Changing Faces (14 page)

He moaned agreeably and I was glad I knew how to satisfy him. We’d known how to satisfy each other since the very beginning.

I continued to pleasure him and then he returned the favor tenfold. He was so good at what he did that I thought maybe I was dreaming. It was hard to believe that any man could make a woman feel so extraordinary. But that’s what Cameron always did for me. He always raised me to new levels of ecstasy and I couldn’t get enough of him.

When I reached my orgasmic peak, I yelled out and Cameron smiled at me.

Then he eased inside. He moved slowly and gently, and I moved with him. We made sounds that we would never want our colleagues to hear. We made love like our lives depended on it. Our bodies forcefully became one and shared such beautiful rhythm. I could literally feel the love wedged between us.

Cameron started to move a bit more briskly, and I swerved my hips at the same velocity. In the end, Cameron yelled louder than I had.

We lay their recovering from our experience and all I could think was how good we were together. I wondered if Cameron was thinking the same thing, but I couldn’t see how he wasn’t.

“Girl, don’t you ever make me wait this long again,” he said, still lying on top of me with his head slightly buried into the pillow.

I laughed. “Well, I can’t help it that Mother Nature calls on me every month.”

“Yeah, but for you, Mother Nature calls way too often and for much too long.”

At that moment, I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him that I knew something was wrong and that I was seeing Dr. Green tomorrow morning. But for some reason I still couldn’t. I decided it was better to wait until I knew the actual diagnosis. I decided there was no sense alarming him until I knew what was what.

“Every woman is different,” I tried to explain. “Some women have long cycles, some have shorter ones. It just depends.”

“I guess. But yours is definitely more often than when I met you.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m getting any younger.”

“True, but maybe you need to get checked out. Maybe you’re having some sort of female problem.”

“Maybe.”

Cameron breathed deeply and I could tell he was falling asleep. But I interrupted him. We needed to have a very important discussion.

“Cameron?”

“What is it, baby?” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

“How long are we going to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Sleep together and live in separate households.”

“Taylor, please. Not tonight,” he said, rolling to the side of me. “Not now. Not after enjoying each other the way we just did.”

“I need to know, Cameron. I love you and I’m committed to you and I need to know why you aren’t as committed to me.”

“But I am,” he said, frowning, clearly defensive. “You know I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to marry you until my business is solid. It’s doing well, but I need at least another year to see how it continues.”

“But why? I mean, it’s not like I don’t earn decent money myself.”

“I understand that, but this is something I need to do for me. I won’t be happy until I know that my finances are in order.”

“But Cameron, when two people love each other, none of that matters. Even if your business doesn’t work out the way you want, that won’t change the way we feel.”

“I know that, but Taylor, I’m not ready to get married. I will be eventually, but for now you’re going to have to be patient.”

“Patient for how long? Because I’ve been
patient
for two years.”

“Look. I love you and I certainly don’t want anyone else, so why isn’t that enough for you?”

“Because it’s not.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” I said, sliding out of bed. I went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

For the first time since I’d met Cameron, I wanted him to leave.

I wanted him out so I would no longer have to look at him.

Chapter 19

T
AYLOR

I
T WAS FRIDAY MORNING
and I was at the medical building for my appointment. I wasn’t sure what the outcome would be, but I was glad to finally be getting this over with. Good or bad, the news would be a major relief because there would be no more wondering. I was even planning to tell Cameron, although I’m not sure he would actually care. He’d left rather abruptly shortly after our blowup, and I still hadn’t spoken to him. Honestly, I really wasn’t in the mood for any more arguing.

Inside the office, the receptionist gave me a few forms to fill out. They were attached to a clipboard and the first document asked questions relating to my medical history. The other two talked about financial responsibility in case my insurance carrier didn’t pay, and the other concerned my right to privacy. I completed each of them and then walked back up to the desk.

The receptionist reviewed my information, made a copy of my insurance card, and told me to have a seat. When I sat back down, I picked up an old issue of
Good Housekeeping
and flipped through the pages pretty quickly. Normally, I would have found an article to read while waiting, but my nerves were already racing. There was no denying that I was prepared to hear the worst. Just a few hours ago, my mother had prayed by phone, but now my faith was waning. My mind was consumed with thoughts of cancer, surgery, and everything else imaginable. I was now a nervous wreck.

I swallowed hard and dropped the magazine back on the table. I scanned the room, looking at the two other ladies who were sitting across from me, and crossed my legs. Then I uncrossed them and pulled out my Palm Pilot. I searched through my schedule for the coming week and then I turned it off and pushed it back into my purse. I couldn’t believe I was getting myself so worked up before any tests had actually been done.

I sat for another half hour and finally the nurse called my name and held the door open for me.

“How are you?” I asked, walking past her.

“I’m fine. And you?”

“I’m good.”

“I’ll just have you get on the scale before we continue down the hallway,” she said.

