said she’d help me pick a few out.”
“You want me to go?” I ask.
“No, it’s a girl thing.” She walks toward the stairs. “I’ll be back before our appointment with Dr. Anderson.”
I watch her go. Aside from fatigue and some nausea, the hair loss is the first side effect she’s experienced after her second round of chemo. Two down, six to go. I hope to God the remaining treatments are easy on her.
Later that afternoon, I return home from King’s to pick Liv up and drive to the doctor’s office for her clinic visit. Dr. Anderson had told us the schedule would start with him seeing her every other week, in-between appointments for blood tests.
I still don’t like that. With all these drugs flooding Liv’s system and every little ache and pain cause for concern, I want the doctor to see her every week.
“Depending on how Liv feels, we can certainly change the schedule if needed,” he tells me.
“Why can’t it just be a regular standing appointment?” I ask. “Once a week?”
“On the weeks I don’t see her, she’ll have blood draws,” Dr. Anderson says. “I assure you I’ll be keeping track of the reports and meeting with the other doctors on her team. If there’s a problem, I’ll see her immediately.”
He looks at Liv. “And you know you can always call me with any concerns.”
“She wouldn’t have to call you if she saw you every week,” I say, unable to keep the irritation from my voice.
Liv throws me a placating look.
Dr. Anderson nods. “I understand your concern, Dean, but Liv is doing very well. And Liv, you have my cell number. You can call me any time.”
“That’s why you’re such a great on-call-ogist,” Liv remarks.
She and the doctor both chuckle.
“Really, thank you, Dr. Anderson,” she continues. “I wouldn’t want to take up your time unnecessarily, and no offense, but I really don’t want to see you any more than I have to.”
He smiles. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Now let’s have a look at your blood counts.”
He opens her file and turns the folder so she can see what he’s pointing out.
I sit back, making an effort to remind myself that they’re both right. Too many appointments with the doctor would make Liv feel worse, and of course it’s stupid to take time away from other patients.
I listen to Dr. Anderson explaining her test results. Despite my selfish wish that Liv’s entire team of doctors and specialists would focus on her alone, I can’t get rid of the simmer of anger I feel every time we meet with Anderson.
It makes no sense, since he’s proven to be all the things an excellent doctor should be—attentive, patient, knowledgeable, empathetic. As far as Liv is concerned, the good doctor’s word is the law. Every time I question him, she gets annoyed.
Which means I’ve had to make an effort to shut the fuck up. Especially now, when my wife is getting toxic drugs that are supposed to heal her by killing off all her cells.
Liv and Dr. Anderson do more of their joking thing—“At least I won’t have to worry about head lice”—and I focus my brain on the fact that my wife is the important one here. This is all about her.
After the appointment, we drive back home in silence. Rationally, I know the doctor is on Liv’s side, intent on helping her get well, but every time we meet with him, the fucking methods of his treatment make me rage all over again.
Cutting. Poisoning. Injecting. Burning.
My perfect wife. Doctor’s orders.
When we go into the Butterfly House and start to take off our coats, Liv stops with a sudden, “Oh no.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My wedding ring.” She holds out her left hand, showing me that the silver band is so loose around her finger she can spin it around. “It almost fell off.”
She pulls it off, a flash of sadness crossing her expression. My heart clenches.
“It’s the weight loss.” Liv sighs. “I can’t wear it anymore.”
She shakes her head, staring down at the ring nestled in the palm of her hand. I put my hand under her chin and lift her face to look at me.
“Hey,” I say gently. “You’ll wear your ring again one day.”
“I know. I just…” She pulls away from me, her expression shadowed. “My breasts, my hair, my figure…now my wedding ring. It’s like being stripped layer by layer of everything that makes me a woman.”
“Those aren’t the things that make you a woman. You are what makes