Baby in His Arms Read online

  Table of Contents

  Baby in HIs Arms

  Baby in His Arms | Elizabeth Otto

  Prequel

  Have you ever worried about your husband or boyfriend leaving you if you get cancer?

  I’m here to tell you, you should absolutely worry about it. It happened to me, and the kicker? My boyfriend (ex!) is a doctor. Don’t worry; he’ll get what’s coming to him. Karma will make sure of it.

  You read that right. He’s a doctor. One of the best in Chicago, or so I’m told by him mostly, because, after all, you must be good to work in a busy emergency room, right? I digress.

  This boyfriend of mine started off like most narcissists do. He pursued me, heavily. Roses sent to my work. Constant gifts. Expensive dinners and vacations. I’ll admit, and it hurts my heart to do so, but he completely swept me off my feet. It was the thing every woman dreams about. That perfect meet-cute followed by a whirlwind romance. What made it better, and so hopeful and believable is that we had so much in common! I work in healthcare, too. We both do charity work, love the outdoors, have traveled to the same destinations. Even grew up on streets with the same name. At the time, it was surreal.

  Too good to be true, right?

  Don’t even get me started on the intimacy. We had that, too. A lot of it... and it was the kind romance novels are made of. I mean, who would complain about great sex right? Except that it was only another move in his sadistic game.

  About six months into our relationship, I realized he’d all but stopped noticing me. No more compliments. No more loving or funny text messages. Our dates got farther between, and when we did go out, the choice of venue wasn’t up the standards of the past. He started taking me to cheaper restaurants, as if I wasn’t worth the price of a decent meal any more. I’d stay at his house a few nights a week, and some nights he’d stay at mine so most of the week we were “together,” but the quality of that together time had drastically waned. I realize that relationships have hills and valleys, and after a few months, sometimes they die out completely.

  But this was a man who insisted that he wanted to marry me. Each time I was ready to pull out of the relationship, he’d come back with a brilliant way to make me feel wonderful and wanted and sexy again.

  He’d con me into staying.

  I told him I needed space. He bought be diamond earrings.

  I said I wouldn’t be spending the night with him for a while. He bought me Hamilton tickets.

  I lost interest in going out with him. He filled my car with balloons and teddy bears.

  Each time I was on the brink of being done with the relationship, mostly because of his behavior!, he found a way to get me back in.

  In the meantime, he worked crazy hours, often forgetting to call or text me. I worked tons of hours too, but I was never too busy to send him an I Love You text a few times a day. Would I get one back? No! It got bad again. He started coming home... angry. I knew something was up, but he’d never tell me what. Doctor Narcissist wasn’t the angry-physical type, but I started to feel like he might be inching that direction. I mean, the temper just came out of nowhere. He’d keep it controlled, would steam and pout and have little tantrums. And then he’d be fine again.

  Until the night he killed my dog.

  Okay, I’ll fast-forward because honestly, there are so many reasons I should have just walked out on him that it makes me sick. I mean, I knew he was changing, that his true, selfish, arrogant personality was beginning to show, but I didn’t know the level he’d stoop too until I got my diagnosis.

  Breast cancer. Both breasts. With lymph node involvement.

  I waited three days to tell him. I didn’t know how, you know? I mean, our relationship was still up and down. I really, really felt in my heart that he’d hold me and cry with me and be supportive, but I just wasn’t sure. Something inside was warning me to take care, to protect my heart. Women need to listen to that more, you know? That inner voice.

  I told him, “I have breast cancer.” That I was to have an immediate double mastectomy, a procedure that could help save my life. Instead of holding me, he crossed his arms and walked a distance away as if I were contagious.

  “You’re going to get your tits cut off? Jesus. That’s really going to suck.”

  I just started crying. I didn’t know how to respond. But he wasn’t done.

  “I mean, how can I have sex with you if you don’t have tits? That’s part of my attraction to you and if we don’t have attraction, we don’t have anything. How soon can you get reconstruction?”

