Cancer

My husband has cancer- or at least he did. After his hospital bills ate through our savings, he just had to go and get better. 1

Remission should be a four-letter word.2

I was just getting used to the idea of living life as ‘the merry widow’- young and rich with a dead husband. Well. I’m still young anyway.3

Just before Justin was diagnosed, he took out a massive life insurance policy with me, his sweet and loving wife, as the beneficiary. I’m convinced that he knew he was sick. The trouble is that the policy is no good while he’s still alive. It’s payment on death, not on sickness.4

Justin really does love me. I’ll give him that. I suppose that I must also have loved him at one time. Maybe back when we were in high school. We began dating in the ninth grade and never saw other people. Justin knows that I’ve always been faithful, and I know the same. What he doesn’t know, is that I’ve been falling out of love for years. I was about to break up with him when he got me pregnant in our first year of university. I was only eighteen. I wasn’t ready to get married and start a family. I still had so much of my life to live! But Justin was sweet and he offered me marriage. There aren’t many guys who would have. It was practically my duty to accept on behalf of all those other pregnant teenage girls in the world who’s boyfriends left them all alone in their times of trouble. He wanted our baby. He loved it as soon as he knew about it. Before, actually, if you believe what he says. 5

He was heartbroken when I miscarried the baby, but he said that he still loved me. I was distraught. I hadn’t wanted a baby, but once I learned that I was pregnant, the idea grew on me. I loved that child so damn much. It hurts even now to think of what might have been. After we lost the baby, I didn’t even think of asking Justin for a divorce. I needed him too much- needed something. It took me a long time to put myself back together. I’m not sure if I will ever really be whole again, but Justin’s unconditional love and comfort ensured at least that I didn’t fall completely apart. 6

Justin really is the sweetest, most loving person I’m ever likely to meet. There must be something wrong with me that I can’t return his love in equal portion.7

Once, Justin told me that he knew the moment we met that he would marry me.8

Well, I suppose he was right.9

I never loved him with the same intensity he directed toward me. I did always like him, but I didn’t fall in love at first sight the way he did. I had to grow into it.10

Now I’ve grown out of it.11

Justin isn’t the man he used to be. He’s still sweet and kind. And loving. But the cancer has wasted him away. He’s thin and emaciated. Pale and hollow. His hair hasn’t even started to grow back yet. It’s just as well that he’s not up to sex yet, because I just don’t think that I could stand to give it to him. I look at him and I see disease. I see loss.12

Now that the doctors have pronounced him “healthy” he’ll be coming home soon. I’ve only got another couple of days to myself. Precious little time…13

As soon as I heard the cancer had gone, I began to make plans. After having my hopes up for such a long time, there was no way that I was going to let go of that money- that freedom. No. Justin was going to die and I was going to be rich. And happy. Yes. I want to be happy again. I can almost remember what it feels like… almost…14

Even after Justin comes home, he will have to return to the hospital frequently for blood work and tests. That’s why I have to be extra careful. It would be a disaster to begin poisoning him only to be caught out by those infernal tests. Poison is out. Such a shame… from what I’ve read, women have a natural gift for poison.15

I have to keep it simple. It has to look like a natural death.16

***17

Have you ever experienced a moment of true inspiration? Has an answer ever suddenly crystallized in your mind? 18

I came into Justin’s room to help him get ready to come home just in time to hear the tail end of a conversation he was having with the doctor.19

“…has been hard on your body,” the doctor was saying as I approached the door, “You’re heart already had a slight flaw which would eventually have required surgery, but the cancer treatments have worsened it’s condition to the point that something needs to be done very soon. You’re too weak to undergo the procedure at the moment, but in a few weeks maybe, once you’ve had time to gain back some more of your strength.”20

I could almost hear Justin nodding. He sighed, “Please don’t tell Stephanie about it- at least not yet. She doesn’t realize how serious the heart problem is and she’s already been through so much standing by me through the cancer,” he sighed again, “I just don’t want her to worry.”21

I abruptly checked my forward progress and remained just out of sight beyond the door. They continued to talk.22

“Of course I won’t say anything,” the doctor agreed, “It would violate doctor patient confidentiality to do so. However, you must keep in mind that she will have to find out eventually. She’s going to notice when you go into surgery, and she’ll definitely notice the resulting scar.”23

“I know,” there was regret in Justin’s voice, “I just hate to put her through all of the worry again. I… I want her to be happy. I just love her so much…” to hear him professing his love of me is… uncomfortable. It makes me feel guilty. It always has. He thinks that I love him just as much as he loves me. I’ve never given him any reason not to think it. We’re practically the definition of a happily married couple. Except for the disease.24

And I don’t mean the cancer.25

I’m a disease. There must be something wrong with me. The things I think about. The thing I’m going to do…26

