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Up From Here	By : aliciakristine Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 3454 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Eminem (Marshall Mathers). I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Author�s Note:
I�m not a
doctor, and I�m definitely not a cancer specialist. I don�t know much about the
disease except how devastating it is, and that�s the main thing I wanted to
portray. I don�t know if I�ve done a good job at that � you can be the judge.
The only thing I ask is that you forgive any errors or impossibilities in the technical
medical description of Tara�s illness, surgery, and recovery. I�ve done my fair
share of research, but I�m sure there are a few errors, so please overlook them.

Thank you
to those of you that have reviewed thus far � my story isn�t over just yet, and
I hope you keep reading until it is. If you want to contact me privately, my
email address is something_pretty__@hotmail.com.
I�m also on AIM quite a bit in the evenings. My screen name is leesha kristine.
Please don�t hesitate to send me an instant message or an e-mail � I�d love to
hear from you! I love getting feedback,
whether it�s a rave or constructive criticism. Feedback is what keeps authors
going.

10.

The
emergency room doctor examined Tara and called Dr. Cardwell, who had Tara
transferred to a private hospital closer to his clinic. They scheduled her
surgery for seven o'clock the next morning despite her halfhearted objections,
and Marshall stared at her with menace in his eyes until she signed the
necessary paperwork giving the surgeons permission to operate.

The nurse
smiled at her when she took the papers from her. "I know you're
scared," she said. "But Dr. Cardwell is one of the best cancer
surgeons in the country. You're in wonderful hands."

Marshall
called Becka, who brought the girls to the hospital to see Tara. Because the
hospital was privately owned and Marshall was paying an astronomical amount of
money for her suite, the nurses didn't enforce the visiting hours or the age
limits. The girls bounded in with all of their nervous energy and young
optimism, and Marshall could see some of the weight lift from Tara's shoulders
almost immediately.

"We
were so worried," Laney said with huge eyes, pulling a chair up to the
side of Tara's bed. Hailie didn't bother with a chair and climbed right up
beside her.

"You
have to have surgery?" Hailie asked.

They
didn't even acknowledge Marshall. He sat down in the corner of the room in a
comfortable leather lounge chair and tried to keep himself from going crazy. It
made him so happy to see the girls with Tara. They had their heads together -
Hailie with her blonde hair, Laney with her dark brown, and Tara with her
honey-brown. They didn't even slightly resemble each other, but they fit. Maybe
because he loved them all so, so much.

Tara
visited with the girls for over two hours. They talked about boys at school
that Tara seemed to have heard of before, about a grade Laney got on her
pre-algebra test, about a recipe for Mississippi Mud Cake that Hailie found in
a magazine at school, about Tara's surgery. Marshall soaked them up, too scared
to admit even to himself that this could be the last time he saw them together.

Becka
came back for them at 9:00, and they clung to Tara. All three of them cried a
little bit. "We'll be here in the morning," Laney said without asking
Marshall if it was okay. Of course it was okay, he thought immediately. They
loved her, too. Of course it was okay. "We'll pray for you, okay,
Tara?"

"Okay,
sweetie," Tara said, wiping her eyes.

Marshall
walked the girls down to the car and made sure their seatbelts were on. Becka
smiled at him, still shy after more than two years' of watching his girls, and
said quietly, "My mom had breast cancer. She's fine now. I'm sure Tara
will be okay."

"I'm
sure, too," he said. "Thank you." He kissed the girls and hugged
them, then stood in the parking lot with his hands shoved deep in his pockets
and watched Becka pull out onto the street.

Tara was
waiting for him patiently, hands folded in her lap. A yellow manila folder was
on the bed beside her. "What's that?" he asked, shutting the door
behind him.

"Sit
by me," she said, scooting over. Her bed was wider than most hospital
beds, a perk of the $1,000 he was spending per day for her to get a private
suite, and there was room for both of them. The head of the bed was raised into
a sitting position and they sat there, shoulders against each other, neither of
them saying anything.

"What's
that?" he finally asked again, pointing at the envelope beside her.

She put
her head on his shoulder. "Letters. One for Cameron, one for Rob, and one
for you."

