Destroy (A Standalone Romance Novel) (11 page)

“To make a long story
short, as you will read in her chart, she had a small lesion in the
hippocampus, which is, as you know, one portion of the brain that controls memory
retention. It transfers short to long-term memories. Although insignificant in
the grand-scheme of things, like the old spark plug in your car, without it,
your brain would simply be an elegant way to enclose scrambled eggs into your
skull.

“After an operation that
only lasted a half-an-hour, I was able to remove the lesion and have her back
to her old-self within a matter of hours.”

“Could you tell us how
the lesion appeared?” Gerald asked. “Was it as a result of a trauma?”

“No, Doctor. The lesion seemed
to have been the result of an external damage which she sustained many years
ago.”

“And it only showed up
now?” Tiffany sounded puzzled.

“Like any cancerous
lesion, an intracranial lesion takes time to grow. The brain is not a
particularly friendly place for a tumor. A liver, lung, or even kidney makes
for a better environment for any lesion to develop.”

“And it must be harder to
prevent such a cancer from occurring than it is any other, one has to suppose,”
Dr. Kerry said.

“Exactly. We can tell
people not to smoke in order to prevent them from having lung cancer, or we can
recommend managing your diet and exercising so that cancer cells have a harder
time developing, but how do you tell your brain to react against a growing
lesion. It doesn’t do what you want it to do most of the time anyway, so how do
you expect it to react when it receives a sudden shock and cannot re-calibrate
itself readily?”

“That’s what hockey and
football players are looking forward to–concussions, I mean,” Corey remarked.

“Absolutely. However, in
the case of Mrs. Termini, we were looking at a long lasting effect from a
tennis ball that hit her just above the left earlobe some twenty-five years
ago.”

“Wow, that long ago,”
Tiffany said. “That’s unbelievable.”

“All cancers are unbelievable
to a certain extent, Doctor, and more so when it comes to brain tumors. Yet,
what I have described as the reason for Mrs. Termini’s intracranial lesion may
be totally erroneous. Suffice to say, same as you do, we are all learning every
day.”

“And that’s probably why
she felt dizzy and as if she was losing her balance from time to time,” I
added.

“As you said, Doctor. I
even thought she had pierced an eardrum in recent days. Or she had suffered
from an ear infection until she went through a CAT scan exam. The lesion was
small, as I said, but quite visible.”

Dr. Slosberg did not
leave us after our visit of Mrs. Termini.
 
The lady was as cheerful as
any one
who’s just got a second chance at life. She was not
only pleasant, but she explained that she planned to travel to Italy next
summer to have it out with her cousin. He was the one who played tennis with
her and whose ball hit her head all those years ago.

“He will pay, I tell you.
He will pay,” she told everyone, meaningfully it seemed, although her smile
betrayed her lack of persuasiveness in the matter.

Since we were on the
fourth floor, Dr. Slosberg suggested a visit of the psychotherapy ward.
Frankly, I was not particularly looking forward to that tour. Seeing people who
have to face such challenges as leading a “normal” life every day, always
manages to depress me. Yet, it’s all part of the learning curve.

Once again, Dr. Slosberg
was quite helpful. The psychiatrist in attendance led the group through each
room, explaining each of the patients’ conditions. The worst was the case of a
little boy who had been so traumatized during an incident involving the murder
of his mother that he had lost the faculty of speech. There would be months of
mental therapy facing him, yet in the end, he would have a chance at life,
whereas many of the other patients would not be so lucky.

That evening, Tiffany and
I were truly glad to get home. I was exhausted and so was she. The twelve-hour
days were beginning to take their toll on us. Fortunately, we had managed to do
some cooking the previous Sunday and put a lot of our ready-made dishes in the
freezer. Buying Chinese every night was not only unhealthy, but costly. So
Sundays would be dedicated to cooking from now on.

After eating rice and
veggies in a delicious sauce, I called my mother. I didn’t want her to call me
in the middle of the night again. I wanted to know what Dr. Bernard’s plan was;
when was my father getting his pacemaker was my question.

“Hey, Mom, how are you?”

“So-so, Heather. I really
don’t know how to cope,” she complained again. “I haven’t had a chance to speak
to Dr. Bernard yet, but I’ve spoken to Eliot and John today.”

“What did they have to
say?”

“Same as you, dear. They
want to wait until your dad gets his pacemaker before making any plans.” She
paused and I heard my dad come to sit beside her. “Come, let me talk to my
girl,” he said. His voice sounded as solid and in control as ever.

“Hello, Dad?”

“Yes, this is your old
Dad, Heather. I just wanted to let you know that I am fine. Your mother is
fussing again. She thinks I’m losing my marbles. But I can assure you, I’m not.
I just have to make sure I do what Dr. Bernard tells me to do. That’s all. But
you know your mother, unless she can control my every move, she won’t be
happy.”

After a grunt or two, I
finally had a chance to say, “I know, Dad, but Mom means well. And you should
listen to her, too. Once you’ve got your new pacemaker…”

“What do you mean, ‘Pacemaker’?
Who says I’ve got to have one of these things?”

Here
we go,
I thought,
he doesn’t
remember what Dr. Bernard recommended. Talk about the hippocampus
malfunctioning–Dr. Slosberg was right….

“Dr. Bernard said you’ll
feel better when you get it,” I said as reassuringly as I could.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Of course,” I lied. “He
even spoke to Mom. Dr. Bernard and I agree that you need a pacemaker so that
you won’t have any more problems with your heart.”

“I don’t have any problem
with my heart, girl. What are you saying?”

Being
argumentative is one of the symptoms of Alzheimer’s.
I
had to tread carefully. I didn’t want to irritate him.

“I am saying that Dr.
Bernard and I agree that you need a pacemaker, Dad. And the sooner you get it,
the better you will feel.”