There’s a supply cart across the hall. That and the overheard conversation have sparked an idea. The halls are uncommonly deserted. It’s so easy…27

Once I’d captured my prize and tucked it into the voluminous clutter of my purse, I turned back to Justin’s hospital room.28

I painted on my sincerest smile.29

“Justin!” I cried as I swept in, wreathed in false happiness, “Today’s the day!” I kissed him softly on the mouth, “Today you can come home to me,” I softened my eyes. Let a tear escape. Sometimes it’s frightens me that I’m so well able to act a part I don’t believe. Long years of practice, I suppose.30

“Stephanie!” his eyes lit up to see me and I could almost see a trace of the healthy young boy I’d met over a decade ago. The boy I loved. Almost. He hugged me to himself as tightly as he was able, “God,” he said, “I can’t wait to be home with you again. I’ve missed you so much. I see you every day, I know, but it’s not the same.”31

“I know,” my voice is choked with emotion, “But it’s okay now. You’re healthy again and we can get on with our lives,” I kissed his pale, hollowed cheek, “I love you so much. I was so afraid that I’d lost you for good,” and something evil inside forced me to say, “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I couldn’t bear it!” I felt him tense in my embrace. It was almost imperceptible. There and then gone again. If I hadn’t been expecting it, I might not have noticed at all.32

He was feeling guilty about keeping secrets from me. Feeling guilty that he wasn’t as healthy as I supposedly thought he was. It was perfect. That the doctor was witnessing my show of love and affection made it even better.33

Now my smile was genuine.34

“Are you ready to go home?” I asked him softly.35

“I’m ready,” he smiled back at me.  He always had such a wonderful smile…36

*** 37

At home, I was the dutiful wife, providing for his every want and need. Justin was a good patient. He never complained about anything, though I knew that he was still not fully recovered from his ordeal.38

You have to respect someone who can put up with so much and still remain cheerful and optimistic.39

I do respect him. I’m not sure what that means to me. Does that make the act of murder I’m contemplating even more horrific? That I would kill someone that I genuinely like and respect? Yes, I like him too. I just can’t love him. I don’t suppose it makes any difference. Murder is a dreadful thing no matter how the murderer happens to feel for his… her victim. 40

My victim.41

Though Justin is yet weak and frail, he doesn’t look like a victim. Looks can be deceiving, I suppose.42

On Friday, Justin will go back into the hospital for blood work. Justin doesn’t like needles. He never has. Though his arms now carry permanent needle scars from the almost daily blood tests and from the chemotherapy sessions, he still has not become desensitized to them. He copes with his fear by taking sedatives before every needle. In the beginning, the doctor didn’t approve of this, but he quickly saw that it was a necessity.43

Justin always sleeps like the dead after having a needle. Like the dead…44

That is when I will do it. While he’s sleeping, after I’ve brought him home. 45

Every Friday, I go to Prayer Group at the church. It would be appropriate if Justin died while I and the other ladies were praying about him. I’m sure that he would like to know that people were thinking kind thoughts about him as he… well… as he died.46

*** 47

Justin is drowsing in the passenger seat. He’ll fall asleep as soon as I bring him inside. He isn’t having a good day. His sedative was slow to take effect, so he was more alert than usual while his blood was being taken. He squeezed my hand tightly and I could see fear in his eyes. He was like a child and I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to tell him that everything would be alright even though I knew it would be a lie.48

I didn’t say anything. Murder was enough on my conscience for one day.49

As soon as I got him into the car he became sleepy. He spoke in a slurred voice, “Should’ve taken it earlier…” By ‘it’, I assumed he meant the sedative.50

“Shhh, it’s okay,” I comforted him. I couldn’t keep from lying after all, “It’s over now. You’re fine. You did so well. I was so proud,” I couldn’t keep the touch of sadness out of my voice. I’m not sure if he heard it. He might, by that time, have been too near to sleep.51

When we arrived home, I gently roused him and coaxed him up to bed, “I love you,” he said as I tucked him in.52

“I love you too,” I answered. And maybe I did. A little. Not enough though.53

“I’m sorry…” his words were slurring again. Now that we were home, the sedative was really hitting him hard.54

“Sorry?” I asked, “Why are you sorry?” He didn’t answer. He was sleeping deeply. I brushed a tear from my eye, “Goodbye, Justin. Goodbye.” 55

I retrieved from it’s hiding place, the syringe I’d stolen from the hospital earlier in the week. I carefully removed it from the bubble package and filled it with a bubble of air. I could see on Justin’s arm, the angry red mark mapping the place from which his blood had been taken. With a carefully steady hand, I helped my stolen needle find the same vein. Slowly, I injected the bubble into his blood.56