"Stop,
Tara. You're not going to fucking die."

"I
know," she said softly. "But just in case. Promise me you'll get this
letter to Cam."

"Tara-"

"Promise
me."

"I
promise."

"And
don't read them unless something happens, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I
promise, Tara."

She
reached for his hand and curled her small fingers around his. "I love you,
Marshall."

"I
know," he said. "Me, too."

"Couldn't
you say it once?" she whispered. "Just once?"

"I
love you too, Tara."

He was
surprised at how easy the words came.

The nurse
warned Tara to get some rest, but she and Marshall stayed up all night anyway.
They played rummy and two-man spades, watched Blind Date on TV, read each other
articles from magazines, and lay in her hospital bed talking. It was the
longest Tara had seen Marshall go without smoking a blunt. His eyes were
lighter when he wasn't high.

Becka
brought the girls in at 6:30. Dr. Cardwell and a surgeon were in the room with
Tara when they arrived, and they stood quietly while the doctors finished
explaining the surgery and answering Tara's questions. She was scared. No, she
was terrified. They unhooked her IV and asked her if she'd like to see a
pastor or priest before the surgery. She said no, but the question made her
grab a fistful of Marshall's shirt. "Am I going to die?" she asked,
her eyes wild.

"No,
sweetie," Dr. Cardwell said, smiling kindly. "Some people just feel
safer going into a surgery if they talk with a pastor or priest beforehand.
You're going to be fine, okay?"

She
nodded, but she didn't release her grip on Marshall's shirt.

"The
anesthesiologist will be meeting you downstairs when the nurse wheels you
down," Dr. Cardwell told her before leaving. "You'll like him, Tara.
He's a funny guy."

"Great,"
she grumbled. "Just what I need. The guy that's going to knock me out
likes jokes."

Marshall
grinned. "You've got a little thug bitch attitude going on, Tara."

She
ignored him and opened her arms for Hailie and Laney. They both clung to her.
"We said so many prayers last night," Laney said. "And we
made you a good luck card."

Hailie
took a folded piece of paper from her backpack and gave it to Tara. On the
front was a colored pencil drawing of Tara, a big cherry-red smile on her face,
and a plate of spaghetti on a table in front of her. She laughed. "Who
drew this?"

"Hailie,"
Laney said. "I wrote the poem inside."

"The
spaghetti is because when you get done with your surgery, you'll be able to eat
again," Hailie said, smiling proudly.

"Yes,"
Tara said. "And spaghetti is the first thing we'll make."

Laney's
poem brought tears to her eyes.

We
haven't known you a very long time
But
you're in our hearts, both Hailie's and mine
We're
saying our prayers and thinking of you
Until
after your surgery is all done and through
We
know you'll be fine because you're very strong
(You
have to be, to put up with Dad for so long!)
And
when you get better, please don't leave
We all
need you more than you can believe
No
matter what happens, we'll all rise above
Because
we're behind you with all kinds of love!

On the
inside of the card opposite the poem, Hailie had drawn a picture of Tara,
flanked on one side by Marshall and on the other by the girls.

"Come
here, guys," Tara cried, and the three of them hugged so long that
Marshall started feeling left out. He took the card from Tara's hand and read
it. It almost made him cry. He put his arms around all three of them and
put his face on top of their heads.

"You
fucking girls," he said into their hair. "You know how much I love
you guys?"

Tara
looked up at him above Laney and Hailie's heads. "I know," she
whispered. "For the first time in my life, I know."

Marshall
and the girls waited in Tara's room while she was in surgery. His head
throbbed, but he didn't dare go out to his truck to smoke a blunt. He didn't
even want to get up to go to the bathroom or get something to eat, afraid he'd
be gone when the nurse came in to tell them how Tara was doing.

She came
in twice during the surgery, both times cheerfully announcing that Tara was
doing great and that the surgeon was doing an excellent job. He asked her how
much longer it would be both times, and she smiled apologetically and said
"I don't know, Mr. Mathers. The surgery is very intricate. Don't worry
because it's taking a long time, though. The doctor wants to make sure he gets
all of the cancer he can so that she won't need any more surgeries."

