Two Loves Pt. 03

We dispersed to the various bedrooms after kisses, hugs, and handshakes goodnight. Megan and I went into the master bedroom, and I began my nighttime rituals getting ready for bed. As I puttered around putting on what passed for pajamas for me -- running shorts and a t-shirt, I became aware that Megan sat on the edge of the bed watching me.

I looked at her and asked, "You coming to bed or are you in the middle of some hot medical journal?" I smiled.

Megan shook her head and patted the bed beside her. "No. No journals tonight. Just come sit with me for a minute. I have something to share." She sounded serious. I went to her and put my arms around her.

"What's up?" I asked as I sat on the bed and put my arm around her.

"Matt," She started, suddenly in a broken and choked voice, so different from the party voice she'd had for the past six hours, "I'm sick -- very sick -- very very sick." She looked up at me, with tears streaming down her face, and then broke into uncontrollable sobs. This wasn't at all like my professional wife that had seen it all. For years, she'd been the rock of the family with a will of iron and the mental strength of Titan. Now, suddenly, something was very wrong for her to be reacting this way.

I hugged her close and kissed the side of her head. I used my forefinger to wipe the tracks of her tears from her cheeks. "Hey," I said looking into her eyes, "We can work at getting you well. What kind of sick are we talking about? What do we need to do? What's happening?"

"I ... I ... I have a rare kind of leukemia," She sobbed. "It's not good. I found out Tuesday -- part of my annual check-up -- and then a few more lab tests. I've spent a lot of time the past three days verifying the diagnosis and looking at options." She paused and looked up into my face, her eyes red and running, "Oh Matt, I love you so." I hugged her tight.

I said, "I'll stop work. We'll put all our focus on getting you well. We'll do whatever it takes."

Megan shook her head. Her crying slowed, and she spoke in her doctoring voice: "There's no 'getting well' from this; it's fatal."

Her remark hit me so hard I recoiled; my body lurched against here. I was stunned. I was going to lose Megan. "How fatal? How much time ... I mean, what's the prognosis?"

"Five to nine months at this point -- maybe a little longer." Megan put her head in her hands as I rubbed her back and then pulled her into my lap. We cried together for a long time.

She explained she had a complication of chronic lymphocytic leukemia known as Richter's syndrome. I didn't understand a lot of what she told me about the disease, but I did understand that she had it, and it was going to kill her, most likely within a year. There was no cure; there was no mitigating treatment.

We told the children on Saturday morning, amid another round of crying and anguish over the potential loss of my wife and their mother. Practically everywhere I looked that morning, there were tear soaked tissues.

About the only thing positive I saw come out of the weekend was that Eleanor and Craig decided unilaterally to move up the date of their wedding to December -- near Christmas -- to be sure that Megan could attend in a state of reasonably good health.

Monday, I went to the office with Megan, and we met for an hour with her colleague, Richard Creech. Megan started the meeting by imploring Dick to hold nothing back, and to not sugar coat the situation for us. Dick, as he told me to call him, was an oncology specialist and had many years of experience treating leukemia patients. His credentials aside, he was direct and not very hopeful about Megan's prognosis.

His description of Megan's decline over the coming months depressed us further. While I got lost here and there in the medical terminology, the rapid physical decline of Megan's abilities over the coming months from this disease was well documented. He urged us to see at least two other oncologists; he had one of the secretaries in his office set up the appointments. Based on her being an 'insider,' she got one appointment for that afternoon.

Several of the other staff and doctors spoke to Megan as we left the office, extending their concern and hope for a better diagnosis. She'd worked with some of these people for over twenty years.

Dr. Ray Zuchovsky was the chief oncologist at Mass General Hospital. While his entire persona exuded an air of 'trust me' and 'I'm the most skilled person in this area you'll ever meet,' his office demeanor was polite and solicitous. He'd personally gone over the blood and other lab work. While we were in his office, he drew another blood sample from Megan and shipped it off to the hospital's laboratory for immediate processing.