I kicked off my three-inch mules, dropped my handbag on the floor, and stepped onto the platform. The digital readout registered at 160 and I smiled. I was definitely not overweight, not at five foot nine, but it was sometimes a struggle to keep it that way. Well, not a struggle exactly, but I did have to work at it. I made sure I watched my calories and fat intake, although not on Saturday or Sunday, and I worked out at least two to three times per week.

When we arrived in the examination room, the nurse asked me to sit on a padded table that was covered with a white liner. She asked me a few additional questions, took my pulse, checked my blood pressure, and all was normal. Then she passed me that infamous cotton gown, the one that showed the crack of your butt, and I was starting to feel even more uncomfortable. It was one thing to bare all to my primary physician, who was a woman and who I’d gone to for many years, but showing everything to a man that I didn’t even know would take some getting used to.

“You’ll need to remove all of your clothing, including your underwear and the doctor should be in shortly.”

“Thank you,” I said, and she left the room.

As instructed, I removed everything and sat up on the table. I gazed out the window, but since I was on the fifth floor, the only thing I saw was the clear blue sky. I scanned the room, looking at the various charts nailed on each wall, and then I noticed Dr. Green’s degree from the University of Chicago. I also saw a certificate outlining his teaching credentials and I was impressed.

Just when I realized how chilly the room was starting to feel, Dr. Green walked in.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Doctor.”

The man was as handsome as they came, and while I didn’t want to admit it, he reminded me of Skyler—a man with deep caramel flawless skin and broad shoulders.

“So, how was your trip?”

“Not as good as I wanted it to be, but what can I say?”

“That’s understandable. Especially since you weren’t feeling well.”

“Thanks again for speaking to me long-distance.”

“No problem,” he said, sitting down on a stool. “So, did Dr. Cilletti prescribe you the iron?”

“Yes, and it seems like it’s been helping. I definitely feel a lot stronger.”

“Good,” he said, reviewing my chart and jotting down notes. “Because the last thing you want is to end up having a heart attack or needing a blood transfusion.”

I looked at him but didn’t bother telling him that sometimes when I awakened in the middle of the night, my heart did feel as though it was going to beat straight through my chest. I just didn’t have the nerve to admit how lightly I’d been taking my anemia.

So instead, I watched him, checking to see if he was wearing a wedding band, but he wasn’t. I knew it was wrong of me, considering I was already spoken for, but I guess I was just curious. So curious that now I wondered why a man that looked this good wasn’t married.

“And how about your bleeding, has it stopped?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, writing a few additional words and then putting down his pen. “Well, overall, it looks like you’re a pretty healthy young woman.”

“Healthy maybe, but I don’t know about the young part.”

“Oh, c’mon now. Thirty-eight? When you turn forty like me, then you can complain.”

We both laughed and I realized that Dr. Green was as pleasant as Charisse had told me.

“Well, what I’d like to do is start with a breast exam and Pap smear, and then if we need an ultrasound, we’ll do that, too.”

“Okay.”

Dr. Green stood, walked closer to where I was sitting, and let down the back of the table.

“You can lie all the way down and I’ll get my nurse in here.”

When she came in, she stood near the wall with her arms folded, and I knew she was only there as a witness. She was there to combat any false claims of sexual misconduct, and I didn’t blame him for protecting himself.

“Do you perform breast exams on a regular basis?” he asked, starting with my right one.

“Not really.”

“I know it’s easy to forget, but you really should get in the habit of doing it. You’d be amazed at the number of my patients who have discovered lumps on their own.”

My former gynecologist had told me the same thing year after year, but for some reason I never did it. But now I would make a more conscious effort.

“Everything feels normal,” he said when he finished checking the left side. “Now what I want you to do is place both feet in the stirrups and scoot your bottom all the way down to the edge of the table.”

When I did, I took a deep breath. I was starting to feel nervous all over again, wondering what he was going to discover.

He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, inserted the cold metal instrument, snapped it open, and took samples of my fluids with a cotton swab. Next, he removed the instrument and pressed down on my stomach with his hand.

“Ouch,” I said, flinching.

“Does that hurt?”

“Yes. A little.”

“What about here?” he said, pressing in another area.

“No.”

“And here?”

“Yes.”

“And here?” he said, moving back to the original spot.

I frowned and said, “Yes.”

Dr. Green removed his gloves.

“Are you sexually active?” he asked.

This of course made me feel awkward, but I knew he was asking for a reason.

“Yes.”

“Do you experience pain?”

“Sometimes.”

“Is it minor or excruciating?”

“Mostly minor.”

“Marie, let’s get set up for an ultrasound.”

“What do you think it is?” I couldn’t help asking.

“I’m not sure just yet, but you might have a uterine fibroid.”

I’d read about those months ago, and the one good thing I knew was that while they were tumors, they weren’t cancerous. If only that could be it.

