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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
08.

The
following Thursday saw Tara and Marshall back at the doctor's office. He'd
insisted on taking another day off work to go with her. "I'll be
fine," she'd told him over and over. "Believe it or not, I am a big
girl."

"You're
my girl," he said stubbornly. "And you're not going by
yourself."

Since
their argument Monday night, he'd tried like hell to act decently towards her.
The girls were thrilled that he was coming home earlier, and after they went to
bed, he and Tara would watch a movie or just lay in bed with the lights off.
She admitted how scared she was about her cancer, and he listened without
interrupting, just holding her tighter with each crack of her voice.

They were
ushered into the doctor's office as soon as they arrived, and only had to wait
a few minutes. Tara flipped through a brochure about breast cancer and Marshall
stared at the framed paintings on the wall, his expression unreadable. She
could see fear in his eyes, though, and it made her chest tighten.

As soon
as Dr. Cardwell entered, however, Marshall was all business. He stood to shake
the doctor's hand and said, bluntly, "I'm not one for beating around the
bush, sir. What do you know?"

The
doctor sat behind his oak desk, took his glasses off, and rubbed the bridge of
his nose. "I got your medical records from the physician in Detroit, Miss
Allister. Your biopsy was inconclusive, and a laparotomy was recommended. You
never consented to that."

Marshall
frowned. "What's a laparotomy?"

"A
surgical opening in the abdomen," the doctor explained patiently.
"Miss Allister's-"

"Call
me Tara."

"Tara's
tumor is in her GI tract. Her doctor in Boston used an endoscope - a tube
inserted through her mouth, down her esophagus, and into her stomach and
intestines - to collect a small tissue sample. But because cancer sometimes
grows beneath the lining of a person's stomach or intestines, it's not always
possible to detect the presence of cancer with small endoscopic forceps without
causing internal bleeding."

"So
you don't know if she has cancer?"

The
doctor shook his head. "We did run extensive blood tests, and Tara is
quite anemic. Some people with GIST become anemic because of bleeding from the
tumor, and we think that's the case here. Right now," he said, almost
apologetically, "we're pretty sure that this isn't a benign tumor."

Tara
cleared her throat. "So I have to have surgery?"

"A
laparotomy is hardly surgery," he said kindly. "It's a tiny incision
in your abdomen, and you're completely sedated. It takes less than half an hour
and the results give us a much better idea of what we're working with. It's
very precise."

"How
long does she have to be in the hospital?"

"It's
an outpatient surgery. We keep her long enough to make sure there haven't been
any adverse reactions to the anesthetics, and send you on your way. You'll feel
a bit of pain for the first day or two, but only a slight discomfort
afterwards, and I'll prescribe a pain medication to help with that."

Tara
swallowed hard. Surgery.

"If
you're going to do surgery, can't you just take it out?"

"That's
an option, yes. But there are a lot of treatment options, and surgery might not
be the most effective in this case. We just won't know for sure until we know
if this tumor is cancerous and whether or not the cancer has spread."

Marshall
bit the inside of his mouth. "The cancer could spread?"

"That's
always a possibility."

"When
do you suggest you do this...?�

"Laparotomy?
The sooner, the better. We want to catch this before it has the chance
to spread. Whenever is convenient for you, of course, Tara, but soon
nonetheless."

"Schedule
it for as soon as possible," Marshall said.

"Marshall!"
Tara objected.

He shot
her a look that would melt steel. "What's the point of waiting?" he
asked. "You have more time to scare yourself, you give this shit more time
to spread. We're going to get this taken care of, okay? Then we'll go to
Paris."

Tara's
laparotomy was scheduled for the next morning. The doctor told her not to eat
or drink anything after midnight, but she doubted she'd be able to stomach
anything even if she were able to eat. Marshall ordered Chinese and they ate at
the small table in the kitchen, the girls listening with wide eyes while Tara
and Marshall explained what would happen the next day. Hailie surprised Tara by
coming around and giving her a hug, and with huge eyes she said, "My daddy
will take good care of you, and while he's workin', me and Laney will take care
of you."

Tara was
touched beyond belief. If she were in Hailie's position, she'd be insane with
jealousy if a woman started demanding more of her father's already minimal
attention. Despite his faults, Marshall had done one hell of a job raising his
girls.