Zuchovsky agreed to the letter with Creech's diagnosis. Megan had Richter's syndrome. That night we talked about the different ways she could move forward from this point. She could probably get about two more months of work in before she'd have to curtail her medical practice. Curative treatments were futile in the long run, yet in rare cases slowed the progression of the disease and extended the morbidity prior to death. Pallative care would eventually be called for as the debilitating effects of the disease became evident.

The following Monday, Megan started chemotherapy in the oncology center at the Newton-Wellesley Hospital.

Although Megan had hoped to continue working for a couple more months, the three-days a week chemo regime forced her to give up anything resembling a normal life. Megan started the treatment with a fair amount of energy; she was almost asymptomatic to the disease she carried. Two weeks into the chemo, the fatigue started; a week later the nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea commenced; and a week after that she was totally bald and pale.

We met together with Dick Creech weekly in the first month of treatment and at month's end after a full round of blood tests. One question before us was whether to enter into bone marrow transplantation as a way to slow down the progression of the disease.

Creech was direct yet sympathetic to Megan's plight. "Megan," He told her, "The numbers are not improving at all. We'd hoped to stabilize things, but the chemo isn't doing anything for you. Richter's is a nasty and unresponsive disease. I know you'd asked about doing something with bone marrow, but I don't think that would help, and the trauma to the marrow might just accelerate things in this instance."

I asked, "So, what should she do? Nothing?"

Creech thought for a minute and said softly, "Yes, do nothing." He turned to Megan, "Enjoy the last few months of your life, take advantage of your palliative care, and find a way to transition gracefully." He locked eye contact with Megan, and they nodded to each other.

"Thanks, Dick," Megan said. "I'm stopping treatment now, while I still have some time and can get around."

Dick nodded, "The side effects from the month of chemo you've had will wear off faster than they came on. Go do something fun -- both of you." He nodded at me, and gave us both a weak smile.

It took Megan another week for the nausea and other debilitating effects of the chemo to stop. At that point, Megan wanted us to go up to the camp in northern Maine -- just the two of us.

I'd put myself on a restricted regime at work, so I could be with Megan. Now, without much difficulty, I put myself on indefinite leave and the two of us went up to be in nature on our lake in Maine.

I paddled Megan around the lake almost everyday, and we got in a few short hikes as her strength returned. She noted that having her strength return from the chemo would meet the waning strength she'd experience from the disease. She thought that happened our second week at our camp. Our hikes became short walks. Megan slept a great deal.

Around the end of the month, Megan started to have to lean on me for support when she walked. I made her a cane from a piece of driftwood we found along the edge of the lake. After another few weeks, I found myself helping her wash and take care of herself. I'd already been doing the meal preparation, although this was not my forte.

Megan decided she needed some drugs and another close examination by Creech to see how Richter's was progressing, so we came back to Wellesley. He verified what Megan already knew; she was sliding downhill a little faster than expected. Her life became more passive. She read a great deal, particularly what she called 'junk novels.' She spent more than half the day in bed resting or sleeping, and I could find her dozing in her favorite chair other times.

At her insistence, I went back to work. People were sympathetic with what was going on with Megan, and I found I had to develop some rejoinders to their frequent questions and 'How's it going?' questions.

I confess to feeling guilty about working. I could lose myself in the complexities of the company and our aggressive marketing, sales, and customer service programs. We had the top selling corporate database software package in the world, and were embarked on a program to make it better and better. I could hide in the details and the meetings from the terrible situation Megan faced. It wasn't that I was leaving her to face it alone; far from it. I dedicated myself to making her life as easy, peaceful, and loving in everyway I could.

I cancelled all my travel to the west coast, taking advantage of some new video conferencing capabilities we had installed in the office. Emma was not only sympathetic and empathetic to Megan's plight, when we talked, we often-focused on things I could do to ameliorate her suffering and ease her ultimate transition. We knew that we'd be able to spend some time together after all this ended.

