I could tell she was trying not to cry. Her face was flushed, her eyes blurred with tears.
“I. Love. You.” I looked directly into her eyes. “It’s not the end.”
“I know,” she agreed. “I know it here.” She pressed her hand to my chest, “And I know it here.” She moved her hand and pressed it to her own chest. “Have a nice rest, Wes, and know I’ll be waiting for you when you wake up.”
I nodded.
“It’s time.” Another nurse walked in, one I didn’t recognize. She gave Kiersten a sad smile and escorted her out, just as Angela walked in.
“Alright, sweetie.” Angela cupped my cheek. “Time to go to sleep and when you wake up — no more cancer.”
Confused, I stared at her, I mean really stared at her, I could have sworn I was looking at my mom. I blinked a few times and shook my head.
“Thank you,” I finally said. “You’ve been a fantastic nurse.”
“Remember one thing.” She grabbed my bed and began rolling it out the door.
“What?” I asked as she paused in the rolling.
“You may not see every single piece of the puzzle that creates your life — you may not see every move the grand chess player makes — but know, He is in complete control of the game board. Sometimes certain pieces are moved or knocked over to make room for new ones. Other times, things happen because of the world we live in. But everything, in the end, will always turn out for good. It’s a nice promise, isn’t it? To know that there’s a reason for it all? A reason for your cancer — maybe by having cancer you’ve saved the lives of three of your best friends. Had you not been sick, would you have met them? Had you not been sick, would you have found the love of your life? Maybe it’s not in the perfection of life that things make sense, but in the chaos.”
She stood and pushed me down the hall. Her words haunted me the entire way. As I was rolled into the surgical room, I reached for her hand. She gripped mine hard within hers. And then, when I was given the injection to sleep, I looked to my right, at her left hand… on her ring finger was a ring. The exact one my father had given my mom, the one she wore until the day she died… I opened my mouth to say it, but heaviness invaded my eyes, I fell into a deep sleep, a smile on my face.
Chapter Forty-Six
Ten hours? What was I supposed to do for ten hours? Pray? I was praying. I was trying not to cry and Gabe was trying to cheer me up by telling me embarrassing stories of Lisa’s childhood — not helpful, but he was trying.
Kiersten
After five hours, I was ready to go crazy. They said the surgery could take anywhere from ten to twelve hours. Randy said that if the doctors came out within the first hour it wasn’t good news. It meant it was inoperable, but he had high hopes, so the minute we were out of the woods after the first two hours had passed, I relaxed a bit.
I looked at the clock again. It was noon. By Five, I should have Wes back in my arms, hurting, but at least alive. I closed my eyes and concentrated on his kisses.
Gabe hit me in the arm. I looked up. A doctor was walking toward us. His head down. It was too soon. No! No! I knew it was too soon for him to be briefing us! My heart faltered and then thundered against my chest as I gripped Gabe’s hand and waited for the news.
The doctor smiled when Randy stood. Smiling was good right? I took a deep breath. I would have felt it if Wes’s heart stopped beating, I would have known in my soul — he was still with us, he had to be.
“It’s the strangest thing…” The doctor shook his head. “The surgery’s finished.”
“Why is that strange?” Randy asked.
“His tumor.” The doctor seemed to be having trouble forming words. “When we looked at it a few days ago, it was the size of the palm of my hand.” He held up his hand. “Somehow over the course of the last few days, it shrunk to the size of a small plum.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Randy blinked a few times. I could tell he was trying not to cry.
“The cancer’s gone,” the doctor said slowly. “It was only in that one location, very near to his heart, but operable. We removed the tumor without any complications. Your son…” The doctor’s voice shook and he drew a tremulous breath. “Your son will live to be a very old man, God willing.”