Beneath, You're Beautiful Page 13

  “Nonsense, I’ll meet you there. Text me the locations this evening. Okay?”

  “Okay. . . .” Jillian sounded apprehensive.

  I tilted her chin up. “It’s okay to feel unsure and afraid. I’ll be there to ask the questions you may not think of. Try to get some sleep.”

  “She will,” Bobbie Jo confirmed. “I’ll make sure of it. I’m moving into the guest room for the next few nights.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes. Blake gave them each a hug and offered to get her in immediately with one of his partners whenever she was ready.

  The thirty-minute car ride home was pretty subdued. I was trying to get my head around everything that was happening. Here I sat, having just finished chemo, and several weeks away from the last big surgery of removing my expanders and getting my implants. My life should be moving away from the nightmare of the last five months, but I found myself right back in the thick of things, but as an observer this time. Cancer, yet again, found a way to stay present in my life. Fucking cancer.

  Chapter Eleven

  I AM TOUGH

  Jillian’s appointments felt like a bad case of déjà-vu, but worse. She was looking at stage IV breast cancer. The measurement of the tumor was more than five times the size of mine, and it had spread to her lymph nodes.

  Her surgeon was a partner in the same physician group as mine. She was very kind and highly recommended a mastectomy, if she chose to go ahead with surgery, which shocked the hell out of me. Why would someone not go through with a mastectomy? She explained that some women who are facing the advanced stages of breast cancer preferred to not go through the pain and recovery process of a mastectomy if their time was limited. It made sense, and I had never looked at it that way, but I couldn’t grasp a women not wanting to have the cancer removed. Thankfully, Jillian was choosing to fight.

  The surgeon explained that she would wait to schedule surgery until after meeting with the oncologist. Due to the advanced nature of her cancer, treatment options might have an impact on the timing of surgery. I was thrilled to hear that Jillian’s appointment was scheduled with my oncologist, Dr. Guthrie.

  “She’s pretty amazing. I know you’ll like her. She’s kind, but she doesn’t hold anything back. You can count on her being honest and up front about everything. I trusted her with my life, and I have no hesitation trusting her with yours.”

  Bobbie Jo agreed. “She’s definitely one of the best around. I only met her once, but she seemed very compassionate and straightforward.”

  “Jillian,” a nurse called out.

  I noticed Jillian go rigid at the sound of her name and remembered the feeling of hearing strangers call my name at the countless appointments only months ago. “It’s okay, it gets easier hearing your name.” I encouraged her to stand and follow the nurse.

  After checking Jillian’s vitals, she stepped out of the room, leaving the three of us waiting. Bobbie Jo instantly started laughing, which seemed odd, until I noticed what had given her a case of the giggles. Sitting on the shelf above the desk was a model of the male anatomy—penis, scrotum, testicles, and prostate.

  “I’m not used to seeing it flaccid,” she joked, which caused Jillian and me to start laughing with her.

  “Leave it to you to find penis humor in an oncology office.” I stifled my amusement just as there was a knock on the door. We all tried to stop laughing but struggled to make the smiles on our faces disappear.

  “Good afternoon, Jillian. I’m Dr. Guthrie.” She offered her hand to Jillian, who was already sitting on the exam table. She turned to see Bobbie Jo and me sitting in the chairs by the desk.

  “Victoria,” she said, surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How do you know Jillian?”

  “She’s Bobbie Jo’s sister. I’m here for support and to help them understand the big picture.”

  She greeted Bobbie Jo and sat down before continuing, “You couldn’t have found a better person to bring to this appointment. Victoria will be an incredible resource for you both. Now, let’s see what we’re dealing with.” After studying the reports sent from the breast center, she closed the file and set her glasses down. The look on her face was grim but hopeful, which was one messed-up combination.