  By now I was just standing there, crying until my face was soaked and I didn’t know what to do, what to say. He walked out. This happened at my place, and he never came back.

  Let me make this clear: I didn’t hear from him again for three weeks!

  One of the city’s best, most talented emergency room physicians left his newly diagnosed girlfriend to struggle with a cancer diagnosis, and hello, body image, all alone. He didn’t utter one kind word. Didn’t give one ounce of comfort. He insulted my breasts and walked out on me.

  You really want that doctor touching you or taking care of your loved ones?

  He called me after three weeks not to inquire about my health, but to ask for his apartment key back.

  That was over a month ago, and I’ve not heard another word except for the large box delivered to my home which contained all the things I’d left at his place, and a return label with his address.

  Now, I know doctors do amazing things. I work with them myself. My cancer doctors are amazing. I’m still alive because of them! But this man, this physician, has so mentally tormented me that I—I just got so depressed. Between the cancer and the chemo and the surgery, and then his abandonment, I got into a huge depression. I had to quit work and now I live day to day, trying to get by.

  Think about that the next time you go to the doctor.

  They don’t really care about you.

  To be continued...

  Noah Crisler resisted the urge to throw his cellphone into the Caribbean. Every day, there was more to the story, more slander added to this wicked social media roasting. Deena G. as she called herself, had taken advantage of popular, and local social media platforms to spread her campaign to ruin him, growing a huge audience in three months since this nonsense started.

  He swiped the screen to another page.

  Most of her posts had gone viral. Just this one had over 100,000 views and hundreds of comments. Probably most to the effect of what an asshole he was. He wasn’t going to read them to find out.

  Digging his toes into the sun-warmed sand, Noah crossed his arms atop his knees and looked toward the ocean. He could really use the rhythmic roll and pull of waves coming in and out, but he couldn’t see or hear them, thanks to the mass of half-naked bodies swarming the beach.

  Spring break. Just his luck.

  When the social media madness got a little too close to home, Noah’s friend had offered him a week at his time share in Cabo San Lucas. Neither of them had thought much about the time of year it was; Noah just wanted to get the hell out of Chicago for a couple days.

  His phone dinged. Noah watched the crowd for a moment, blindly seeing them, before checking the screen.

  Google alerts had picked up another mention of the scandal, this time from a notable online news site.

  Who is Dr. Narcissist, and does he represent the darker side of healthcare?

  Jesus Christ, the article already had 200 comments. Funny how people were trying so hard to find out who he was, but the cops weren’t doing much to dig into Deena G’s real identity.

  Noah grimaced. He wished he’d never met her.

  Crazy bitch.

  Deena didn’t have breast cancer, and she
hated dogs. Her real name was Natalie Waseca, 34, RN in the pediatric unit at Regions. They’d started dating just over a year ago, and it had been quickly apparent she had... issues.

  His son had recently left for college, and he was lonely in that pathetic way divorced guys seem to get. Being an empty nester wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, at least when you came home to an empty house. So, he’d hung onto Natalie because, despite her blatant issues, she was funny sometimes, a good cook. Good in bed.

  She was a warm body to come home to, either her place or his. It didn’t matter, if someone was there to fill the silence.

  Then they’d gotten into a petty argument and she’d thrown a paring knife at him. So, he’d broke it off. And now she was trying to destroy him.

  In the revenge sector of his imagination, her invisibility cloak had been lifted; the police were at her house confiscating her computer and throwing her ass in jail. All kinds of revenge scenarios were played in his head. He’d given the legal department her name, address, all the info he had and yet, there was no physical trace of Deena G.

  Still, being a ghost didn’t stop her from attacking and drawing blood.

  He wasn’t trying to hide in Cabo, but it would be easy to get lost in this sea of bodies. He’d hoped to clear his head and brainstorm ways to get out of the mess he was in. But the virtual parties on every street throughout the town and along the beaches had made it difficult to think of anything.