We got day care for Megan. Together with my own curtailed schedule, this meant she had round-the-clock care. The number of drugs to cope with the various adverse side effects of the disease grew exponentially each week. Four months after Megan discovered the illness, we turned the living room into a hospital ward. We also started round-the-clock nurses. I worked less, and often spent hours at her bedside, sometimes just holding her hand as she slept.

Megan paled and her skin turned that pasty ashen color we too often realize belongs to the dying. She'd made peace with the spiritual side of her temporal life. She liked it when I'd read her spiritual books of some kind. She told me she found peace and serenity in them that she needed to cope.

On Wednesday morning, Megan surprised me again. I'd been reading to her, but my voice had gotten strained so I'd asked for a break so I could get a cup of coffee and recover a little. We felt so in harmony with one another.

"I like it when you read to me," She said. "Part of what you're telling me is the story, but the more important thing you're telling me is that you still love me." She smiled at me.

I squeezed her hand and vocalized my love for her -- forever.

"Matt," She said, "There's something I want you to do for me before I erode away much further."

"What's that, Darling?"

"I want you to bring Emma to me. I want to meet her -- face to face."

Chapter 8

Emma appeared to take Megan's request in stride, without any hesitation whatsoever. "I'll be on the next airplane," She said. "I'll call you back in a few minutes after I've made arrangements." As it turned out, she'd arrive on a red-eye the next morning. She told me later, she'd been ready for the meeting for most of her life.

Megan found some delight in her secret knowledge of my long-running affair with Emma. When I had asked, "How did you know?" she'd brushed off the question with a sly smile.

She'd said, "I'll tell you later when we're all together. Don't worry. I won't talk about any of this until Emma is here."

I'd even asked, "Are there things you want to know?"

Megan replied, "Nothing and everything. Wait until Emma is here, and then we'll talk."

I accepted Megan's edict. She drifted off to sleep on the hospital bed with a peaceful smile on her face.

The next morning, I drove in and picked up Emma at Boston's Logan Airport. It was the first time I'd seen her in months -- since before Megan announced her cancer. We hugged and kissed at the airport. I really had missed seeing her, yet I was uncertain about how this day would play out. Emma seemed more self-assured.

As I drove us to Wellesley, I noted how the distance between my two worlds -- my two loves -- was finally shrinking to zero in this one short trip from the airport to my home.

For thirty-five years -- thirty-five years my mind screamed! -- I'd kept my two worlds so separate: Megan-Emma, east coast-west coast, doctor-engineer, care giver-free spirit. Now, like the collision of two galaxies, I felt the merging energies of all those years on this one day in March.

Emma didn't ask a lot of questions. We didn't even talk much on the drive. She did ask about Megan's current state of health, something I'd kept her fairly up to date on in our brief telephone calls several times a week.

I led Emma into the foyer of our home. The nurse met us with a smile and urged us to go into the made-over living room and see Megan. "She's excited about seeing you," She said with a smile.

Megan was sitting up in her hospital bed. She'd put on some makeup, the first I'd seen her wear in weeks. She didn't look so pale. She'd also gotten the nurse to give her one of her wigs, so she looked more natural and less sickly than she really was. The bed covers were tight across her legs and their starched crispness seemed appropriate to the meeting in some way.

Emma walked to the bed with her hand extended in friendship; "Hi. I'm Emma," she said. "I take it we both know a few things about each other."

Megan smiled and said, "Yes, and I've wanted to meet you for thirty-five years. I've known about you all this time." I practically recoiled in shock at that statement.

"Megan!" I exclaimed. "Why didn't you say something?" At first Megan ignored my comment.

There was a long silence as Emma and Megan studied each other. I watched a palpable warmth pass between the two women as they held hands. Emma hitched herself onto the side of the hospital bed so she could remain close to Megan. The instantaneous connection between the two women was not lost on me.

Megan finally turned to me and said, "I didn't say anything because I love you. I've also come to love you Emma." She paused and said, "I have some things to confess to the two of you. You see, you aren't the only people that have kept secrets all these years."

I looked with both astonishment and confusion at Megan. I didn't understand her statement.