Once it was done, I stood for a second next to the bed and stared at the needle in shock. It didn’t look like a dangerous thing. My eyes met my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t look like a dangerous person.57

Quickly, I hurried out of the house. I would dispose of the needle on my way to the church and would be among the other ladies of the prayer group before the air bubble stopped his heart.58

*** 59

An hour later, I was home again. I went straight up to the bedroom to check on Justin. He was sleeping quietly. Sleeping? Maybe. Maybe not. I’d never killed anyone before. I didn’t know how long that sort of thing took.60

I stepped up next to the bed and placed my hand on his shoulder. It was warm to the touch.61

“Justin?” I whispered softly, testing for a response, “Justin? Sweetie?”62

He didn’t answer. 63

That didn’t mean much. He could still be sleeping, “Justin?” I shook is shoulder. Nothing. I tried taking his pulse. I couldn’t find it. He didn’t seem to be breathing either.64

I called 911.65

Once I was connected to the dispatch, words poured out of me, “My husband… he’s not breathing. I can’t find his pulse! I just got home- they said he was healthy! They said that the cancer was gone! Oh, God! Please help me…”66

The woman on the other end of the line tried to calm me down. I really was hysterical. I was having trouble coming to terms with what I’d done, but I don’t think that I said anything that would give me away.67

Finally, the woman was able to get some coherent responses out of me and it wasn’t long before I could hear the ambulance coming.68

The paramedics came in.69

One of them asked me, “How long since he stopped breathing?” as the other started working on Justin’s frail body.70

“I don’t know,” I answered in a broken voice, “I just got home and he was… like that. I didn’t know what to do. He was supposed to be cured!” I looked beseechingly at the paramedic as though begging for answers.71

“Cured?” the man asked blankly, “Cured of what?”72

“Of the cancer!” I cried as though it should have been obvious. The irrationality seemed to come naturally.73

Meanwhile, the other paramedic had stopped working on the body.74

The body…75

Justin was nothing now. Just a wasted dead body.76

“It’s no use,” the paramedic shook his head, “I’d guess he’s been dead almost half an hour. It’s hard to say.”77

The first paramedic took my arm and lowered me to the ground. I hadn’t even realized that I was losing my balance, “Ma’am,” he said to me with sympathy, “There’s nothing you could have done. He was dead before you came home.”78

“Maybe if I hadn’t left…”79

“You shouldn’t think that way,” he patted my am awkwardly. An act of sympathy, I suppose.80

Eventually, they left promising that the coroner would be by soon. 81

I called all of the people that would expect it at such a time. Keeping up appearances. Several of our close friends had arrived by the time the coroner showed up. They were offering sympathies as I gamely dabbed the tears from my eyes with a crumpled Kleenex.82

The coroner took some pictures, but didn’t do much else. I’ve got to admit, I was surprised. I thought that there would be more. Before I knew it, he’d taken the body away.83

***84

I didn’t hear anything about the coroner’s report until a week later. The memorial service had taken place the day before. More tears and more sympathy. I was feeling depressed.85

Perhaps it was because people expected it of me.86

The cause of death was listed as “unknown.”87

Unknown?88

I went to speak with the coroner as soon as I heard.89

“You don’t know why my husband died?”90

He looked uncomfortable, “No. I’m sorry Ma’am,” Why do people always call me Ma’am? “It could have been any number of things. Your husband was not a healthy man. The cancer treatments took a heavy toll on him and exacerbated a pre-existing heart condition…”91

I broke in, “But I’ve always known about Justin’s heart. He said it was nothing. He said it was no problem!”92

The coroner nodded, “Yes, your husband’s doctor told me that this was what you had been led to believe.”93

“So… it was his heart? His heart killed him?”94

He sighed, “I’m not sure. It could have killed him, but there was another thing too…”95

My breath caught.96

He knows!97

“…there were high levels of sedative in his bloodstream. They weren’t at a fatal level, but they were high enough to raise questions.”98

I frowned in genuine puzzlement, “High levels of sedative? But how could that be? He can’t have had much. He always takes a sedative before they take his blood at the hospital- he’s terrified of needles, but this time, it didn’t work as quickly as usual. He was still alert while they took his blood. He squeezed my hand.”99

The coroner frowned, “Interesting. I suppose that it’s possible he was developing a tolerance to the medication. Did you see him take it?”100

“No,” I answered quietly. It was the truth. I had no idea how much sedative he might have taken. The entire situation was baffling. Was I a killer or not?101

The coroner and I spoke a few minutes longer before I finally left with more questions that when I had come.102

*** 103

Four weeks later, I received the insurance check in the mail. Whether or not I had in fact killed my husband (and in my mind, at least, there was some doubt) no one else seemed to suspect that I had anything to do with his death.104

Perhaps it was because they all knew how much I had loved him…105