  It would be easy to get wrapped up in the youthful festivities, to really drown out his problems for a while. There were enough tits and beer in this town to allow a weaker man to completely lose his mind. Fuck, he could hide for years here and no one would be the wiser. Noah shook his head. He had to watch every step he took, lest he somehow added fuel to the fire. He had a great career, a son’s college tuition to pay for. A reputation in the balance. One wrong step and it could all go crashing down.

  “Awww, you look so s-ad over here all alone!”

  A puff of sand playfully sprayed over his shins as a tall shadow blocked out his sunlight. Noah glanced up, rewarded by a beautiful pair of breasts covered by a bikini top that amounted to little more than pasties. The blonde smiled down at him, the long ends of her hair white like the sand. A taut middle flared into gently rounded hips hugged by the thinnest of strings to keep the thatch of fabric between her legs in place.

  “What’re you drinking, sugar?” With a bounce, she plopped down beside him, her left breast brushing against his elbow. Noah smiled and looked anywhere but at those firm, young tits. He was a red-blooded man to the core, but tits like that could get him in serious trouble.

  “Nothing at the moment.”

  She was sunny and youthful and full of a vibrant sexual energy. Fuck spring break!

  She handed over her beer with a wink. “Here have some of mine. It’s light, with a twist.”

  It was spring break. That added twist could be anything.

  “Im good. Thanks anyway.”

  She pouted, then took a swig. “Where’s your arm candy? Maybe she can join us.”

  He shouldn’t engage her; instead, should be subtly encouraging her to go away. Better yet, he should walk and remove himself completely. But his interest was piqued.

  “Arm candy?”

  She nudged him. “You know. Men your age always bring their arm candy along. Their younger woman! Makes it easier to find a threesome.”

  She licked her lower lip and widened her eyes suggestively. The slur of her speech left no doubt she’d had too much to drink. The fast inuendo made him suspicious. Not ending this now would result in him drugged and robbed, most likely. Or worse... he’d fuck her, and she’d change her mind after the fact and all hell would break loose.

  Again.

  Noah refrained from patting her on the head. He was bored with this conversation. She was beautiful, but there wasn’t anything substantial to warrant continuing this encounter. She was drunk; he wanted to be left alone.

  “I’m flattered, really. But it looks like you’re missing a hell of a party over there.”

  He motioned to the swarm. Her eyes followed.

  “Well my beer is empty.”

  “That’s a shame. You should go remedy that.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, rocking against him so her arm repeatedly hit his. “Oh my God, you are so funny!” Shuffling to her feet, she wagged a finger at him with a stern pout. “I’m going to find you later! Okay?”

  Noah gave a brief nod and watched her stumble across the beach to rejoin her kind. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair. He’d relaxed a little since being here—something he hadn’t thought possible. But his shoulders were tense again, the vein in the side of his neck pulsing hard. An uncomfortable restlessness worked its way through his limbs.

  He should go back to his hotel before he changed his mind and had a beer or ten and got caught up in the rampant sexiness going on here. Goodbye promotion. Goodbye reputation. Goodbye money.

  Hell no. He’d barely pulled his son away from a bad crowd and gotten him graduated and off to college. The last thirteen years raising his son alone had been hell, one stress after another. And now Deena G’s stunt.

  He didn’t need a next-next thing.

  His cell beeped. Hesitating, he opened the message. It was another alert from Google.

  I promised to tell you more of the story. I’ve been feeling poorly the last week from the chemo and stuff, so I apologize for the delay. I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who sent a kind and understanding message. Also, thank you for the donations. It’s greatly appreciated as I struggle to make ends meet in this difficult time.

  Remember when I said doctors don’t really care about you? Oh, they will look you in the eye and say that they care, pretend that they have your best interest in mind but it’s all a lie. Everything is a lie.

  I had an appointment with my oncologist last week. Guess who was there? Yep, Dr. Narcissist. He didn’t bat an eye when he saw me. I mean, I guess I thought he might have some reaction to seeing me with a scarf around my head, my eyebrows and lashes gone. I know, my face is puffy, and my eyelids are a little swollen and I don’t look attractive at all. He’s all about the attractive ones, you know, younger women. He totally gets off on having a young beauty on his arm.

