“No,” I whisper and lean into him, needing his strength to get through this.
“I’m here.”
“Thank you.”
“Ms. Pierson?” a tech asks from the corner by the hallway.
“Yes.” I stand and lace my fingers through Chase’s. Together we follow her to the operating room that looks the same as the ultrasound room I was in a couple weeks ago. The lights are turned down and a bed sits in the center of the room with a monitor beside it and the ultrasound equipment attached to it.
“You can lay on the bed. Do you like music? I can turn some on.”
“Um, if you want.” She’s sweet but music or not, I’m not going to be relaxed until this is over. As I get on the bed, the tech busies herself getting everything set up. She tells Chase hecan stay but he’ll need to sit on the edge of the room out of the way to avoid potential contamination.
“I’m going to do a quick ultrasound again just to be sure the marker is where it needs to be and then the doctor will come in and get started.” I lay stiff while she squirts the warm ultrasound gel on my boob and presses down with the probe.
Every so often, I look back at Chase to make sure he’s still there. I know he is but seeing him takes the edge off. When the doctor comes in and gets started, I stare at the monitor in what feels like an out-of-body experience, watching a large needle enter my breast without being able to feel a thing.
How is this my life right now?
Helpless.
It’s the only way I can describe how I feel watching Bree lay on a hospital bed while the tech and doctor prep her for a breast biopsy. When she keeps looking back at me with fear in her eyes, I almost break down. My gorgeous girl is stronger than she knows. Knowing she carried this burden on her own for over a year cuts me. The emotional and mental toll that had to take on her is unthinkable, yet here she is willing to do it again on her own.
Not on my watch.
The doctor inserts the needle he’ll use to extract the tissue sample and Bree doesn’t even flinch. She watches the whole thing on the ultrasound monitor. It looks like a massive fishing spear going in and out of her breast. She tries to stay still, but the nerves are getting to her. I can see it in the way her eyes dance around the room, her breathing speeds up, and her hands clench into fists at her side.
Leaving my post against the wall, I reach for her hands and lace our fingers together. The doctor and tech look over at me, but wisely choose to keep their mouths shut. Kneeling on the floor beside her bed, I whisper, “You’re doing so good, baby. I love you so much.”
She locks her eyes with mine, and a lone tear streaks down her face. I swipe it away and keep offering her the reassuranceshe needs while the doctor takes the samples. After she’s cleaned up, they tape a small section of gauze to the site and tell her it will be sore for a while but the incision will close on it’s own.
“I’ll let you get changed and then you can head out.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep. They will either call you with your results or schedule an appointment for you to come back.”
While Bree changes, I try to shake off the emotions I felt seeing her on the table. There’s a time and a place for them, and right now I need to be the space she can share her emotions without worrying about mine. The tech comes back and hands me two small ice packs and tells me to have Bree put them in her bra on the incision site to help with the pain and swelling. I thank her for everything and lead Bree out of the imaging center and back to her car.
“Let me see your keys, Princess. I’m driving you home.”
“I’m okay. I can drive. What about your car?”
“Miller drove me, so I have to hitch a ride with you. Let me drive you.”
“Okay,” she concedes passing me the keys. I open the passenger door and wait as she lowers into the seat before reaching around and buckling her in.
“Here, the lady said to put this in your bra. It’ll feel better.” I tuck the ice pack into the side of her bra and peck a quick kiss to her lips then close the door and get into the driver’s seat.
“I really don’t want to leave you, but I have to go to the stadium for the game tonight.”
“No, you need to. Would you be upset if I stayed home?”
“I’d be upset if you came to the game.”
“I think I should text the girls.” Squeezing her hand, I wait for her to finish her train of thought. “They’re going to be so mad at me.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand.”
