On Loving a Flawed Creation

"Now get some sleep," says Sloan, planting a soft kiss on my forehead.

"Sloan," I whimper. "Hold me please."

She lies down on her side facing me and takes my hand in hers. Her fingers interlock in mine and she brings her hand up to kiss the back of my palm.

"How long can we keep doing this?" I ask. Her piercing blue gaze search my expression.

"As long as it takes. Don't even think otherwise."

The sedatives slowly take effect. I almost cry because I know I won't remember waking up in her arms.

I know what the drugs will do to me over the next few days, so I make the most of my time before it. Sloan leans over and kisses me deeply.

"I won't let anything happen to you, baby. I promise."

* *

I know it's bad today. I can't tell which day it is exactly. Is it the day after the IV or two days after?

My awareness of my surroundings is non-existent. I feel weaker. I can't stand, even with help. I vomit again and see the nurse, Nina, rush over to clean it.

Nina is a god send at times like this. I can only imagine the number of times she has cleaned my vomit, changed my bedpan and checked on me. Sloan went through four nurses before finally finding someone she liked.

The fever is particularly high now. I can feel the heat rise all the way from the pit of my stomach. It is a heavy, bitter taste that I can feel with every part of my body.

I'm here, yet not here. I'm vaguely aware of Nina and Sloan talking in the background. I can't make out the words. It's a muffled series of sounds and blurry gestures. My brain still sees and hears, but sullenly refuses to interpret.

I panicked the first few times this happened. I couldn't see or feel or hear Sloan and my body ached in a hundred different ways. It's all back now. All of it. I knew what the drugs would to me. I had mentally prepared for it, to no avail.

I don't know how long has passed. The ache gradually fades and is replaced by a telling emptiness. I feel like I am going to disappear. As if I need to make an effort to hold myself down or else I will float away.

It's a peculiar feeling, this place between life and death. I am no stranger of course. It eats away at me. The weakness permeates me, filling up every void. I no longer have control. I don't feel like this is my body any more. My body has been replaced by a useless amalgamation of flesh and blood with limbs. I can try to move, but my arms lie listlessly by my side.

Try as I might, the fear creeps in. I'm not myself. I don't know who this is. The smallest of tasks seems to require inhuman effort. I want to cry, but the simple act is beyond my strength.

The further away I get, the more I'm afraid I won't come back. I won't come back and see that radiant smile or those sapphire blue eyes.

At first the sound is so soft, it barely registers. It's like listening to a radio at the end of a long hallway. It's a mellow tune on the periphery of my senses.

It grows louder until every note caresses me. I know this tune too well. I heard this on my first anniversary with Sloan in Carnegie Hall. Later, Sloan played it for me on her own violin. Brahms' Sonata number three is a special memory for me. It's my happy place and I can hear the melodious notes swirl around my useless trance-like state.

I finally feel a measure of peace. Sloan is at my bedside with her violin. The sound conjures up an image in my head of her standing by the bed and playing the sonata. It gives me a lifeline to cling on to.

The weakness weighs on me. Maybe she has increased the dosage of sedatives this time. The music swirls through me. It pushes away the weakness and replaces it with a pall of soothing calm.

My mind drifts back to several years ago when Sloan was at the top of her class in med school and I was an awkward tomboyish barista (with an arcane and almost entirely useless arts degree) at the local café with a crush on her. She was out and proud and I had been brought up in a small and fanatically religious parish in Greenport, New York, population two thousand.

By any stretch of the imagination, I had punched way above my weight

* *

It is two days after and the worst of it is over. I can sit up in bed and eat on my own. One of the reasons I prefer being cared for at home is the blandness of hospital food. Nina's watchful eye stays on me until I put down the plate.

Using her as a crutch, I trudge my way towards another sponge bath. It's the most relaxing part of my day. I need Nina's help getting clothed and back to bed.

Our guests Tom and Sue Markham are on time. They don't even care that I am dressed in a flimsy flannel overall. Sloan greets them warmly. Unlike her father's friends, the Markhams have been by her side through the worst times. They call to check in on me at least once a week. I genuinely look forward to their visits.

"Honey, give her the good news," says Sue, elbowing her husband.

