“They know where to meet us. Fourth floor.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Dad takes my overnight bag from me.
“Did you bring everything they told you?” Mom asks.
“I did, and I even have my toothbrush.” I’m famous for forgetting that and end up having to buy one wherever I go. I must have dozens of toothbrushes at home.
“Good girl,” Mom says.
We get upstairs to the surgery check-in and not long after, the whole crew arrives. My doctor has reviewed everything with me, start to finish, so I know exactly what to expect. The girls also know, but they’re here for me—to cheer me on when I go in and to be here when I wake up. I should be in the hospital for two days, three at the most. Since my surgeon doesn’t believe I have cancer, I won’t have any lymph node removal or anything like that, thank God. I’ll be in a lot of pain and discomfort, especially since I’m having immediate reconstruction. But I decided I’d rather get it all over with at once, than do it in two stages, and get my spectacular new boobs going ASAP. That’s what Laney did, so I’m following her footsteps.
We’re all sitting in a group when I hear my name being called. Everyone hugs me and moves to walk with me as far as they can toward the double doors, eager to convey every ounce of support possible. And that’s when I hear his voice calling my name. I don’t dare look at him. I can’t do this. Not now. Why did he come here?
Then he starts talking. What is he doing? I don’t—can’t—acknowledge him.
My feet keep moving until I’m safely behind the double doors. What happens next is a blur. I’m given an IV and meds, and then my Mom, Dad, and sister are allowed back, but my head is swimming with the effects of the drugs. My surgeon comes in, smiling. And soon, I’m rolling down the hall and being pushed into the operating room.
A nurse talks to me, and asks me if I’m in pain.
“No, but my throat is scratchy,” I tell her. “Can I have some water?”
“Not yet, honey. You just woke up. We need to wait a little bit.”
“Woke up? Was I sleeping?”
“Yes, Ms. Calhoun, you had surgery. Do you remember?”
“Yes, but I thought I was getting ready. It’s over already?”
“It sure is and you’re just waking up. Can you tell me what day it is?”
“Friday. It’s Friday.” I rub my neck because my throat really burns.
“Your throat will feel lots better later today. It hurts from the tube they put down it during your procedure.”
“Oh. Okay.” All I want to do is sleep. As soon as I start to drift, the doctor’s there.
“Samantha, how do you feel?”
“Tired. I want to sleep.”
“You can sleep in a bit. I have good news. No cancer.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Can I sleep now?” I’m too tired to give even a tiny rat’s ass.
Dr. Wilson, my surgeon, chuckles. “Not yet, we want you to wake up for us. Don’t go back to sleep.”
Oh. I was hoping to take a nap. “But my eyes don’t want to stay open.”
“Samantha, your surgery went extremely well. Both Dr. Bains and I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“How nice. Will you tell my family?”
“I’m getting ready to do that. And in a few more minutes, I’ll let your mom and dad in to see you.”
When he leaves, I hope to take a little snooze, but the nurse pops over and won’t let me. Pretty soon, Mom, Dad, and Laney stick their heads through the curtain to check in on me.
It seems like a week passes before they deem it okay for me to sleep. And I conk out like I’ve been hit on the head with a hammer. The next thing I know, I wake up in a room surrounded by family and friends. My mouth tastes like I’ve been on a weeklong bender and my throat is still scratchy.
“Ugh, I have skunk breath.”
Lauren shakes her head. “She goes in for major surgery and comes out complaining about her breath. Only you, Calhoun.”
“Water,” I croak. Mom shoves a plastic bendy straw in my mouth.
“Thanks, Mom. That tastes heavenly.”
Everyone stands around my bed, grinning. I feel like a goon. “What? Do I have a booger on my nose?”
They laugh. Then Laney says, “We’re all just so giddy over the outcome of your surgery, Sam. And you’re booger free.”
“Oh, thank God. I was worried there for a minute.”
I look over toward the window and there is a monstrous flower arrangement. “Aww, who sent that? It’s gorgeous!”
They all shift their eyes away from me and no one answers.
“What?” I press.
Finally, Laney seems to be the chosen spokesperson. “They’re from He Who Shouldn’t Be Named.”
“He Who Shouldn’t … oh shit. He sent me flowers?”
Lauren says, “Boy, did he ever. And that was after we all basically treated him like the dog he is in the waiting room.”
My head is super fuzzy from the pain meds, but I know I heard her correctly. “He was in the waiting room? He didn’t leave after I wouldn’t talk to him?”