Face Of The Monster

4 - Map

I hate this even more than I hated it the first time.

Ricky is bald and pale and tired. I shaved his head this morning and I cried the entire time. I love his hair. It's silky and thick as the water of a river. Or, it was. It's all gone now along with his eyebrows and eyelashes which we also trimmed down.

He is still pretty in his own way. I lean forward and kiss his jaw, wondering what he's thinking about. I can tell that he's fighting sleep right now.

I remember Ricky's first round of chemo nearly a month ago. We hadn't told the kids. Daddy's going to a work meeting in San Francisco, he told them. I'll be back in a week or two, okay? Don't miss me too much.

Cande may have believed it when he left, but when he came back bald and eyebrowless she must have figured it out. Still, she didn't ask us if her father had cancer. I can't blame her. If I didn't have to know these things, I wouldn't want to either.

Tiago went for it, though. He didn't know what chemotherapy was, still doesn't. I tried to explain it to him last week, but he kept getting sidetracked by his cars and eventually I gave up. He doesn't need to know about the poison that will soon be assaulting his father's veins. He's only nine. It's okay.

Everyone has been calling me today: Ricky's siblings, my siblings, friends from the shop, Ricky's friends from college, Ricky's fellow teachers at the ESL school. They all want to know how the kids are taking it, if they're upset. They don't seem to understand that kids only have the capacity to take in so much at a time. Even Cande doesn't fully understand what's going on right now. I asked her if she was upset, if she wanted to take the day off of school and she looked at me like I was crazy. I have to present my book report in English, she told me.

The kids might not be that upset, but I am. The only thoughts going through my mind are either cursing god or pleading with him. Please, Lord. I need this to work.

It is ten twenty-six and we are waiting for the nurse to come in with the IV. Enrique's doctor came in to talk to us about half an hour ago. She did the standard tests on his pulse, breathing, and et cetera. Then she told us to wait here. I sigh, knowing I will have to leave around three thirty to pick up his stupid sister and her ugly children. I will have to leave even earlier than that, actually, so I can rent car seats.

"Emma?" Ricky murmurs, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Are you okay, Baby?" I ask. "Do you need anything?"

He smiles a little. "Relax, Emmy. I'm fine."

"Okay. What is it, then?"

"Can you wake me up when the nurse comes in? I don't think I can stay awake for much longer."

"Of course."

He is in his hospital bed and I am sitting in an armchair beside him. Ricky could have chosen to get his treatment in an outpatient clinic, but since this is such an aggressive form of chemo, his oncologist recommended a hospital stay. His cycle will be four days of chemo and four days of rest and will most likely last for almost four weeks. Thank goodness insurance will cover the hospital stays.

However, they did not want to cover a catheter for the needle, so he will have to have it inserted into a vein in his arm. I remember closing my eyes last time. I didn't want to see.

"Thanks," he says. He takes my right hand in his left, the same hand where they will insert the IV. I stroke his palm, his wrist, his forearm, wondering where they will impale him this time.

He falls asleep within the next minute, leaving me feeling lonely and afraid. This has to work. It has to.

We really, really do not want him to get the surgery.

My phone rings. The name Lindsay flashes on the screen. I take it, hitting talk with a sigh. Good ole Lindsay, always there when I need her. And when I don't need her. "Hello?"

"Hey girl! What's going on?"

"Um . . . not much?"

"Cool cool. So, Tay told me about your husband and I just thought I'd call and see if you're okay. You okay?"

I can imagine all the girls at work talking about Ricky and I in hushed tones, saying what a shame it is and how grateful they are that they aren't me. "I'm okay. Is it busy today?" We usually have a lot of clients on Mondays.

"Oh, not that busy." Lindsay doesn't want to change the subject. "How are the kids doing? This must be tough on them."

I picture Lindsay in my head with her bleached blonde hair and fake eyelashes, standing with her hands on her hips and a pout on her face while she talks to me about my sad, awful life. "They're okay. They both wanted to go to school today, so they're taking it pretty well."

"Kids who want to go to school?" she chuckles. "That's a new one."

I manage a onenote laugh. "Yeah." I squeeze Ricky's hand, trying not to think that this is what he will look like when he is dead. I feel sick all of a sudden; this treatment, the very thing that is suppose to cure him, could end up killing him. The doctor told us that when she first presented the chemo plan, but it didn't really sink in until now. They're poisoning him. Why am I letting this happen?

"Alright, well, I should let you go," Lindsay says. "Call me if you need anything, Babe."

"Okay. Bye."

We hang up. I think I will call her if I need anything. Lindsay is a good, capable person and I like her a lot. Maybe I'll stop by her place for a minute before picking up Isabel and the demons. She's always good for a hug and some leftover pizza.

The door opens. It's the nurse. She talks to me while she prepares Enrique's arm for the needle. She doesn't wake him up, which I appreciate. However, I do not appreciate when she misses the vein on her first two tries. He wakes up after the second prick.

"Oh," he says. He looks at me. "You said you'd wake me up."

I run my hand over his scalp like I usually do when I smooth back his hair. "You looked so peaceful," I say. While we are talking, the nurse tries again. Ricky winces violently and she looks troubled. "Did you miss again?" I ask, sounding angrier than I intended. We should have splurged for the catheter.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she says. "Just one more time."

I want to yell at her, but I bite my tongue. She is doing the best she can. She gets it right on the next try and leaves the room.