December 5, 1993

Michael's POV

So ... today's the day of Becky's operation. No words can describe how nervous I am; for me, for her ... for everyone involved in this. I just pray to God that the operation will be successful, and that the cancer can be removed.

Right now, me and Becky are at the hospital. We've been here a lot lately; what with check ups and meetings with the cancer support nurse. It's been quite an ordeal.

Becky's putting on a brave face; I can tell. Something in me is saying that she's mentally dying, but she has a faint smile on her face, obviously trying to appear calm. I know she's not.

"You know it'll be okay ... " I assure her softly, "Have you ever had an operation before?"

She exhales, "No ... never. Do they hurt, Michael? It sounds like a ridiculous question, but does any part of it hurt at all?"

The genuine concern in her eyes breaks my heart, so I take her hand and rub her knuckles gently, to give her a little comfort, "Sweetheart, I can assure you that you'll feel nothing. Maybe after the operation, you'll feel a little fatigued, but apart from that, you should be okay, providing all goes well—"

"Providing all goes well?" she cries, "You mean to say it could all go wrong?!" she asks in a panic.

"Hey, hey, calm down Becky. Operations to remove cancer ... they're just different to other operations. Each patient is different, like the nurse said, remember? Chances are, it'll be a complete success, so you'll be okay. Just think of the best outcomes, not the worst, okay?" I calm her down with my words, "Now ... you'll be going down for your operation in about five minutes, so you'll need to keep calm okay? Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths ... "

She breathes slower than before, closing her eyes and tilting her head back a little bit to steady her nerves, "I just want this nightmare to be over, Michael ... " she whimpers, "I swear, I'll never take normal health for granted ever again if I get cured ... "

A sigh escapes my lips, as I rub her knuckles once more, "Gosh, I wish it were that easy, I really do ... but sadly it isn't. We can't just make a wish, and hope that it'll come true ... that's why you need to stay positive. Maybe it'll happen if you remain positive," I answer.

The nurse then enters the room, "Miss Summers, we're ready to take you down," she says invitingly.

At that moment, Becky starts to panic a little. I know why – it's because she's worried about being put to sleep, and the fact that the operation might not work. It's completely understandable – I'm feeling nervous about it, too.

"Sweetie ... calm down. Panicking won't do you any good," I tell her, taking her into my embrace, "Just ... shh ... calm down ... " I repeat my little mantra to her, stroking her hair gently and shushing her softly to soothe her, "Shh ... shh ... calm down ... " Once she's calmed down a little, I sit opposite her, looking her deeply in the eyes, "Now look. You'll be just fine, okay? I'll be staying at the hospital the entire time. I won't be leaving at all. If you want me, I'll come as soon as I can."

She nods, shaking somewhat violently from anxiousness, "Please don't leave," she begs, "Please Michael, please don't leave the hospital ... "

Seeing her in this state breaks me. The pain she must be bearing is simply unimaginable to me. I'll never be able to see it the way she does.

"I can promise that more than I ever promised anything, sweetheart. I'm gonna be here the entire time," I answer after a few moments silence between us.

"Miss Summers," the nurse presses politely.

Becky nods at the nurse, before turning to look at me, "I'm going to have to go ... " she states weakly.

Not speaking right away, I take her tightly into my embrace, almost feeling as if I never want to let her precious self go, "I love you more than anything in this world, excluding Miracle," I remind her, fighting back tears.

"I love you too," she answers tearfully, her voice muffled against my shirt. She pulls away, looking forlornly into my eyes, "Please ... don't leave," she pleads one final time, "Please ... "

"I'm never leaving." My hand reaches up to stroke her hair one final time, "Never."

She stands on her tiptoes and pecks my lips, before taking my hand in hers, slowly letting it slip through her fingers the further she walks away. I know how nervous she is ... it doesn't take a genius to work it out. I would be lying to say I'm feeling completely fine about it, myself.

--

It's been four hours since Becky went down to her operation. What's going on? Surely it should be over by now! I'm beginning to worry ... really badly. I just hope to God she's okay.

I'm sitting in the waiting room, one leg crossed over the other, my arms sprawled across my lap, my head leaning back against the wall. Despite it only being two o'clock in the afternoon, I'm tired as hell. This whole thing is sucking the life out of us all, little by little.

My mind keeps going back to different things; first it's the kids, then Becky's parents – who will be arriving soon to see how Becky is – and then, more importantly, Becky herself. She's my main concern right now.

The waiting room door opens, and I see Becky's parents peep their heads through the little gap in it.

"Michael," her mother says, "How is she? Is she finished yet?" she asks softly, only just louder than a whisper. She and Becky's father enter the room, sitting down next to me, "Have you heard anything at all?"

A sigh passes my lips, "Nothing. She went down four hours ago, and obviously she still isn't finished." Tears start to form in my eyes, but I try to blink them back so I don't cry in front of Becky's parents, "Man, I just hope she's okay ... "

"We all do, sweetie," her mother says, "And it's okay to cry, if you want, Michael. We've all been doing a bit of that, lately."

Hearing those words, I become more comfortable, and a tear falls slowly down my cheek. Becky's mother sees this, so she takes a tissue from her bag, and passes it to me. I use it to gently wipe the tears away, before averting my eyes downwards sadly.

"It's just ... each time we think life is getting better, it gets worse again. We were expecting a child, we were gonna plan the wedding, but then ... this happened. Why must all the bad things have to happen to me and Becky? Becky doesn't deserve this at all ... " I explain painfully.

