getting worried.
Reluctantly, I swipe my finger across the phone and lift it up to my ear, then flop down onto the couch. “Hello?”
“Paige?” I can already hear the concern in her voice.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I ask, as if nothing is wrong.
“What?” Emmie grumbles. “Oh, we’re fine, but I’ve been trying to call you for over a week now, and you’re not picking up. Is everything all right there?”
I sigh, pressing my head back against the throw pillow behind me. “Yeah, I guess.”
“How’s Henry?” she asks; I’m sure she can sense my mood already.
I hesitate then answer, “He’s sleeping.”
“Is he still feeling good?” she prods.
“I don’t know. I guess he’s fine.”
“Paige, what’s going on?”
I exhale deeply. “I don’t really want to just unload on you whenever you call.”
“Well, that’s too bad. That’s what friends are for. My job is to be here for you while you’re going through this,” Emmie insists.
“I guess.”
“No, no guessing. That’s how it is. Now tell me, what’s going on?”
“I think I’m just frustrated,” I say heavily.
“About what?”
“When the chemo was over, it was like Henry woke up out of this daze. The medication Doctor Abbott gave him to manage his symptoms was incredible,” I explain.
“Yeah,” Emmie interjects. “You mentioned last time we spoke how great he’s been eating.”
“It’s not just his appetite coming back. Every night he wanted to go out to a different restaurant or meet up with friends. If our friends were busy, he’d make new friends. It was nothing like the homebody I was used to,” I continue.
“You have to understand, he’s facing his own mortality, and that’s going to change him.”
“I suppose,” I agree.
“So what’s bothering you? His new lifestyle doesn’t fit you?” Emmie inquires.
“Oh God no!” I exclaim. “He’s gotten back to a healthy weight and has been so active that I actually managed to convince myself that he was going to be okay, at least for a while.”
“Well, sweetheart,” Emmie begins. “You don’t know, maybe we’ll be blessed, and he won’t get really sick for a while.”
“No, that’s what I’m talking about,” I explain. “For the past few months Henry and I have been completely focused on enjoying each other’s company. He gave up his position at the firm, I’ve put any plans for my line on hold, and it’s been nothing but a focus on spending time together.”
“That’s great, I don’t see the problem.”
“Things started to change two weeks ago,” I answer.
“What do you mean, they started to change?” she asks.
I swallow hard; I can already feel the burning in my eyes. I hate talking about Henry and this fucking nightmare disease he has. “A week ago Henry’s pain began to exceed what his pain meds could alleviate. As the pain has been growing in intensity, I’ve watched him struggling. He moans in his sleep, and he has trouble even walking around the apartment.”
“Can they give him more meds?”
“Doctor Abbott says it won’t help,” I continue. “In the past ten days I think he’s had a total of about five meals.”
“Oh, Paige.” I hear the pity in my friend’s voice.
“I know. He gets weaker every day, and Doctor Abbott warned me that if I can’t get his eating under control, we may need to think about a feeding tube.” My voice cracks. “I can’t force my thirty year old husband to receive a feeding tube.”