Page 14 of Omega Artist
“Don’t be. It’s my job, and you’re my favorite patient. Your nerves were natural. I’m glad to see you happy. It’s a nice change.” Am I always this gloomy girl? I used to smile all the time, didn’t I? Well, that was then, this is now. So I shrug at the man now seated on the edge of my narrow hospital bed. “I’m just glad that I allowed you to check your phone. Now, fill me in. Who’s the lucky guy?”
With his assumption, my face heats in embarrassment. Instinctively my arms circle my waist, and I brace myself.
For what?
Yeah, good question, I tell the little voice inside my head.
Taking in my reaction, the thirty-something nurse apologizes. I think that he resembles the infamous drag queen RuPaul. Minus the extravagant wig. Minus the outrageous makeup. Minus the fancy get-ups, that is. He and I have this odd relationship where we sometimes confide some of our deepest secrets and other times have a communication roadblock. Granted, the fact that we only see each other in the oncology ward must be increasing my edginess. My curiosity wins over.
“What made you think a guy was involved?”
“Well… Your body relaxed. Your eyes widened. Your cheeks reddened. Even I could see all that from where I was standing by the door… Come on, you know that I’ll take your confession to the grave.” He gives me his most genuine smile.
When I discovered a lump in my breast over the summer and met Paul shortly after—upon my admission to the hospital to get rid of the small tumor that had rapidly grown—we established that joking about death was allowed. I claimed that it was part of life, and no one should mince their words around me. I’m fighting it head on. I’ll be here for the next couple of days to get another post-op check-up; I’ve been feeling completely drained lately.
I’m trying my best to be brave, I really am. I was told that I was young and had a better chance of recovery. I was told that I was healthy but would have to make some adjustments to ensure that I stay in remission. I was told that I was lucky to have been diagnosed early, unlike Mother.
How ironic to think that finding breast cancer could be considered lucky!
I let out a bitter snort as I confirm, “Yeah, there’s a guy.”
I’m not sure why I said that. It’s not a lie, but it insinuates that there’s more to it than the reality of my non-relationship with Tig de Luca. The man who needs to be taught a lesson because, to me, he represents all the players of the world. The man who ignored the majority of most of my previous posts, despite my dedication. The man who somehow saw through me, although he doesn’t know me from Adam.
I shiver at that.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
I nod absentmindedly. “I guess.” My hesitation is evident.
“You know what? Take your time. Enjoy this moment. I’ll come back in a while.”
“No, no… I just want to answer this really quick… I just don’t want to interrupt your rounds… I just—”
“Don’t worry, Miss Godefroy.” He stares at me, and his eyes say everything that his mouth doesn’t. Compassion. Relief. Hope. “You’ve been isolated lately, and having someone to confide in could be beneficial in your state... especially if that person puts a smile on your face. That’s precious.”
Could you be right?
I avert his gaze and let out a heavy sigh. “Thanks for your support.”
“Anytime… And it might even work to my advantage. If he really helps you relax, your results might be better tomorrow.”
Riiight!
He stands up and winks. “I’ll be back in five, okay?” Without waiting for my approval, he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Another heavy sigh leaves my chest. My pulse accelerates for some reason.
Alie G: I’m sorry.
Warmth permeates my body as I type the words. It’s true; for once in my life, I am sorry. I doubt that the emotion is meant for him because his behavior towards women is pitiful, shameful, and unforgivable, and I blame him for his actions. But, in truth, this comment is directed at myself.
Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself.
This sure isn’t how I pictured the months that followed my decision to go after this Tig guy. I did have some fun over the summer—too many men, too little time. None of them were worth the effort that I devoted. Thank God, I found time to upload a couple of videos to my YouTube channel before this whole mess started. Some female empowerment quotes. Some portraits of empowered women. Some book recommendations for self-empowerment.
If I’d only known that I wouldn’t be able to make it back to school. If I’d only known that I wouldn’t be able to continue with my carefree life. If I’d only known that I wouldn’t be able to travel to the U.S. this year.
With my mind focused on my own diagnosis, my most recent posts have included health and exercise tips. The doctors ordered me to be fully recovered before attempting to train for a marathon like I joked about. Still, if my body refused to obey me for the time being, I had to find a way to express my new self. My damaged self. My sick self. Through my social media platform, I showed myself as if I were healthy. The fact that I don’t reveal my face helped me to carry on the charade. I became a master at lying by omission. Online and offline.
Tig’s reply caught me off-guard, but we’re not friends and never will be. He’s a means to an end, and I have nothing better to do with my time than to fulfill my plan. The circumstances changed, not the mission.
