Page 11 of The Perfect Gift

We hold hands, but we don’t kiss.

We no longer have sex.

I lay awake in the early hours of the morning, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, worrying about the toll this is taking on him. Our relationship is being tested in ways we never imagined. I just hope our love is strong enough to survive. My body may be the battleground, but this war against cancer is being waged on our relationship too.

Chapter Nine

My oncologist, Dr. Sharp, is a harbinger of bad news. Noodles and I sit side by side, our fingers laced together in his clinically sterile office. There’s no hint of color to break up the monotony of whites and grays.

“I’ll get straight to the point.” Dr. Sharp doesn’t waste time with frivolous conversation.

I don’t know if I like that. Not that it matters. He’s the best, and that’s what we need.

“We can’t afford to delay chemotherapy any longer.”

Noodles tenses beside me.

“But—the baby? I’m only twenty-eight weeks. It’s too early.”

“I consulted with your obstetrician, and the medical consensus is that early delivery is the best course of action. It allows us to begin treatment immediately.”

I look at Noodles. His gaze meets mine, and though he tries to put on a brave front, there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes. I glance at my swollen belly and cradle it protectively.

“I know this is hard—it’s far from ideal—but the reality is, if we delay chemotherapy much longer, I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good.” Dr. Sharp certainly cuts straight to the point.

The tears I’ve been fighting finally spill over.

Dr. Sharp continues his explanation. “There are things your OB can do to hasten lung maturity in your baby.”

“Things?” Noodles asks.

“A steroid injection, clinically proven to decrease Respiratory Distress Syndrome in premature infants. It may be helpful to sit down with a neonatologist before deciding. They’ll be able to explain what it means to deliver a baby at twenty-eight weeks. I’m not an expert, but I understand survival is greater than ninety-five percent, and the conditions associated with extreme prematurity are much lower than they once were. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but there’s still reason to hope.” Dr. Sharp places a hand on my arm. “Our neonatal specialists are exceptional. We can get you in today for a consultation.”

It’s impossible to speak with the lump in my throat and the tears spilling down my cheeks. Fortunately, Noodles is here to speak for me.

“Yes. We’d like to talk to a neonatologist.”

Chapter Ten

Less than an hour later, we sit across from Dr. Patel, a neonatologist, for a frank conversation about what to expect with preterm birth.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Dr. Patel gestures to a couch in her office. “Dr. Sharp explained the urgency to begin chemotherapy, and I’ve had a chance to look over your medical record. Before I begin, what is your most pressing question?”

“Will our baby survive?” I jump right in. That’s my first, most pressing thought.

“The short answer is yes,” she says. “Survival at this gestational age has steadily increased over the past several decades. Nearly all of our babies delivered at twenty-eight weeks survive, and less than five percent will have long-term disabilities due to being born prematurely.”

I like her voice. It’s soothing and calm. Already, the pounding in my chest is less than before.

“This is a stressful situation. I like to acknowledge that upfront, but I’ll do my best to help you understand what might happen if your baby is born at twenty-nine weeks.”

“Dr. Sharp said twenty-eight weeks.”

“He’s anxious to begin chemotherapy, but the first thing we want is to accelerate lung maturity. Your OB will give you two shots over two days, and we’ll deliver after that. Looking at your dates, that will put your baby right at twenty-nine weeks. At this point in development, every day matters.”

I swallow, nodding. Her kindness is a balm against my fear.

“Now, let me tell you a bit about what to expect. Your baby will be small and need a special incubator.”

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