The Girlfriend (The Boss) by Barnette Abigail

Author:Barnette, Abigail [Barnette, Abigail]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-08-16T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Upon our return to London, shit got incredibly real.

One of the bedrooms in Neil’s house in Belgravia were opened up for the live-in nurse who would stay throughout Neil’s induction chemotherapy. Our bedroom now held a hospital bed in addition to the actual bed, a change that wasn’t necessary yet, but likely would be.

Three days after our return from Paris, Neil went for an outpatient procedure to put in a port for his chemotherapy. And even though it was a “procedure” and not an “operation,” I was freaked out.

Neil had decided, after much deliberation with his doctor in the preceding two days, that he would opt to try chemotherapy to get his cancer in remission or as close as possible, then proceed with an autologous stem cell transplant. He’d have a catheter placed today, and a second one placed for the stem cell harvest at a later date. I didn’t know why they couldn’t just use the same catheter for everything, but I hadn’t asked. When Dr. Grant had brought out an actual catheter and showed us how it would be inserted in a vein deep below Neil’s skin, I’d almost passed out. I didn’t want Neil to worry about me, when he should be worrying about himself. I was keenly aware of what he’d said to me the night we’d reconciled.

After they took Neil back for the operation, I sat in the waiting room, bouncing my knee, checking the clock. They’d told me it would be a thirty minute procedure, but it had been forty-five.

What if something had gone wrong already? What if his “counts,” numbers I didn’t fully understand, were too low, and he bled to death? Could that happen? What the fuck was going on?

I resisted the urge to bother the nurses, until an hour had passed. I got up, rubbing my palms against my denim-clad thighs, and tried to look casual as I approached the desk.

A harried-looking brunette in a dark blue uniform raised her eyes from her computer screen as I approached. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, um... I’m really sorry to bother you—” The woman’s expression made it plain that by beating around the bush, I was making it worse. “They said the procedure only takes thirty minutes, and it’s been an hour—”

“If you’re here with someone, a nurse will come for you when the patient is out of surgery.” She wasn’t being unkind, but I got the sense that her efficiency was born from years of dealing with worried family impatience.

“Thanks.” I went back to the chairs and sat, bouncing my knee.

An older woman, probably in her sixties, with what I expected was dyed ginger hair, gazed at me sympathetically. She wore her glasses on a chain, and she peered over them while her busy hands worked a crochet project in her lap. “Nervous, dear?”

I nodded. “Yup. Just waiting for my boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry, this is a very good hospital.” She frowned and undid a stitch, re-situating her yarn around her fingers. “I’m waiting for my sister.

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