  “According to the reports, you have a very advanced stage of inflammatory breast cancer. It has spread into several of your nodes, and there is a high likelihood that it has spread to other parts of your body. I would like to schedule a few blood tests, followed by a chest x-ray and a positron emission tomography—better known as a PET scan—to get a baseline image of your body. Due to the size of the tumor, I’m going to recommend starting with neoadjuvant chemotherapy to try and shrink the tumor.”

  The room was silent. I had invasive ductal carcinoma, and the treatment plan laid out for Jillian was very different than mine. “Why wouldn’t we want to remove the breast before doing chemo?” I asked, a bit confused.

  “If we’re able to shrink the tumor at all, it would be to Jillian’s benefit. While a mastectomy is the preferred route, if we are able to shrink the tumor at all, it can change the surgical options. My recommendation is to move forward with chemo and hold off on a mastectomy until we’re able to see if there are any changes in the tumor. Radiation would be recommended after the mastectomy, due to the size of the tumor. We have found this course of treatment most effective for advanced stages.”

  “What about reconstruction?” Jillian asked.

  “Reconstruction is definitely possible . . . however, it would be postponed until after radiation is complete.”

  “How soon would she start chemo?” Bobbie Jo inquired.

  “I’d like to get the lab work, x-ray, and PET scan scheduled right away. Once those results are in, we’ll go ahead and get your chemo schedule set up.”

  “I’m assuming the chemotherapy drugs are a bit different than what I took. Are the side effects the same?”

  “Yes. They are different. However, Jillian will have similar side effects to the ones you did.” She turned to acknowledge Jillian. “The schedule will be different from Victoria’s, and you may want to look into taking a medical leave, if you’re able,” Dr. Guthrie recommended.

  “Okay,” Jillian answered somberly. “How soon can we get these tests scheduled?”

  “As soon as you’re ready. You call the shots, but the sooner the better. I know this isn’t easy, and you are afraid, but we will do everything we can to treat this. I’ll send a report to the surgeon you met with earlier to make her aware of our treatment plan. Right now, we’ll focus on chemo and take it one day at a time. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “As comfortable as I can be right now,” Jillian confessed. “If scared as hell is comfortable, that is.”

  “Is she going to die?” Bobbie Jo blurted out.

  Dr. Guthrie was caught off guard by the bluntness of Bobbie Jo’s question, but she was quick to respond. “My intent and hope is that chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation will prevent that from happening. However, we’re all going to die at some point. There are no promises of tomorrow, so live for today. Don’t lose focus on now by worrying about the future. I’ll always be honest with you, and if things change, we’ll talk about it and make the appropriate adjustments together. I’m here to help Jillian and make sure her quality of life is the best it can be.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Guthrie.” I nodded before turning my attention back to Jillian. “I can assure you that you’re in the best possible hands for treating breast cancer, and that your treatment plan is the right one for you. I know Dr. Guthrie will do all she can for you. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy—because it isn’t—but you can do it. We are here to support you, and I will do everything in my power to help you with anything you need.”

  “Yes, we’re here for you. I know that Dr. Guthrie did everything she could for Victoria, and I know she’ll do the same for you,” Bobbie Jo agreed before acknowledging Dr. Guthrie. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll giv
e the front desk your orders, and they’ll get your tests set up right away. And while you’re at it, let’s get your first chemo appointment on the schedule in about two to three weeks. I’ll have a better idea of the appropriate drug combination by then, and we’ll discuss it before your first treatment begins. Jillian, I’m here to help and guide you through this. If you have any questions or concerns, please talk with me about them.” Dr. Guthrie stood and walked over to pull Jillian into a side hug.

  “I’m sure I will have questions, but right now I’m not able to process what they are. I’ll schedule my tests, and we’ll go from there.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you in a few weeks. Hang in there, kiddo.” She gave me a pat on the shoulder and left the room.

  I could see the tears starting to build in Jillian’s eyes and went to pull her into my arms to comfort her. “Shh . . . we’ll get through this together. You won’t be alone. I promise.”