“Alright then; if you’re
sure. I’ll ask Dr. Bernard when he can fit me in for one of those.” He paused
for a fraction of a second. “Here is your mother,” he added, handing the
receiver back to her.

“Heather? You heard what
I mean. He’s constantly forgetting things.”

“Yes, Mom. He will
continue to do that. You need to maintain a very strict routine. Everything has
to be done at the same time every day, so it becomes a reflex action rather
than a memory. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes, of course I do,
dear. I’m not the one with a scrambled brain.”

“And you should stop
making such remarks out loud, Mom. Alzheimer’s patients are very frustrated and
if you irritate Dad in any way, he might leave the house on the spur of the
moment. So, please, be gentle and careful with him, okay?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll do what
I can. I’ll just feel better when I know he’s settled down and I know where I
stand. That’s all.”

“Okay, Mom, I have to go
now. I still have some studying to do and try catching up on my sleep.”

“What do you mean ‘studying’,
aren’t you done with all that already?”

“No, Mom, I’m not done
with all that, as you said. I’ve got my formal qualifications, yes, but now
I’ve got to acquire experience before I’ll be “done with all that”.”

“Alright then. I better
leave you to it. Take care, will you?”

“Always will, Mom, you
know it.”

After only six hours of
sleep that night, I got up at five to get ready for another day of
neuro-surgery. We were going to attend a brain operating procedure that
morning. Although still tired, I was looking forward to it. Even though my
career path would probably never take me as far as neuro-surgery, I needed to
see Dr. Slosberg in action.

The young lady suffered
from intracranial aneurysm, which, in simple terms, is a ballooning of a blood
vessel inside the cerebral cavity. This is one dangerous balloon. It will kill
the patient instantly if the “bubble bursts” unexpectedly. Once located, the
ballooning vessel has to be drained and cauterized. It’s a simple operation if
the blood vessel is readily accessible. If not, the opening of the skull itself
could burst the vessel. Therefore, the surgeon has to be as “sober as a judge”
and have the steadiest hands when he is ready to perform the procedure. Any
mistake on his part will spell the death of his patient.

We all knew what was at
stake in this case and we were as quiet as could be when we filed into the
theater. We had to stand at the back of the operating table in this case.
Because of the location of the blood vessel, the patient had to be awake while
Dr. Slosberg repaired the damage.

I will not go into
details. Suffice to say, however, the patient being awake during the entire
procedure was difficult for me to reconcile with the “normal” circumstances
surrounding an operation. Nevertheless, in the end, the whole thing added up to
a memorable experience.

Chapter
12

That night, Tiffany
decided to have dinner with her parents and I was pleased to be walking home
alone. The night air was just what I needed to wake me up. As I came out of the
hospital, there he was, arms crossed over his chest.
Great,
I thought,
that’s all
I need. After a twelve-hour shift, I don’t need another battle with him.

“What are you doing
here?” I asked, knowing the answer already.

“Just waiting for you.”

“What for?” I flared,
trying to walk past him. He stepped in front of me. “I told you the other day
that if I changed my mind you’ll be the first to know. Unfortunately, I have
not changed my mind–not yet anyway.”

“So, what’s stopping
you?” Thank goodness it was dark outside for he wrapped his arms around my
waist. “I’ve never hurt you, have I?”

“No, you haven’t, you’re
right,” I said, pushing away from his embrace and starting to walk toward the
corner of the street.

“So, I ask again, what’s
stopping you?” He was now walking beside me, his hands in his jeans pockets.

“It’s just that I don’t
want to have a relationship with you, not now, and maybe never. That’s all.”

“Okay, what about being
friends? Are you against that too?”

I turned my head to look
into his face. “Of course not. But friendship doesn’t seem to be enough for
you. You want more and I don’t.”

“How about we go for a
drive together, just as friends? What do you say?”

“Right now?”

“There’s no time like the
present, is there?”

“Where do you want to
go?”

“Since I know that you
don’t like surprises, I’ll tell you: I’m going to take you to the best ice
cream parlor in the whole of D.C., and then I’ll take you to watch the White
House illuminations.” He had me and he knew it.

“Okay, I’m game, as long
as you promise me that we’re going as friends.”

“Alright, as friends it
is.”

When we got to his car,
which was parked nearby, I couldn’t help but inhale a sigh. Of course, it had
to be a red sports’ car, didn’t it? This one was a gorgeous Lexus convertible.
It looked brand new. I knew surgeons made good money, but this car was worth more
than a year’s salary in my opinion. He saw my eyes being riveted on the
vehicle.

“A beauty, isn’t she?” he
asked, opening the passenger door for me.

“That she is. Truly a
wonderful car,” I said, sliding into the leather seat. No doubt about it I was
impressed. However, flaunting one’s possessions at the face of someone who
wouldn’t dare spare a cent for a new pair of shoes–someone like me–didn’t sit
right with me. Never has. “But why spending so much money on a car; that’s what
I often don’t understand,” I remarked as he slid behind the wheel and turned on
the ignition.

“What else would you
spend it on?” he asked, pulling the car away from the curb.

“A house would be my
first choice,” I replied. “And maybe travel abroad as often as I could, I
suppose. But a car is truly at the bottom of my list since I would only use it
on the weekend and perhaps traveling to a nearby holiday resort once a year.”

He chuckled. “Yes. That’s
usually a woman’s reaction to a guy spending ‘that much money’, as you said, on
a car. It’s a guy thing. But it’s also a question of being able to afford such
an expensive item. You see, we work hard; our days are filled with the most
horrid pictures of human suffering we could ever imagine; so, in the evening,
when we’re spent, we’re exhausted from it all, it’s a treat to be sitting at
the wheel of this car.”