Dr. Yoffman smiled at me knowingly and said, “That’s actually a very good question, and there are many types of chemo and radiation that cause hair loss. Luckily for you, a drug called bendamustine has recently been approved that we’ve added to our protocol. We’ll talk about the details of the treatment at your next appointment, but this new drug has mild side effects and shouldn’t cause any hair loss.”
I felt giddy and relieved and shameful all at once that that was a concern of mine, but at least Dr. Yoffman didn’t make me feel stupid about it. Sutton further alleviated my guilt by quipping, “Thank God. I was so afraid I’d have to be one of those friends that shaved my head to show my support.”
My tension was immediately broken, and for the first time that day, I laughed. A real laugh. True, deep down in my belly.
I spent the next hour getting the CT scan and blood work done, and made an appointment to get the bone-marrow biopsy done the following day. Dr. Yoffman said his office would call with information on where to get the PET scan done after my insurance approved it, and then he said he would call me for another appointment to go over all the results and develop a treatment plan.
Then the shit was going to get real.
The knocking on my apartment door startles me, and I’m immediately giddy in relief to be slung out of my memories over what happened today. I’m excited to see Garrett because just like the other two times I’ve seen him, I’ve managed to forget that I’m sick. I give myself one last look in the mirror. The woman staring back at me doesn’t look like she has cancer. And I feel all right…sort of. I mean, outside of some fatigue that hits me here and there, a few night sweats, and a lymph node in my neck that is slightly swollen, I’m otherwise functioning okay physically.
For now.
But for how much longer?
I quickly slip on the silver bracelet that my mom made me for Christmas last year and walk out of my bedroom. My apartment is a compact two-bedroom, but it’s more than enough room for me, and I’ve filled it with comfortable furnishings, bright artwork, and several potted plants.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door to find over six feet of gorgeous hockey hunk staring at me. He has one hand raised and propped on the doorjamb, the other casually stuffed in the front pocket of his jeans. He has on a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and I see a tattoo that looks like a blackbird peeking out on the underside of the arm that’s raised above his head.
“No braids,” he says in a disappointed voice as his eyes sweep my appearance. “But I’m very much digging the T-shirt,” he adds as his gaze hovers over the words written across my breast. “Please tell me you’re Irish.”
I snicker and step backward to let him in to my apartment so I can grab my purse. “I might have a little bit of Irish in my ancestry.”
“Thank God for little miracles,” he quips, and for a brief, mad, and dazzling moment, I wish he’d kiss me right here and now. He doesn’t, though—just lets his gaze sweep across my apartment.
“Your place is really nice,” he says. “I love all the plants you have in here.”
“I was blessed with a green thumb, so I figured I might as well make the most of it,” I tell him as I hitch my purse up over my shoulder.
“Hey,” Garrett says as he walks up to me with his eyes pinned to my wrist. Taking my hand in his, he lifts my arm up and peers at the silver bracelet I had just donned a few moments ago. “Where did you get this? It’s beautiful.”
“My mom made it for me. She designs jewelry in her free time away from her regular job,” I tell him, staring down at the silver links made of delicate vines and leaves with little purple grape clusters hanging at each joint.
“My sister would love something like this. Can I buy one from your mom?”
Smiling, I reach my own finger out and gently run it down one of the links. “This is a one-of-a-kind, but I’m sure she can do something similar.”
“So what does your mom do besides design jewelry?”
I give a light laugh and tell him, “She’s a massage therapist. At least for now. She changes careers as often as the seasons.”
Garrett smiles and then turns my hand over in his to look at the rest of the bracelet but gasps when he sees my wrist.
“Jesus, Olivia. What happened?” he asks as he stares at the deep purple bruise about the size of a quarter. It looks hideous, and I’m embarrassed he’s seen it.
Carefully pulling my hand free of his, I turn my wrist away and say, “Just banged it on my bathroom faucet the other day. It’s no biggie. Doesn’t even hurt.”
“It looks like it would hurt like a bitch. I’ve had bruises like that after getting hit with a slap shot, and let me tell you, they hurt like a mother.”
Dr. Yoffman today had made note of the fact that I was bruising easily, examining the dark mark on my wrist and another I had on my hip when I practically just grazed it against the corner of my dresser. He said he suspected I was anemic, but the blood work would confirm that.
“Well, this one doesn’t hurt,” I tell him as I walk toward the door. When I reach it, I grab ahold of the knob and turn to face him. “Just looks ugly. Now, what’s on the agenda tonight?”
Garrett follows me and then steps in close…really close to me…and backs me right up into the door until I’m forced to let go of the knob and my shoulder blades are pressing against the cool wood. He cages me in by placing his palms beside my head and peers down at me. “Well…you said no sex tonight, so I tried to think of something that would be at least half as entertaining. And…since you said you like dirty jokes, I thought we’d take in a comedy show, if that’s all right with you.”