  Bobbie Jo wrapped her arms around the two of us, and the three of us stayed in that embrace for a few minutes before Bobbie Jo, in true Bobbie Jo fashion, began singing a song that was in her head. “To the window . . . to the wall . . .”

  “Oh my god, Bobbie Jo! Really?!” I scolded.

  “I can’t help it. It just popped up in my head.”

  “I think that’s our cue to go.” Jillian pushed us out of the way so she could stand. “I don’t need her to start doing indecent things with the penis model next.”

  Bobbie Jo raised an eyebrow and grabbed her phone to take a picture. “What?” she asked when she saw me giving her an exasperated look.

  “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know why you took a picture of it.”

  “Research. Strictly research.”

  “You never fail to find humor at the most inappropriate times. I don’t know if it’s curse or a gift.” Jillian reached to open the door.

  “It’s definitely a gift,” Bobbie Jo boasted as she led us out of the office.

  My phone sounded that I had a text message as we waited for the elevator.

  Hey. Where are you? Dana and I are having an impromptu lunch—do you want to meet us?

  Jen

  I quickly typed my answer back.

  I’m just leaving the oncologist’s office with Bobbie Jo and Jillian. Would you mind if they joined us? They could use some cheering up.

  Victoria

  Not at all. I’ll get a table for five. Is Tavern on France okay?

  Jen

  Perfect. We’re just down the street and should be there in ten minutes.

  Victoria

  The elevator announced its arrival as I hit ‘send’.

  See you soon, Toots!

  Jen

  “We’re meeting Jen and Dana for lunch at Tavern on France,” I announced as we stepped into the elevator.

  I heard a hint of delight in Jillian’s voice. “Really?”

  “Yep. Jen has a table for five waiting for us, and I figured we could use some cheering up.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Bobbie Jo agreed. “You’re not going into the office this afternoon, right, Jillian?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, and I’m not really in the mood.”

  “Good. I hope you’re in the mood for a cocktail because I don’t want to drink alone,” Bobbie Jo pleaded. “Are you in for one, Victoria?”

  “I’ll have one,” I conceded as the door opened on another floor to let a few people on. My eyes landed on a petite blonde walking into an OB/GYN office. Something about her seemed familiar, but I dismissed it as a stupid déjà-vu moment. I was having a lot of those lately.

  When the elevator came to a stop in the lobby, I told Bobbie Jo and Jillian that I would meet them at the restaurant since we drove separately. I noticed a note stuck under my wiper as I approached my car, and I grabbed it.

  We need to talk.

  Noah

  I crumpled the piece of paper in my hand. “Fucking asshole!” came roaring out of my mouth, causing a few shocked looks from people walking by. Only for once I didn’t give a shit. My blood was boiling when I got in my car. I threw the crumpled piece of paper on the passenger side floor and knew I had to find a song to get my aggressions out. “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morissette began pumping through my speakers, and damn, if it didn’t feel good to sing those words at the top of my lungs.

  When I pulled up to the restaurant, I sat in my car for a few minutes to try to calm myself down, but I knew they’d get suspicious if I took too long. After a quick glimpse in the mirror, I grabbed my purse and went in to meet the girls.

  They were all sitting around a large round table in the back room, and the waiter was just finishing up their drink order as I walked up. “I’ll take a Stella, please.” I took a seat between Jen and Jillian.

  “Got it,” the waiter nodded before leaving to get our drinks.

  “It’s about time. What took you so long?” Bobbie Jo asked.

  “I got stuck behind a slow person and missed all the lights. France Avenue is like a parking lot at lunch to begin with.”

  “It’s ridiculous sometimes,” Dana agreed. “I’m so happy it worked for everyone to meet for lunch. It’s amazing how short notice plans work out better than planning ahead.”

  Phew. Thanks to Dana I dodged a bullet, but Bobbie Jo was eyeing me with skepticism.

  “So, how was your conference, Jen?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation moving away from my late arrival.

