When she cries at night

Crying. I tear my attention away from my Deutermann novel to look up in the direction of the sound… Mac’s bedroom. Only small sniffles, and still they cut me through to the heart. Since Mac returned home yesterday to recover from her first round of treatments, her weeping has become a frequent occurrence, but always quiet and carefully controlled. I know she’s trying to keep me from hearing, and that both touches and hurts me at the same time.

And she doesn’t think that I can hear her

I put down my book and lean forward on the couch, waiting for her to calm down before I go in to check on her. That’s become the routine – she cries, and I wait a considerable amount of time after she’s done before I go ask how she’s doing and if she needs anything, acting like I don’t know what she’s really feeling. She seems satisfied with that, which I don’t understand at all… didn’t I promise her only days ago that I’d always be there for her?

She tries to hide all the fear she feels inside

This time is different, though. She’s becoming more and more upset… it’s escalated to choked, heart-wrenching sobs. Still, I hesitate, thinking it may end soon. But after five more minutes, I can’t take it anymore. I stand and make my way to her bedroom doorway, where I pause for a moment. She’s sitting up in her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, and her head is buried in her hands. The sight very nearly kills me.

I make my way to the bed, and sit down beside her. She doesn’t even look up as the mattress shifts to accommodate the added weight. I silently reach over to put an arm around her, and she allows me to pull her to me. I wrap my other arm around her as well, rubbing her back in a smooth, circular motion as I very gently rock her. She continues to cry, knotting a hand in my T-shirt, her tears soaking the fabric.

I’ll never know how long I sat there with her, or how long she wept, but she was exhausted by the time her tears were spent. Once she’s settled down to soft hiccups, I hand her a tissue from the box on her nightstand. She accepts it gratefully, and I wipe some of her remaining tears away with my thumb as she blows her nose.

“You need something to drink?” I ask quietly. She looks up at me with her red-rimmed - yet still beautiful - brown eyes and nods. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be right back.” I drop a kiss on her forehead as I slide off the bed, making sure to help her back underneath the blanket before I head to the kitchen.

It only takes me ninety seconds to get her a glass of water, but by the time I return to her side, she’s fallen asleep. I silently set the cup on the stand next to her bed, then pull up a chair from her desk.

She’s so tired. Her face is pale and drawn, with dark circles underneath her eyes. I notice her teeth beginning to chatter, so I reach to pull another quilt over her. Those stupid pain meds. One makes her nauseous, which keeps her from wanting to eat, and the lack of food causes another painkiller to give her the shakes. As if the aching discomfort from the treatments wasn’t enough. I shake my head at the cruel unfairness of the situation.

She’d let me go with her on Friday morning to the medical consultation she had scheduled just before her appointment, and the doctor had given her the options: try a series of medical procedures to try and destroy the tumor, or get a hysterectomy. Mac had fairly exploded at the last suggestion, yelling about how she wasn’t going to give up her chance of starting a family just because of “some risks”.

I sigh involuntarily as that memory crosses my mind. Even then, she’d been so stubborn, strong, and full of life… willing to sacrifice pain and suffering for a child who didn’t even exist yet. For herself. For me.

That last realization hits me like a ton of bricks. She’s doing all this, going through all of this, in part, for me. I gaze at the battered warrior lying in the bed before me, waves of gratitude, guilt, love, and shock washing over me.

How could I have been so insensitive, bringing up our deal the way I did, just when she’d gotten the news from her doctor? Common sense reminds me of the fact that I hadn’t known the severity of the situation, but that doesn’t help the regret I feel. However, I also know that Mac wants children just as much as I do, and that her defeatist attitude demands her to fight this illness as hard as she can. She’s always been one to beat the odds, and I pray that this time she succeeds as she has in the past.

Above everything else, this past week has taught me that life is precious, and tomorrow is never guaranteed. Mac’s specialist let me know Friday after her treatment that if the tumor had gone unnoticed for even a month longer, her odds would’ve been very different. I shut my eyes hard against that thought. What would I do without her? What would I do if I lost her without letting her know how I feel, how much she means to me?

Watching her soft, steady breathing, I make myself a promise: once her recovery is over, I’m going to tell her everything. I may never be the man she deserves, but I’m going to try my very hardest to be.

So I pray this time I can be the man that she deserves

And then she wakes up, but I can tell instantly that it’s due to the pain. She winces, curling up in a ball. I immediately move out of my chair and begin to go through the bottles of medication on her nightstand, until I find the one she needs. I pop open the lid and shake out two capsules, which I hand to her. She puts them in her mouth, and I support the back of her head as she takes a gulp of water.

I set the glass back down on the stand, and begin running my fingers through her hair, pulling the strands away from her face. Her expression is still taut with pain, and I see a single tear trail down her cheek. “Shh, baby, I know it hurts.” I gently brush the tear away with my thumb. “It’ll be over soon.” She nods, and takes one of my hands in hers as she shuts her eyes again and tries to go back to sleep.

‘Cause I die a little each time
When she cries

It’s only a matter of minutes before she’s out, but I don’t have the heart to leave her again. I grab an extra pillow and blanket from the hall closet and lay it out on the floor next to her bed, turning out the bedside light before I settle down.

Her future may be uncertain, but one thing is for sure: she won’t face it alone.