I felt giddy and relieved and shameful all at once that that was a concern of mine, but at least Dr. Yoffman didn’t make me feel stupid about it. Sutton further alleviated my guilt by quipping, “Thank God. I was so afraid I’d have to be one of those friends that shaved my head to show my support.”
My tension was immediately broken, and for the first time that day, I laughed. A real laugh. True, deep down in my belly.
I spent the next hour getting the CT scan and blood work done, and made an appointment to get the bone-marrow biopsy done the following day. Dr. Yoffman said his office would call with information on where to get the PET scan done after my insurance approved it, and then he said he would call me for another appointment to go over all the results and develop a treatment plan.
Then the shit was going to get real.
The knocking on my apartment door startles me, and I’m immediately giddy in relief to be slung out of my memories over what happened today. I’m excited to see Garrett because just like the other two times I’ve seen him, I’ve managed to forget that I’m sick. I give myself one last look in the mirror. The woman staring back at me doesn’t look like she has cancer. And I feel all right…sort of. I mean, outside of some fatigue that hits me here and there, a few night sweats, and a lymph node in my neck that is slightly swollen, I’m otherwise functioning okay physically.
For now.
But for how much longer?
I quickly slip on the silver bracelet that my mom made me for Christmas last year and walk out of my bedroom. My apartment is a compact two-bedroom, but it’s more than enough room for me, and I’ve filled it with comfortable furnishings, bright artwork, and several potted plants.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door to find over six feet of gorgeous hockey hunk staring at me. He has one hand raised and propped on the doorjamb, the other casually stuffed in the front pocket of his jeans. He has on a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and I see a tattoo that looks like a blackbird peeking out on the underside of the arm that’s raised above his head.
“No braids,” he says in a disappointed voice as his eyes sweep my appearance. “But I’m very much digging the T-shirt,” he adds as his gaze hovers over the words written across my breast. “Please tell me you’re Irish.”
I snicker and step backward to let him in to my apartment so I can grab my purse. “I might have a little bit of Irish in my ancestry.”
“Thank God for little miracles,” he quips, and for a brief, mad, and dazzling moment, I wish he’d kiss me right here and now. He doesn’t, though—just lets his gaze sweep across my apartment.
“Your place is really nice,” he says. “I love all the plants you have in here.”
“I was blessed with a green thumb, so I figured I might as well make the most of it,” I tell him as I hitch my purse up over my shoulder.
“Hey,” Garrett says as he walks up to me with his eyes pinned to my wrist. Taking my hand in his, he lifts my arm up and peers at the silver bracelet I had just donned a few moments ago. “Where did you get this? It’s beautiful.”
“My mom made it for me. She designs jewelry in her free time away from her regular job,” I tell him, staring down at the silver links made of delicate vines and leaves with little purple grape clusters hanging at each joint.
“My sister would love something like this. Can I buy one from your mom?”
Smiling, I reach my own finger out and gently run it down one of the links. “This is a one-of-a-kind, but I’m sure she can do something similar.”
“So what does your mom do besides design jewelry?”
I give a light laugh and tell him, “She’s a massage therapist. At least for now. She changes careers as often as the seasons.”
Garrett smiles and then turns my hand over in his to look at the rest of the bracelet but gasps when he sees my wrist.
“Jesus, Olivia. What happened?” he asks as he stares at the deep purple bruise about the size of a quarter. It looks hideous, and I’m embarrassed he’s seen it.
Carefully pulling my hand free of his, I turn my wrist away and say, “Just banged it on my bathroom faucet the other day. It’s no biggie. Doesn’t even hurt.”
“It looks like it would hurt like a bitch. I’ve had bruises like that after getting hit with a slap shot, and let me tell you, they hurt like a mother.”
Dr. Yoffman today had made note of the fact that I was bruising easily, examining the dark mark on my wrist and another I had on my hip when I practically just grazed it against the corner of my dresser. He said he suspected I was anemic, but the blood work would confirm that.
“Well, this one doesn’t hurt,” I tell him as I walk toward the door. When I reach it, I grab ahold of the knob and turn to face him. “Just looks ugly. Now, what’s on the agenda tonight?”
Garrett follows me and then steps in close…really close to me…and backs me right up into the door until I’m forced to let go of the knob and my shoulder blades are pressing against the cool wood. He cages me in by placing his palms beside my head and peers down at me. “Well…you said no sex tonight, so I tried to think of something that would be at least half as entertaining. And…since you said you like dirty jokes, I thought we’d take in a comedy show, if that’s all right with you.”