When they
finished eating, Laney and Hailie spread their homework out on the coffee table
in the living room. Tara settled in a recliner with a fleece throw blanket, and
Marshall turned the gas fireplace on, then went and got some paperwork to look
through. Listening to Hailie and Laney talk and giggle quietly over their
homework, looking over and seeing Marshall sitting on the couch with his
glasses on, warm and comfortable beneath the blanket, she felt more at home
than she had in a long time.

The only
thing that would make things better would be Cameron on her lap. She'd happily
trade her best-selling novel for a children's book, and the five of them could
sit there in the warm living room in front of the fire like a real family.

She
scoffed. Even if she had Cameron, she doubted she and Marshall could ever have
a real family. Things between them were better than she'd ever dreamed, but she
wasn't going to fool herself. He was still the same person, after all, and even
if he was capable of sharing a bed, she didn't know if he was ever going to be
capable of sharing a life again. He'd tried that with Kim, and look how it
worked out? Despite all of his good, there was still a lot of bad. He was
jealous and possessive, but he hated anyone putting restraints down on him, and
a traditional family with a woman and a man and children was definitely
restrictive.

Her stomach
hurt, and she didn't know if it was because of the Chinese she'd eaten or the
thoughts in her head. Nausea rose in her throat, but she was so sick of
vomiting that she swallowed the bile. It was disgusting, but better than
throwing it up. Her throat was raw and hurt, and she was scared that the
stomach acid she threw up so much would start to decay her teeth no matter how
much she brushed them.

There she
sat, happy and sad, wondering if she would ever have the family she dreamed of,
wondering if she'd ever get to hold her boy again, nauseous and scared. What a
life, she thought. What a fucking life.

When she
got to the doctor's office the next morning, they drew blood and asked her to
change into a gown. Marshall didn't leave the room while she changed, watching
her with blank eyes while she undressed. He tied the back of the gown shut for
her, then sat beside her on the edge of the examination bed. "Are you
scared?"

"I
stopped being scared a long time ago," she said. "I'm
terrified."

"I'm
right here."

She felt
guilty about all the work he was missing. She had felt him get out of bed the
night before and watched him for a few minutes as he took his laptop out,
opened a briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of papers, and started paging
through them. "What are you doing?" she'd asked, and he smiled at her
from across the room and gently told her to get some rest.

He didn't
look tired, just nervous. "You're going to be fine," he said.

"I
don't like the idea of having my stomach cut open."

He smiled
at her, lifted the side of the gown up, and poked her soft tummy. "It
probably won't even scar," he said. "This doctor is very good, Tara.
You don't need to worry."

"Of
course I don't need to," she said, leaning into him and bumping her
shoulder against his. "But I am."

"I
know."

He was
full of surprises, she thought, when he reached over and laced his fingers
through hers. She couldn't remember ever holding hands with him, but her hand
fit inside of his as though it was made to. He had small hands for a man, just
bigger than hers, and their fingers wove together perfectly. She looked up and
felt the air leave her lungs. The stare he fixed on her was so intense that she
felt suffocated beneath its weight.

"What?"
she asked softly, almost afraid of his response.

The
silence was deafening, and his mouth formed words long before he finally spoke.
"I love you, Tara. I love you, and you're gonna be just fine. Okay?"

"Okay,
Em," she whispered. "Okay."

Marshall
paced the waiting room during Tara's procedure, and after 45 minutes, a nurse
in pink hospital scrubs came out to tell him that everything went fine and that
he would be able to see her in just a few minutes. Those few minutes were
torturous. Even though the surgery was very minor, he was a nervous wreck. This
was his Tara, the same girl that pushed him to pursue a career, the same girl
that turned her head when he slept with Kim time and time again, the same girl
that loved him despite his inability to commit, the same girl that finally pushed
him away when it became too much to bear.

She
deserved so much more than he was capable of giving her and yet she never
complained. She trembled when he touched her, her lips parted, her eyelids
fluttered. She beamed at him when he entered a room and stared up at him in
something like awe when she gave him head. He loved her, loved every fucking
thing about her, loved the way she moved and the way she laughed and the way
she talked. And only now that he could lose her to something he had no control over
did he realize it.