  Well, I’m sure as soon as he realized I have cancer, he knew my beauty would turn to disfigurement, so I had to go. What was I to him if not a pretty thing to show off to his rich doctor friends?

  Look, I know I sound bitter. A few of you left comments about how jilted I sound. I am bitter. And I am jilted. I don’t think it’s unreasonable after what I’ve been through to give voice to the devastation inside me. I tried to be civil, to have grace, to just let it go. But what he did to me is a cancer onto itself and if I don’t vent it and give it a voice, it will probably be the malignancy that kills me.

  So, I’m going to tell you that I saw him, speaking to my oncologist when I walked into the exam room. They were chatting in the hall and both turned to look at me as I passed. His eyes were cool, empty, as if he didn’t know me at all. As if we hadn’t spent countless hours in his bed making love. There was an awkward moment of silence and then...

  And then they whispered to each other,, and they started laughing.

  While looking right at me.

  While Dr. N held my eyes with his emotionless soul.

  They laughed.

  Maybe they didn’t realize that chemo doesn’t take away your ability to hear. Or to feel. It doesn’t make your emotional center stop working. Despite being doctors, maybe they didn’t know that cancer loves to make every insecurity you’ve ever had doubly strong.

  Or worse, maybe they just didn’t care.

  I went into my room, let the nurse take my vitals. She had the grace to be embarrassed for those two idiots. She apologized for them, took my blood pressure and left. I waited until I couldn’t hear voices outside the door anymore and I snuck out. I never went back to th
at oncologist; I switched to one whom I hope will have better ethics.

  It doesn’t end here. Sadly, there’s more. But I’m tired and I need to stop typing for today. Let me leave you with this: If you’re thinking of seeing a provider at North Memorial, consider you might become a pathetic source of amusement for them. They’ll look you in the eye and say they care. Then laugh in your face before the door even closes behind you.

  For fuck’s sake! Noah burst to his feet and angrily wiped sand from his lower legs. The small measure of stress relief he’d managed to achieve today was gone. This was going too damn far. Pulling up his lawyer, Noah sent a message:

  Any luck in contacting Natalie?

  He’d told his legal team about his suspicions that his ex was behind this. He could anticipate her spouting rumors and falsehoods, but taking “donations” from strangers, too? That was a low he wouldn’t have pegged her for. She had people fooled that she legitimately had cancer and was struggling with cash. That went way beyond libel. That had to be a felony.

  He waited a moment as if he might get an answer, despite the time change that had everyone back in Chicago sound asleep. When a reply didn’t come, he shoved the phone in the pocket of his swim trunks and started walking. Dusk was falling, swathing the beach in tones of azure and purple. Music began to pump and beat from somewhere behind him; a DJ probably, on the stage he’d seen set up earlier.

  He should be home, at work in his emergency room, doing something productive with his time. Instead he was taking a vacation from a palpable threat that he couldn’t see. Funny how people hid behind the anonymity of a keyboard and a screen. With those two things, their darkest inner persona came out to play for the world to see.

  Noah walked until the crowd of people dispersed into family groups dotted here and there, to a handful of random people scattered ahead of him. If he kept walking, he might find the solitude he craved. Quiet aloneness to lick his wounds and stew in the anger he’d been barely controlling.

  He veered to the left to avoid a pair of bare legs stretched out in his path when he got a good look at more than shapely calves. The young woman had her head back, eyes presumably closed behind her oversized sunglasses. A battered cowboy hat sat low on her head. A pair of conservative cut-off shorts frayed at the edges around the middle of her thighs. Her bikini top covered her breasts—not just her nipples — and sported a pink gingham pattern, the strap around her neck wider than dental floss. Her lips, fingers and toenails were bare of polish, her hair slung in a single auburn-red braid over her shoulder. She was the first woman he’d seen on the beach that wasn’t either half-naked or getting there after the alcohol kicked in.