Danielle Steel - Lightning

She wanted to hang up on him, but she didn't. She called Annabelle instead, and they had a nice chat about school, and her “trip,” and Alex promised her she'd be home by the weekend. And after that she had a shot for the pain, but she had to admit there wasn't much. But it was easier to drift in and out of sleep and drugs than to contemplate her future, and the absence of her husband. And when she woke up, she called her office. Matt Billings was out, as was Brock, but Elizabeth Hascomb told her that everything was in good control. There had been no emergencies since she'd been gone, and they all missed her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, sounding concerned, but Alex's voice was strong and she sounded a lot better than she had even that morning.

“I'm fine. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“We'll be waiting.”

That afternoon, Dr. Herman told her that she could eat regular meals now and leave as early as the next day, or she could wait until she felt a little stronger. But the incision was healing nicely.

“I'd rather stay,” she said quietly, and surprised him. He had figured her for someone who'd want to rush out in two days. It would have been possible for her, but he always recommended staying just a little bit longer.

“I thought you'd be anxious to leave us.” He smiled, not unaware of the trauma she had gone through.

“I have a three-year-old at home. I'd rather be in better shape when I go back to her, so I don't have so much to explain.”

“I'd say you'll be in pretty good shape by the weekend, and the drain can come out by then, which will leave only the dressing. You've had major surgery, so you'll be tired, but I don't think you'll be in pain. We can handle that with some medication if it's a problem. All you have to do after that is get your strength back. And then in three or four weeks, depending on the rest of your tests, we'll begin treatment.” “Treatment.” Such a benign word for chemotherapy. Just thinking about it made her heart ache.

“What about work?”

“I'd say give it another week. Until the dressings are off, and you're stronger. And then, of course, once you start chemotherapy, you'll have to see how well you're able to cope with work, but if we adjust the doses correctly, you should be able to handle a moderate workload.” When was the last time her workload had been moderate? Maybe the day she'd had Annabelle, and never before or since then. But at least he wasn't saying she couldn't work. He was saying she'd have to try it. That was something.

He left her then, and she sat quietly in a chair staring out the window. She had gone for a walk down the hall, and found that she felt weak and dizzy and oddly out of balance. Her dressings hampered her, and she couldn't move her left arm, but at least she wasn't left-handed.

She was alone in her room when Sam arrived at five o'clock, carrying a big bunch of red roses. And he hesitated in the doorway when he saw her. The look on her face was one of such despair that he didn't even know what to say to her. She'd been sitting there, contemplating her fate and her future. And for just an instant, he had remembered a terrifying image of his dying mother, and wanted to run out of the room, screaming.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” he asked, trying to sound casual, as he set the flowers down, and she only shrugged and didn't answer. How would he feel? But she didn't see that he was shaking.

“I'm okay.” She sounded anything but convincing. Her chest was throbbing a little bit, and the drain annoyed her, but that was to be expected. “Thanks for the flowers.” She tried to sound enthused, but didn't quite make it. “Dr. Herman says I can go back to work after next week.” That was something anyway. And Sam smiled when he heard it, and felt better.

“Well, that ought to cheer you up. When are you coming home?”

“Maybe Friday.” She sounded anything but pleased, and she was worrying about taking care of Annabelle, and what she would tell her about the dressing. “Will you ask Carmen to spend the weekend? I know she needs a day off, but I don't think I can manage yet without her.”

“Sure. And I can take care of Annabelle. She's no problem.” Alex nodded, missing her terribly, and then she looked up at Sam, wondering what their life would be like now. They had spent so much time and energy trying to have another child, and making love on schedule, what would life be like now without that? What would it be like without a breast? How would he look at her? What would it look like? Dr. Herman had showed her photographs so she would be prepared, and they had terrified her. It was just a clean flat slab of flesh, with no nipple, and a diagonal scar where the breast had been. She couldn't even imagine how Sam would react to that when they finally took off her dressing. Dr. Herman had told her she could shower once the drain was removed. The sutures would take longer to dissolve, and after that, she would be left with the same flat, scarred chest she had seen in the pictures.

“Why don't we do something this weekend?” Sam suggested casually, and she stared at him. He was acting as though nothing had happened. “Why don't we call someone and have dinner with friends, or go to a movie, if we have Carmen.” Alex stared at him in disbelief. How could he?

“I don't want to see anyone. What would I say? Gee, I just lost my breast so we thought we'd go out to dinner to celebrate, before I start chemotherapy? For chrissake, Sam, have a little sensitivity. This isn't easy.”

“I'm sure it's not, but you don't have to sit around feeling sorry for yourself either after this. There is life after breasts, you know. You weren't that big anyway, for heaven's sake, so what's the big deal?” He tried to joke with her, but it was a very big deal to her. She had lost a part of her self-image and her self-confidence, and her life was at stake now. That was about as big a deal as you get, no matter how small your breasts were. She hadn't wanted to lose one.

“How are you going to feel about me now?” she asked him honestly, facing him from across the small room. She wanted to hear it, since he had never reassured her about it before the operation. But he felt that the fact that he was there told her everything. To Alex, it didn't. He was passing through once a day for an hour, between office and home, and the rest of his busy life. That was a little too easy.

“What does that mean?” He looked annoyed at the question.

“I'm asking you if it's going to gross you out to see me the way I am now.” She hadn't even seen it herself yet, so she wasn't sure what she was talking about, but she was desperate for reassurance.

“How do I know what I'm going to feel? I can't imagine it makes that much difference. Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it?”

“Like when? Next week? Tomorrow? Now?” There were tears in her eyes again, he wasn't saying what she needed to hear, or what she wanted. And he looked faintly panicked by her question. “Do you want me to show it to you, or would you rather see a picture first, so you're forewarned? Dr. Herman has some great ones, very clear, very graphic. It just looks like a flat piece of meat with no nipple.” Alex saw him go pale and he looked suddenly angry.

“Why are you doing this? Do you want to scare me, or just turn me off before we even start? What's the deal here, Al? Are you mad at me, or just pissed off at life? Maybe you better reconstruct your attitude, before you start worrying about getting your breast back.”

“Who said I was trying to get my breast back?” She looked surprised at what he'd said to her.

“Dr. Herman said you could have reconstructive surgery in a few months, if you were up to it. That sounds like a good idea to me.”