When the
nurse finally came for him, he followed her to the recovery room with sweaty
palms. Marshall was not a nervous man by nature. He was confident, at least on
the outside. But he felt his composure crack when he saw Tara lying in the
hospital bed, cocooned in thick white blankets, skin pasty white. She looked
too small and fragile there. He wanted to pick her up and carry her home to put
her on the leather couch that she loved to fuck him on. She never looked small
and fragile on that leather couch.

"Tara?"
he asked softly.

She
smiled weakly, but her eyes remained closed. "Em," she said.
"I've been waiting."

"You've
been waiting?" he asked, finding her hand beneath the blankets.

Her eyes
opened then. "You were right, Em. I'm fine."

He felt
like kissing her forehead, holding her in his arms and rocking her, brushing
her hair back from her face - romantic things that he never wanted to do, never
even saw the point in doing. Suddenly he wanted to do all of them.
Seeing her lying there, so small and fragile - it made him feel powerless, and
he hated that feeling more than any other.

"How
long 'til I get to go home?" she asked. "Can I have a drink?"

"I
don't know. Let me go find the nurse."

"Hurry
back to me," she murmured, and he kissed her softly on the mouth.

When he
came back into the room, she'd already fallen asleep, her head hanging limply
to one side. Gently, he pushed it back up onto the pillow. She barely stirred.

Sitting
idly was one thing Marshall hated to do. Regardless of where he was, he felt
like he'd go crazy if he didn't have something to occupy his mind with.
But in that hospital room, the afternoon sunlight slanting across Tara's face
in yellow-and-gray stripes, he felt like doing absolutely nothing but sitting
beside her, one hand around hers beneath the blankets, waiting for her to wake
up.

The next
couple of days were a blur for Tara. She was worried about the results of her
laparotomy, and between the time she spent worrying and the time she spent in a
Vicadin-induced haze, time seemed to float by. While Marshall worked, the girls
brought her soup and tiptoed around the bed, looking for excuses to linger.
Tara enjoyed their company; she still hadn't figured out Marshall's TVs, and
they had both inherited Marshall's sense of humor. Listening to Hailie's jokes
and watching Laney's impressions brought her spirits up.

When
Marshall wasn't at the office or studio, he acted strangely affectionate
towards her, yet seemed to be distracted by something. Tara asked him a couple
of times what was bothering her, but he waved her off with what was meant to be
a comforting smile. "Nothing is bothering me," he said repeatedly,
and she finally quit asking.

They
finally heard from the doctor on Wednesday of the following week. Tara was up
and about by then, looking at universities around the Detroit area to finish
her degree during the day and spending time with the girls and Marshall at
night. She slept more than what was probably good for her, but it was nice to
have no responsibilities. For so long, her life had been dictated by an alarm
clock and a schedule. She felt impossibly free without any obligations on her
time. She and Marshall grew increasingly optimistic as time wore on - surely if
the results were that bad, they would have heard something by now? they asked
each other.

But when
the doctor called, he sounded very serious and refused to discuss anything over
the phone. He asked Tara to come in early the next morning. When she hung up,
her hands were shaking, and she immediately dialed Marshall's office number. He
answered, sounding distracted. "Marshall."

"Hey,
Em? It's Tara. Are you busy?"

"Sorta,
but I can talk for a minute. What's up?"

"The
doctor just called me."

"Yeah?"

"He
sounded pretty serious, Em. He wants me to come in first thing in the morning,
he said it's important."

"What
else did he say?"

"Nothing.
He wouldn't say anything. He said it wasn't something he wanted to discuss over
the phone?"

Marshall scoffed.
"Did you tell him too fucking bad, that it was something you wanted
to discuss over the fuckin' phone?"

"I
tried to get him to tell me, Marshall. Don't get upset, please?"

She could
hear him breathe deeply, and then: "I'm upset, Tara."

"I
can't handle you being upset right now."

"Hi,
I'm Marshall Mathers. I get upset sometimes."

"Don't
be a smartass."

"Hi,
I'm Mar-"

"You're
a smartass, Marshall."

He
laughed. "Do you want me to come home?"

"Not
if you're busy."

"I
can come home if you want me to."

"Marshall,"
she said, exasperated. "I just told you that I didn't want you to come if
you were busy."

