She nods. “Yes.”
Good. That’s at least one hurdle down.
I take her hand in mine. “We’ll do everything we can to beat it again.”
We continue through the questionnaire and I realize this woman could be me in so many ways. We’re both very driven women who have flourishing careers. Allison married young, but they agreed to hold off on children until they were settled in their careers, and then cancer came back again, making that possibility even slimmer.
“Peyton drove me nuts, making me wait to have kids. I wanted a baby so bad.” A tear falls down her face. “Now, though, I wish we hadn’t waited. I could’ve had the baby and then . . . then I could just fight the cancer.”
I’ve learned there are no words to rebuke that. She has her reality, and my job requires I understand her needs.
She brushes the tears away and clears her throat.
I give her a second to collect herself as I get to my feet.
“I’m sorry,” she tries to smile. “Some days I’m really bad at keeping it together.”
“Don’t apologize,” I reassure her. “You don’t have to keep it together with me. I’ll handle that, okay?”
I like Allison and pray that this drug does what I want it to for her. I can’t explain it, but I feel an instant bond with her.
“You’re not what I pictured.”
“Yeah? What did you expect?”
The more she talks, the less her discomfort shows. “I don’t know, but your profile on the website doesn’t have any photos or even much about you at all, just your accomplishments.”
I smile at that. “It’s by design. As a woman, I often find that it’s difficult for those in the medical field to look at my resume instead of judging me by my photo.”
“I get that.”
“I thought you might,” I reply. “Okay, everything looks good and I’ll order something for the pain.”
“Thanks, Dr. Adams.”
“Don’t mention it. I would like to go over the trial information if that’s okay?”
She nods. “Please.”
I give her the details, and then I get to the part I hate but can’t leave out. “This trial is still in the early phases, and there is a great chance that you will still end up needing to have a hysterectomy. The chemotherapy mix may not shrink the tumor, and the other possible side effects may restrict your treatment options. You may also end up receiving the placebo, which then would guarantee that we would proceed with a hysterectomy. Do you understand?”
Allison squares her shoulders and then grimaces in a bit of pain. “I need to say this, and since you’re my doctor, it cannot be repeated, right?”
“Of course, anything we say is between us.”
“Not even to my husband?”
This gives me a slight pause. “Correct.”
“Good. Then, I hand you this letter as my legal right to state what my wishes are.”
I take the envelope she hands me and open it, expecting a DNR, only that’s not what this is. It’s a refusal of a hysterectomy signed and notarized.
“Allison . . .”
“No, I want to make this clear, Dr. Adams. I know what I want. I’m of sound mind, and understand that if I refuse the hysterectomy, I will die. I will not allow you to take it all from me. I would rather die of cancer than know I can never bear a child. While this may seem stupid to you or any other person, this is my wish.”
I look at the paper, not understanding how she could choose this. “There are other options, surrogacy, adoption . . .” I trail off when her hand lifts to stop me.
“I was adopted, and while I had great parents, there was a part of me that wondered if . . . well . . . I know it is the only thing I want in this world, to carry a baby. I’ve dreamed of carrying a child, one that was really connected to me. I found a man who loves me and that dream was within reach. And then I found out cancer was going to take that from me. I harvested my eggs, hoping that once I got through the first hurdle, I could try then, only to go into the fertility clinic and learn there was a mass on my ovary.”
I sit, feeling the pain in her voice. She doesn’t cry, but it’s clear that this is something she’s not only thought about, but has planned for as well.
“I really have to advise you against this.”
“I’m sure you do, and I appreciate it. But here’s the thing, if I can’t have my own baby, I don’t have a life worth fighting for. I have tried, talked to counselors, my husband, parents, and everyone else, and I know in my heart that this is my last option. I would rather spend the rest of my life knowing I had the choice stolen from me not by surgery, but by cancer.”
That’s what this trial should give people, another option. The idea that women have to take all or nothing has plagued me. I wanted children once, but I got to choose not to have them. This trial is about giving people something instead of taking it away. While I may not necessarily agree with her decision, I have to respect it.
“And you understand that you’re signing your death warrant by saying this? If the treatment doesn’t work, or if you receive the placebo?”
“I do, and when I wrote that, I was in the office with a notary and my lawyer. Everything is clearly laid out. My only request is that my husband never knows of this. I don’t want him to have to be in pain because of my choice. I can’t listen to him plead and beg when I know that if I were to have the hysterectomy, it would kill me in another way.”
I feel sick over this, but I can’t deny her. As her doctor, I can’t disclose this information to him and I will be the one to have to find another way to help him through it if the trial doesn’t work.
“I hope that we find our way through this without either of these being the outcome. But if the medication does not work the way we want it to, there won’t be another way to treat the cancer.”
Allison wipes away a tear and attempts to smile. “I understand that. I hope and pray that this treatment works. When I saw this trial, I swear, it was like God answered my prayers. I believe in you and this trial. I really do.”
I go to speak but the door opens. Both our heads turn and my heart stops as my eyes lock on the blue eyes I’ve tried to erase for the last fourteen years. Everything around me fades and all I can do is focus on one thing—him.
Bryce Peyton stands in front of me. His gaze is full of shock and confusion and I can’t breathe. My chest is tight and I feel the blood drain from my face. Years have passed, but he’s exactly as I remember. His dark brown hair is shorter, but his eyes are the same.
His lips part as he steps forward, but I take two steps back.
“Is that really you?” I ask as I shake my head in disbelief.
This can’t be real. He doesn’t live here and there is no reason he’s in my hospital.
“Peyton?” the strained voice in the bed breaks the spell. Oh, God. Allison Brown called her husband Peyton, and it clicks.
Bryce is her husband.
His eyes glass over and I see the wall erect, shutting me out. He looks at his wife and smiles. “I couldn’t find the doctor,” he explains and walks over to her bedside.
“This is the doctor . . .”