After
five hours, he felt like he would explode. He was exhausted and worried, though
he tried to keep a brave face for the girls. They sat quietly on Tara's bed
watching TV or coloring or reading the teenybopper magazines a nurse brought
them from the gift shop. Marshall went to the nurse's station four times in
thirty minutes, each time going back to her room knowing nothing new.
"We'll tell you as soon as she's finished," they promised repeatedly,
but he couldn't sit still and wait.

He tried
to read a few magazines, but the words were in Latin. He kept picking up the manila
envelope Tara had left with him and wondering if he should read it even though
she told him not to, but he worried that if he read it even though he promised
not to unless... well, unless something awful happened, something awful really would
happen to her.

Hailie
fell asleep at one o'clock and slept until the surgeon came in at two fifteen.
His face was very somber, and he still wore his operating scrubs. Marshall
noticed a drop of blood on his white shoes and felt his stomach turn. "Is
everything okay?" he asked immediately.

"Perhaps
we should talk privately," the doctor suggested, motioning for the
hallway.

"I'm
going to talk to the doctor outside," Marshall told a very worried Laney
and a very sleepy Hailie. "You guys wait in here, okay?" He followed
the surgeon into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him. "What's
wrong? Is she alive?"

"Yes,
Mr. Mathers. Tara is alive."

He
couldn't keep from sighing in relief.

"But
the tumor was larger than we anticipated. The lining of her intestine was
damaged. When we made the incisions to remove the cancerous part of her small
intestine, the lining tore and digestive acids leaked into her bloodstream. We
did everything we could to stop it immediately, but a very small amount can dangerously
poison someone."

Marshall's
mouth went dry. He needed a blunt, eight blunts, twenty blunts. "What does
that mean?"

"Her
blood was exposed to digestive acids. Those acids can weaken artery walls or
any organ that they come in contact with. We're most concerned with her lungs.
She stopped breathing on her own during surgery, and she's been put on a
ventilator."

Marshall
stumbled backwards against the wall. "She's not breathing?"

"We're
giving her high doses of antibiotics now that can break down the acids in the
bloodstream before they can do serious damage. Her heartbeat is still strong,
and she's not in a comatose state. Her brain function is completely normal.
We're keeping her sedated for now simply because waking up on a ventilator is
very traumatizing, and we don't want her to attempt to move or speak."

"She's
not breathing?" Marshall repeated.

"Don't
misunderstand, Mr. Mathers, Tara's condition is considered serious. We're
moving her to the intensive care unit after post-op. But I think she'll pull
through. She's a tough one."

"What
about the cancer? Did you get it?"

"Yes,
sir. That part of the surgery was successful. The tumor was removed along with
the cancerous part of the small intestine. Her treatment after this point is up
to Dr. Cardwell, of course, but I didn't see any signs of cancerous cells
anywhere else."

Marshall
took a deep breath. "When can I see her?"

"She's
hooked up to a lot of machines right now, Mr. Mathers. I don't know if that
would be such a good idea."

"I
want to see her. I don't care if she's got wires sticking out of every hole in
her body, I want to see her."

The surgeon
studied him for a minute and then sighed. "Okay. Come on, then."

He told
the girls he'd be right back, told them to stay put, and followed the surgeon
through a maze of hallways. Tara was in a post-op recovery room by herself, and
the doctor told him he could have five minutes privately. "But no more,
Mr. Mathers. She needs her rest."

Tara's
skin was pale and cool to the touch. A thick hose was connected to a tube taped
to her mouth, and two IVs were dripping into her arm. He'd never been more
frightened in his life. "Tara," he whispered. "They told me not
to wake you up, but I need to see your eyes. Please open them, baby, just
once."

She was
still heavily sedated, though, and he doubted she even knew he was there.