"I'll
be home in a few minutes," he said, and she heard papers rustling.
"Where are the girls?"

"Downstairs
with Becka," she said. Becka was the girls' nanny, a quiet middle-aged
woman that they absolutely adored.

"Okay.
I'll be home in a bit."

"Okay,"
she said, and bit her lip. She never knew if she should tell him she loved him
before hanging up the phone.

He hung
up before she could get the chance.

They all
went out to eat that night, though none of them ate very much. Laney looked at
Tara from across the table and said, very solemnly, "Tara, Hailie and I
decided that we'd really like it if you stuck around after you got
better."

"I'm
afraid that the cancer is more developed than we'd initially thought," the
doctor said the next morning. A receptionist brought in coffee and donuts, and
the tray sat untouched on a low table in the doctor's office. "I don't
think the tumor can be removed without causing damage to your small intestine.
I'm afraid we have to rule a removal surgery out."

"What
does that mean?" Marshall demanded. He had his business face on, lips set
in a straight line, eyes trained hard on the doctor.

"Well,
it doesn't leave us with many options," he said. He took his glasses off
and wiped the lenses with a tissue. "It's not hopeless, so please don't
think that's what I'm implying. That isn't the case at all."

"So
what are the options?"

"There
are two forms of surgery that may be effective. One is called resection. If we
choose that option, we'll remove part of Tara's small intestine and any smaller
organs nearby that the cancer may have spread to. After we remove the cancerous
part of the small intestine, we'll perform an anastomosis, which is a joining
of the cut ends of the intestines together. We'll also remove the lymph nodes
near the small intestine and send those to a pathologist to be studied."

"The
other form?" Tara asked, swallowing.

"A
bypass. If we choose a bypass, the tumor will remain, and we'll simply bypass
the section of the intestine that's being blocked by the tumor. I don't think
that would be the best option in this case, at least not permanently, because
the tumor is cancerous and there's always the possibility of cancer
spreading."

"So
I'm basically looking at having part of my intestine cut out."

"There
are still other treatment options that we haven't discussed, Tara. Don't let
this bring you down. The technological advances regarding cancer have been
huge. If we decide on resection, the first procedure I told you about, we can
do a few rounds of adjuvant therapy."

"What's
that?" Marshall asked.

"Adjuvant
therapy is any treatment given after a surgery to improve the chances of
recovery. Usually, we'll use radiation therapy to kill whatever cancer cells
have been left behind."

"What
does radiation therapy involve?" Tara asked, sounding frightened.
"Isn't radiation bad for you?"

The
doctor smiled. "Not necessarily. Radiation therapy is a very common form
of cancer treatment that uses high-energy x-rays or other types of radiation to
kill cancer cells. There are two types of radiation, external and internal,
which are simple enough. External gives the body large doses of radiation
through the skin. Internal radiation is a bit more complicated. That form of
therapy uses a radioactive substance sealed in needles, seeds, wires, or
catheters that is placed directly into or very near the cancer."

Tara felt
like she was drowning beneath a lake's worth of water.

"And
no matter what we decide on, we'll also take advantage of biologic therapy.
It's a new treatment that uses your immune system to fight the cancer.
Substances, whether made by your body or in a laboratory, are used to boost
your natural defenses against the cancer."

"I've
heard of that," Tara said. "Immunotherapy. My doctor in Boston told
me about it."

"At
early stages, it has a decent success rate."

"I'm
not in an early stage." It was a statement, not a question, and the doctor
didn't respond. Instead, he pulled out a thick folder and pushed it across the
desk towards Tara.

"You
have a lot to think about. I've highlighted the best treatment options, but
you're more than welcome to read through everything here. If you have any
questions, my office, home, and cell phone numbers are on the cover, and you
can call any time, no matter how small the question. I'm not going to expect
you to decide on anything immediately, but we shouldn't wait too long."

Marshall
picked the folder up. "Thank you," he said.

"You're
welcome, Mr. Mathers." He stood and extended his hand for Marshall to
shake. Tara didn't move. "Do you have any questions?"

"I
have thousands," Tara said. "But I need to sort them out before I
start asking."

"That's
fine," he said, smiling warmly. "Don't worry, Tara. We'll take good
care of you."
- 7
- 8
- 9
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