"Right. It turns out that the father in law of one of my top clients is on the board of trustees at the Mayo Clinic. I've told him about you and he says you can always get another opinion there if you want."

"That's very kind of you," says Sloan.

"How are you feeling today, dear?" asks Sue. "We wanted to come earlier, but Sloan told us you weren't in any state to talk."

"She's right. The drugs take their toll. I'm much better now than I was over the last two days."

It's a makeshift dinner. The Markhams sit in front of a portable table and Sloan draws up the coffee table for herself. My dinner is on my lap in bed.

"Are the doctors onto anything new?"

"We have an appointment with Dr Li in his private clinic tomorrow. Let's see what comes of it."

"You're so lucky to have each other. My cousin's family left my great uncle to rot in a senior care facility. Imagine that. Just dumped him there and haven't spoken to him in years. When I look at people like you, it restores a bit of my faith."

Sloan smiles and grasps my hand.

"Whatever I've had to give has been worth it. I promised Mia once we would grow old together. I'll be damned if I don't do everything in my power to keep it."

I tear up just a bit.

"I miss her not being able to sleep by my side."

It opens up the floodgates for Sue. She dabs her eyes with her handkerchief.

"God bless both of you. If you ever need our help with anything and I mean absolutely anything, you be sure to let us know. All right?"

After dinner, Sloan sees them out before tucking me in for the night.

* *

It is late in the night when I need to go to the washroom. I climb out of bed and grab my walker.

On the way back the urge to see Sloan sleeping overwhelms me. It's a small detour to her bedroom. I push myself there only to see an empty bed.

That is when I hear it. A faint sobbing. I make my way to the adjoining living room to find her sitting at the table with her head buried in her hands. Soft sobs wracked her body.

"What happened?" I ask, sitting down beside her and putting a hand on her shoulder

"Mia. It's horrible. I had a bad dream where I mistimed your dose and the combination with one of your other drugs killed you."

"There there," I coo into her ear. "It was just a dream. I'm right here, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"Mia," she cries before engulfing me in a hug. "I love you so much more than I can tell you. I can't keep putting you through this. Seeing you in pain shreds me inside. We have to stop. I know I can. I have to try."

"Remember the last time you stopped and I got better? Eventually when I could get around without any help. You wouldn't even touch me. You didn't say it, but you were miserable. That hurt me so much more than the trexall ever will."

She pulls my face back and gazes into me. Her blue eyes shimmer with moisture in the near darkness.

"What have I done to deserve you, Mia? The world thinks I care for your illness but the truth is I am the sick one. When my Mom died slowly, I saw how people were so much nicer to Dad. They listened to him, sympathised and did whatever he said. He was the centre of attention wherever he went. Tell me, Mia, is it wrong for me to want that? Am I sick because I want people to treat me like they treated him?"

I see the marks of several tears staining her satin skin. My finger intercepts one tear drop halfway down her cheek and traces it back to her eye where I plant a kiss.

"Your father used your mother's illness to get sympathy votes. You have never ever taken advantage of me like that. So don't even think about it. You are nothing like him."

"Remember the day we got married? We were tenth in line at the registry the day same-sex marriage was legalized. I promised then to love you in sickness and in health. At the time, I knew this was your sickness and I chose to embrace it."

"I'm a monster," says Sloan. "There's just no other way to describe it."

"You may be a monster, but you're my monster. You're rich, successful and beautiful. I am none of those. In a normal world, I would not matter. So let this be the great thing I can do with my life. This is what we share. Please don't take this away from me. If loving you comes at this price, it's okay. Worry about the risk you are taking instead of worrying about me."

"No one can trace the methotrexate or the leucovorin back to me. I buy it using the alias of a new hospital. I always check the reports we share with doctors beforehand and know exactly what to say and what not to say. As a doctor, I know what signs we look out for and we're far away from all of them. I am not worried about myself, but it breaks my heart to see you suffer."

She buries her face my shoulder and I let her cry some more. She needs this. She needs to be reminded I'm by her side.

Love is not always a four letter word. It is not always sunshine and rainbows and happy endings all around. Sometimes, love is painful, love hurts.

It is love. It is the purest form of love I have ever known. Love has many labels. For me it is "Munchausen by proxy".