in as soon as possible, before the cancer grows even more and prevents her from passing the tube beyond it.
I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not, but Lena is especially coherent today.
As she rests on the stretcher, awaiting her doctor, she turns her soft brown eyes up to mine. “This will be a good thing, Nate.” Her smile says she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince me. “You’ll see.”
“Anything that keeps you with me longer is a good thing.”
Somewhere along the way, we made the silent agreement to drop the pretense of her survival. Now we speak about more time in terms of weeks and days, not months. Definitely not years.
I figure Lena has worked it out because of her worsening symptoms. She seems to be aware of that even when she isn’t lucid for extended periods of time. I worked it out from all of the looks I’ve been getting from the doctors and nurses. On their faces, they wear sadness and a form of pity that rips through my heart like a poison-tipped arrow. They know the end is coming. It’s coming fast, faster than I think I can handle sometimes.
“They’ll show you how to use it for when I can’t,” Lena assures me. Her words are matter of fact, but there’s a hollowness to them, an emptiness that tears at my insides.
It’s a strange and awful thing to discuss dying this way.
********
Much to my relief, having the feeding tube placed has made a noticeable difference. I’ve been diligent about feeding her exactly as prescribed. I keep the fridge overflowing with organic fruits and vegetables that I blend into highly nutritious shakes to give to her via the tube three times a day. I also give her the blue-green supplement twice a day and flush the tube with plenty of water before and after use each time. Not only is Lena livelier and wakeful, her overall appearance doesn’t seem so…sickly. Her skin has pinked up, her mind seems to focus more readily, even her eyes seem brighter. And for better or worse, the improvement gives me a small burst of hope.
If we can just get through the delivery, maybe she can start treatment. Maybe there will be something they can do. Maybe it won’t be too late.
“You didn’t realize this was going to be a full-time job, did you?” Lena teases me. We are smooshed together on the patio lounger, basking in the late May sunset.
“Why do you think I left the bank? I wasn’t about to miss a single second with you, even if it does stain my shirts.” And it does. The colorant that’s used in the supplemental nutrition can be seen on every one of my lighter-hued shirts.
I grin every time I do laundry. I can’t help thinking of all the occasions when Lena has come out from the washroom over the years, shaking her head, muttering about how messy I am. I can now see that she was right. I have no idea how I get that damn food everywhere, but I can’t deny that I do. The evidence of it is right there on my clothes. That’s why I started wearing my grilling apron when I deal with that stuff.
“I’ll be curious to see who’s messier, you or Grace.”
I smile down into Lena’s exquisite face, my eyes drifting over the gentle curve of her brow, the pert tip of her nose, the lush bow of her mouth. I love hearing her talk of days when the three of us will be together. I hope against hope that there will be many of those.
My smile falters for a split second before I catch it, rescue it. I have to be even more careful these days. It’s getting harder and harder to combat the surges of sadness. They hit me when I least expect them sometimes, but I’m still as determined as ever to hide them from my perceptive wife. “I can’t wait to see you with her. You were born to be a mother.”
Lena says nothing, only stares up into my face like I’m the sun in her sky. Finally, after a long silence, she speaks. “Nate?”
“Yeah, baby.”
Tracing the collar of my shirt with the tip of her finger, Lena chews her lip nervously. “Do you think we could go see my mother?”
I tense. “Why would you want to do that?”
I feel her shrug against me. “I’d like to see her one last time.”
My heart! Jesus!
It