Megan went on, "When you and I started to get serious many years ago, my father insisted I have you checked out by a private investigator. At the time, I was horrified that he'd want to do that -- He was being protective, but then it seemed such a simple move that would remove any doubts my family had; I'm sure you remember my father. It was in an age before prenuptial agreements, and he wanted to be sure that you weren't after me for my inheritance or money or whatever. Anyway, I told him the only way I'd do it was if I hired and got the report directly; he or mother weren't to be involved. Any decision was mine. Dad agreed."

I started to see where this might go.

She continued, "Summer Investigators -- that's who I hired. Frank Summer was the investigator all those years ago. He followed you for a month, and according to him used some sophisticated listening devices that he described in those days as barely legal." Megan laughed at the expression on my face. "I think you two had been seeing each other for about four months at that time."

I thought back to the passionate times Em and I engaged in all those years before, limited only by the hours in the day and our need to be gainfully employed. I winced to think what an investigator would have to report about our activities. My unease apparently showed on my face. Emma, I noted, had a peaceful look on hers as she sat on the side of the bed next to Megan.

Megan went on, "When Frank Summer came back from following you to the west coast, he was confused by what he found, and at first so was I. Oh, he knew unequivocally that you two were sexually involved -- romantically involved. At first, I thought my father had been right, and that you were after me for my family's money, but then Summer played a tape he'd made of the two of you talking -- about me. Emma, you were telling Matthew how to love me, how to court and woo me, how to be nice to me, how to be open and honest with me, how to build a long-term relationship." Tears were forming in Megan's eyes as she talked.

She continued, "I remember those early years vividly -- perhaps more so because of what I learned. Matt would come back from seeing you and follow your directions. I kept Summer working on this -- he had some friend he worked with in the Bay Area too. Anyway, there was never an inconsistent message. Matt loved me, and Matt loved you, and that love grew every day." She turned to Emma and squeezed her hand and added, "What surprised me is that you loved me too." We all had tears in our eyes.

I moved to the bed so I could sit opposite Emma at the foot of Megan's bed. I said, "You could have turned and run. That was right before we got engaged. Why did you ...?"

Megan interrupted me, "There were other tapes. Summer never let me hear you two making love. I think in the long run that was a wise decision on his part. He did let me hear some of your pillow talk, and certainly some of the more casual conversations you had -- at least the ones he'd captured. They had a common theme: you were two caring people, you both cared about each other, and you both cared a great deal about me and the longevity and permanence of our relationship."

"I had a decision to make about whether I should enter this fray -- this convoluted threesome that I wasn't supposed to know about, or whether I should run the other way." She paused and looked between the two of us, "Of course, by then, I was really in love with Matthew. I knew it was treacherous ground and probably a very unwise decision at the time, but I accepted his proposal of marriage. I even knew about it ahead of time because he'd talked about it with you only a few days earlier." She grinned at Emma and the two women's hands tightened together again for a moment.

I asked, "Did you just keep an eye on us all these years?" I wondered how much of the evolving relationship Megan knew about.

Megan blushed and said, "Yes, but please don't be mad at me. I'm not angry with you -- either of you. A first, I had Summer and his west coast associate see what was happening every few months, then every year, and later every few years. Summer finally retired, and I just stopped for a long time; that was over ten years ago. I got curious last year whether you two were still seeing each other; I was glad to find out you were. The findings were always similar -- you two had a loving relationship and had extended that to include me, even though I wasn't supposed to know about it."

"I figured I could bail out of things -- before we got engaged, before we got married, and later, before we had children. I remember thinking I'd leave if I saw any signal that you didn't love me or that you loved Emma more. I never saw or felt anything other than your love. Sometime, early in our marriage, I realized I didn't have to compete. All I had to do was be myself."

"Over time, I learned a little about Emma and how she thinks. I had a candid photo for a while so I knew what you looked like -- how pretty you are. I knew you were a free spirit and smart, that you had your own cautions, fears, and aspirations, and I think I understood why you loved Matthew."