When Marie returned with the machine, Dr. Green performed the ultrasound and I watched on-screen.

“That’s exactly what it looks like,” he said, moving the probe from side to side. “And it appears to be pretty large.”

“Is there only one of them?”

“From what I can see,” he said, pausing. Then he asked, “When was the last time you had a Pap done?”

If there had been some way I could ignore his question, I would have. Marie had already asked me about that but maybe Dr. Green hadn’t seen her notation. Either that or this was his subtle way of making me talk about it.

“It was maybe two or three years ago.”

“And you said you’ve been bleeding heavily for how long?”

“Six months, maybe longer,” I confessed.

“You can sit up,” he said, raising the table back to an upright position.

Then he continued, “What I’d like to do is run a few more tests, including some blood work. Then we’ll see exactly where we are and how we should proceed.”

“Can you treat it with medication?”

“I was hoping that I might be able to embolize it, which would stop the blood flow and cause the fibroid to die. But because it’s so large, a myomectomy may be our only option. Meaning, we may need to remove it surgically.”

“Is that an outpatient procedure?”

“If I do it by laparoscopy, which is less invasive, you’ll probably only spend one or two nights in the hospital. But full recovery will take about two to four weeks.”

“But you definitely don’t think I have cancer.”

“Well, if for some reason you have cancerous cells in your cervical area, the Pap result will show it. But in terms of the uterus, I won’t know if there’s any malignancy until we do the surgery.”

“And what would happen then?” I asked.

“You’ll have to decide beforehand how you would want me to proceed. Meaning whether you would want me to go ahead and remove your entire uterus.”

Dear God, not a hysterectomy? Not when I wanted to have children.

Dr. Green was scaring me and I guess he noticed it because he said, “But don’t be alarmed. I’m only telling you this as a cautionary measure, but in reality, only one in two hundred women with fibroids are found to have uterine cancer.”

That calmed my thinking to a low simmer, but I wouldn’t be satisfied until I was completely in the clear. I wouldn’t be happy until this tumor was out of me and my life was back to normal.

“Marie will get the rest of the testing scheduled and will be in touch with you,” Dr. Green said. “Then we’ll concentrate on the surgery.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“We’ll get you taken care of,” he said, smiling.

I smiled back, but to be honest, I wasn’t so sure.

Still, I hoped for the best.

I did this because hope was all I really had.

During the drive over to Cameron’s office, my nerves had started to settle, but now they were in an uproar. I’d purposely shown up unannounced and he didn’t seem too happy about it. Imagine that. The love of my life acting as though I was an intrusion. And sadly enough, my feelings were very hurt by it.

“Cameron, I know you’re working, but there’s something I really need to talk to you about.”

He closed his office door so his secretary couldn’t hear us.

“What is it?” he spoke coldly.

“Well, first of all, I’m sorry for getting so upset with you last night.”

“You came all the way over here to tell me that?”

“Why are you being so cruel?”

“Because, Taylor, you ruined our evening for no reason. You know how I feel about getting married, so it was senseless for you to bring it up.”

“Senseless? Is that what marrying me would mean to you?”

“No,” he said. “You’re putting words into my mouth. What I meant was that you know how I feel, so it was unnecessary for us to have that discussion.”

“But it’s important to me, Cameron, and you know it.”

“Look, I can’t do this right now. I have a meeting that I’m trying to prepare for, so maybe we can talk about this later.”

“Why are you so irritated with me? And why have you been acting so different lately?”

“I’m not. I’m under a lot of stress here at the office, and if I’ve been taking it out on you, I’m sorry.”

All I could do was sit there. I’d wanted to tell him about my doctor’s appointment, but now I didn’t know if I should.

“Maybe I could call you before I leave work and we can get together,” he finally said, hinting that I should leave.

“That’s fine, but first I need to talk to you about something else. I went to the doctor this morning.”

“Why? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No. But what if I was? Because it’s not like we’ve been abstinent.”

“I know, but you’re on the pill, right?”

I sighed rather loudly. I was so frustrated.

“Well, what did you go to the doctor for?”

“I’ve been bleeding a lot more than usual and he thinks I have a fibroid tumor.”

His face softened almost immediately and he pulled me out of the chair I was sitting in and held me. I still wasn’t happy about the way he was treating me, but I was happy to have someone embrace me. I’d needed someone to hold me more than I realized.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know. Is it cancerous?”

“Fibroids are benign, but he won’t know if I have cancer until he does the actual surgery.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having problems?” he said, leading me over to his office sofa, where we sat down.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Because just last night I brought up the fact that you bleed an awful lot and still you didn’t say anything.”

“I guess I was afraid of how you might react. Especially if you knew there was a chance I might need a hysterectomy.”

“Did the doctor tell you that?”

“Not exactly, but there’s a one-in-two-hundred chance.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

“But what if there is? I mean, what if I do need a hysterectomy and we can’t ever have children?”