"I'm
sorry I've been such an ass, Tara. I can't believe I've been so mean to you.
Wake up, please? I'm so sorry for the things I say when I'm pissed off. If you
still want me, I'll be your boyfriend, I'll be anything you want. I'd probably
be your bitch in a bunny costume if you'd just open your eyes and look at
me." He felt his eyes well up with tears and he made no move to wipe them
away. In that dark hospital room beside an unconscious Tara, he told her all of
the things he'd tried to say for the last weeks. He told her how much he loved
her and how glad he was that she had come back; he promised to take her on a
trip to Paris and buy her a diamond ring so big her knuckles touched the
ground. He told her how much he loved the way she'd clicked with his girls, and
he apologized for hurting her. He said things that he didn't know he was
capable of saying, but they came from his mouth without direction from his
conscious mind.

"I
wish you could hear me," he said, kissing her forehead, the only part of
her face free of tape and tubes and hoses. "I wish you knew what I was
saying to you. I want to see your eyes, Tara, please."

Marshall
didn't believe in miracles before that moment, but the moment Tara's eyelashes
fluttered, he became a believer. "Tara," he whispered, wrapping his
hand around hers. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyes
opened.

"Don't
move, okay, baby? The doctor said it would hurt you if you moved. Squeeze my
hand if you can hear me."

She was
weak, but her fingers moved against his hand. Her eyes were unblinking on him,
filling with tears. "Did you hear everything I said?" he asked. She
squeezed his hand again, tighter this time.

He kissed
her forehead again. "I love you, Tara, do you fucking hear me? I fucking
love you, and you better get better, you better start breathing. You better
come out of this, Tara, because I can't fucking live without you again. I'm
going to see my lawyer as soon as I leave here, and we're going to start working
on a case to get Cameron back for you. Okay? We're going to do it, Tara, you'll
see, and have I told you how fucking beautiful you are? I can't believe I've
waited so long to say this, Tara, I can't fucking believe I've been such a
dickhead to you."

The nurse
opened the door. "Mr. Mathers, it's time for you to go now."

"Give
me a couple more minutes," he said. "Two fucking minutes, can you
give me that?"

The nurse
sighed, but she left.

"They're
going to keep you knocked out until you start breathing again, Tara, but I
promise I'll be here when you wake up. I fucking love you, Tara."

Her face
was wet with tears. She couldn't speak, but her eyes said everything.

"I
know you love me," he whispered. "I know you want to get better. I
know you're trying. I know everything, Tara, so please don't try to talk. Rest,
baby, and get better for me. The doctor got your cancer, he said, but acids
from your stomach got into your bloodstream and he thinks they fucked with your
lungs. I don't know how it works, I'm just a fucking idiot rapper, but I know
you're going to be fine. You're going to start breathing on your own, you're
going to wake up and walk out of here and we're going to make every fucking
tabloid headline in this country, you hear me, because I'm not ever leaving
your fucking side again."

Her eyes
crinkled in a smile.

"Well,
that's a lie. I don't want to sit beside you while you shit. But I'm not
letting you leave again. Okay?"

She
squeezed his hand.

"I'm
so glad you woke up, Tara. The girls are worried sick. I'm worried sick."

"Is
she awake?" a nurse asked, and Tara's eyes fell shut.

"I
don't know," Marshall said. "Maybe. Make sure she's not in pain,
okay? Don't let her be in pain."

"Of
course, sir."

He looked
back down at Tara and pressed another kiss to her forehead. "I love you,
Tara. I'm turning into a big pussy bitch. Look at what it took for you to get
me pussy-whipped, but you did. I love you. Sweet dreams, kid. I'll be here when
you wake up." And then, almost as an afterthought, he leaned close to her
ear. "Can I read your letters now? I confessed my undying love and fucking
devotion, can I read yours?"

She
squeezed his hand, and he left.

He sent
the girls home with Becka, gathered up Tara's things, and helped the nurses
move them upstairs to the ICU. Two reporters had gotten wind of his presence at
the hospital, so he called his security firm and had two guards posted at the
doors to her room. Then he went out to his truck and sat in the cold parking
garage, windows rolled up, a blunt between his shaking fingers, while he slowly
opened the envelope and pulled the letters out. His was on top, and he laid
that to the side. He wanted to read the others first. He knew it was none of
his business, but he was a nosy bastard and didn't give a fuck.

The
letter to Rob was the shortest, and he started with that.
- 9
- 10
- 11
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