  “It was actually really good for a change. I have a few police officers interested in helping me out on some events I have coming up that I’m going to need tighter security detail on. Networking is key, and I think I have a pretty good crew working with me now. How are things around here? I feel like I’ve been out of the loop.”

  Bobbie Jo didn’t hesitate to speak up. “Victoria and McHottie just got back from his cabin, and I think now is the perfect time for her to indulge us in all the naughty details.”

  “I think you should suck it!” I snapped at Bobbie Jo. “This isn’t the time or the place to discuss it, and it’s not really any of your business. As a matter of fact, I need to pass on lunch. I got an important message on the drive over that needs my attention.” I pulled out a ten dollar bill and put it on the table and excused myself. “Jillian, I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I had just made it to my car when Jen came running up. “Wait!” she yelled, and I paused by my door. “What the hell was that about?”

  “I’m not in the mood for the Bobbie Jo inquisition right now. I’m tired from the trip, and my mind is on Jillian and other things. I can’t do this today. I’m done.”

  “What other things?”

  I reached in my purse and handed her the ball of paper I had tossed in there earlier before unlocking my door and getting in.

  “Hold on—not so fast.” She ran around to get in the passenger side. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  She held the still crumpled-up piece of paper in her hand. “This is from Noah, isn’t it?” It sounded more like a statement than a question, and I instantly went on alert. Why the hell would she think that?

  “What makes you think that?” I asked, looking her dead in the eye without flinching. Something wasn’t right, and she knew it.

  “Because he’s a sneaky bastard, and I didn’t expect him to stay quiet for long.”

  “What the hell is going on? Quiet about what?” I was completely confused.

  “Nothing in particular. I just heard a few things going around about him and Stacey, and I didn’t expect him to just vanish out of your life. He’s too cocky to do that.”

  “I may regret asking this, but what have you heard?”

  “When you saw her at the bar, all you noticed was the ring on her finger. After you went to the ladies’ room, I went over and had a little chat with her and her friends and offered to pay their tab if they left, to which they obliged.” Jen gave me the bitchy smirk she’d mastered over the years, the one tha
t meant she knew she was a badass. “The server handed me the tab, which had several beers on it, but Stacey didn’t have a beer—she had a highball with a lime wedge in it. I asked him why her drink wasn’t on the tab, and he told me she had been drinking water with a wedge all night. A few days later, I ran into Shannon, and she told me a few of the partners’ wives were suspicious that Stacey might be pregnant and that’s why Noah asked her to marry him . . . to do the right thing.”

  “To do the right thing?” I asked in a complete outrage as my heart started pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. It must have been her that I saw at the OB/GYN office from the elevator. Fucking hell. “Noah asked her to marry him because he wanted to do the right thing? Please tell me you see how completely fucked up this is.”

  “It’s beyond fucked up,” she agreed as she pulled open the crumpled piece of paper in her hands. “This, right here, is complete bullshit. You will not respond to him. You are going to ignore it and forget you ever received it.” She shoved the distressing note into the pocket of her jeans.

  My emotions exploded and tears began to run down my cheeks. “Between Jillian’s diagnosis and now this being shoved back in my face, I can’t handle much more. I just got back from enjoying the most relaxing days I’ve had in months, and I don’t even know how to react to any of it. Be strong, be resilient, be tough—I’m none of those things right now. I’m nothing but a fragile woman trying to figure out what the hell has happened to me in the last six months. I can’t . . . I just can’t anymore.” I started my car. “I need to go. I need to be alone.”

  “Fine. I’ll have lunch with our friends, but if you think this conversation is over, you’re sadly mistaken. This is far from over. Go have your pity party, and I’ll be over to clean it up when you’re done.” She slid out of my car. “Victoria, I love you like a sister and I know you hate my brutal honesty, but would you want me to be any other way?”

  I shook my head no, and even though I hated her at this moment, she was right.