Becky's father gives me a sympathetic smile, "We understand, Michael. It's awful, what you're going through; what we're all going through. But it can't be changed, as much as we want it to be. That's the sad truth in this life."

Another tear rolls down my cheek, so Becky's mother takes me into her embrace, which I gladly accept. I need a hug right about now. My head leans on her shoulder, the way Becky's normally does to mine, and she strokes my curls in a motherly way.

"Remember me and Dave are always here for you," she says, referring to Becky's father too, "I know we got off on the wrong foot when we first met, but now we're family, and we're always here to look out for you. Okay?" she smiles invitingly down on me.

I make a small nod of my head clear, "Thank you."

The waiting room door opens, before a nurse enters, "Hello guys. Miss Summers' operation has been completed, and she just needs to rest," she explains.

"But was it a success?" I ask a little too quickly.

The nurse exhales through her nose, almost as if she's bracing herself for what she's about to say, "Mr Jackson; Mr and Mrs Summers, that's something we need to discuss."

"What do you mean?" I suddenly leap up from my seat, walking over to her, "Has something happened? Has it gone wrong? What is it!" I demand in a panic.

"Mr Jackson, please calm down. I'll need to tell her parents, too. Sit down, please."

"I want to see her," I decide, "Please let me see her."

"Mr Jackson ... you're a doctor yourself, am I correct?" the nurse interrogates.

I nod my head slowly, "Yes ... I'm a doctor. Why do you ask?" My tone is more calm; I'm trying to relax a little more now.

"Then you should know that Miss Summers needs to rest. She can't have visitors for a few minutes. I'll let you in once I've told you what's happening," she finishes, gesturing towards the chair I was previously sitting in, "Now please sit, so I can tell you."

Giving in, I pace over to the chair and take a seat. Becky's mother rubs my back to calm me down, but all I care about is knowing what's happened.

"Now," the nurse sits on the arm of one of the other chairs, "We operated on Miss Summers, but we were unable to remove the cancer. So ... we've moved some of the smaller organs and whatnot around to allow the cancer to spread at a lower speed. That should prolong her life significantly. But ... "

She pauses for a moment, and inside my heart, I already know why she's taking the pause. I know exactly what she's about to say, and I believe it involves the word "terminal".

"I'm sorry, Mr Jackson; Mr and Mrs Summers, but Miss Summers' cancer is terminal ... "

Yep, I knew it. Terminal cancer. Terminal ... cancer. I can't even put into words, how many different, painful emotions I'm feeling right now. I feel sick to my stomach.

"Terminal means ... untreatable, right?" Becky's father asks softly.

The nurse nods sympathetically, "I'm afraid so, Mr Summers. However, we can offer chemotherapy treatment, which will help to kill the mutated cancer cells. This will also help to prolong Miss Summers' life; help her live a more fuller life."

No. It won't be a full life. She's got terminal cancer, and considering the state she's currently in, she probably doesn't even realise it. I'm quite simply speechless. Speechless ...

"What's the expectancy ... her life expectancy?" I question dejectedly, averting my eyes downwards in grief. I don't want to make eye contact with anyone right now.

"Mr Jackson, we can't put a precise figure on it as of now—"

"Just estimate," I press firmly. Then, my voice gives out, "Please ... "

She exhales, obviously giving in, and she shifts her gaze upwards to think a moment, "Well ... obviously, I can't put a decent figure on it, but an educated guess – providing the chemotherapy is successful – would be around three to four years."

"Three to four years," I repeat, almost finding it humorous that she thinks that counts as a "full life", as she puts it, "That ... that's not a full life. That's ... that's simply a piss-take. You're saying ... " My eyes start to fill with tears of anger, "You're saying that she's gonna be dead ... in three to four years!" I fully lose control then, literally falling to my knees in grief, "Why does all the bad stuff have to happen to—" My tears choke me before I can finish my sentence, so instead of finishing, I end up growling in anger, "Curse this world!"

"Mr Jackson—"

"Call me Michael! Mr Jackson is my father!" I cry, "Please ... please just let me see my baby girl ... " My voice becomes desperate.

Becky's mother kneels down at my side, taking my hand and helping me up off the floor, "Michael, come on ... calm down, please ... she's just stating the facts; don't get angry at her honey ... " She dries the remainder of my tears away, before turning to the nurse, "Please can we go see Becky, now?"

I can tell she's hurting just as much as me, if not more. This is her daughter we're talking about, here. This must be absolutely mortifying to her ... I need to comfort her, rather than her comforting me ...

The nurse nods, "Yes, you can go see her. I'll take you to her room."

Once I've stood myself up, my arm wraps around Becky's mother, kind of in support, "Thank you ... I need to be here for you, just like you're here for me ... " I tell her, my voice still weak from the outburst I just had.

She gives me a nod, acknowledging my words, but unsure on how to reply to them. We follow the nurse out the waiting room, and down a few corridors, until we come to a little room marked "Intensive Care". That just means that she's being looked after more than patients on normal wards.

She opens the door quietly, and when I peer through the small gap, my heart breaks. There's Becky, lying there sleeping, completely out of it ... and the number of tubes in and around her body is ... horrific. This is not the Becky I like to see; not at all.

... I just want my sweetheart to be okay again ...

This one gave me feels, I'll admit that now. :(
I hope this chapter was okay for you. ❤️