Page 2 of Words Unspoken

Twenty minutes later he was escorted through the waiting room at Dr. Reynolds office. He was directed to sit in the doctor is personal office and waited perhaps a minute before Dr. Reynolds joined him. Michael was surprised when the old man who had been treating him for years sat down in the chair next to him rather than in his usual chair across the desk. They shook hands in greeting.

“I am afraid I have bad news for you, Michael,” Dr. Reynolds said gravely.

Michael had known it was going to be bad. People did not generally hallucinate and find out it was good news. He waited patiently for the doctor to explain.

“There is a mass behind your right eye. It explains some of the migraines, the occasional blurred vision and the hallucinations which are actually vision impairment caused by the pressure of the mass. It is small. I will need to biopsy it to determine if it is cancer.”

“It explains some of the migraines? Not all?” asked Michael, picking up on what the doctor had not said.

“No,” there was pity in the doctor is eyes. “Michael, there is a second growth. It is much larger and is pressing against a very delicate areas of your brain. It is a miracle that you have not had an aneurism or a stroke yet. If you did, the results would be catastrophic. By all medical accounts, you should be dead.”

Michael absorbed the news. It was not good but surely with modern science and medicine something could be done. “What are the next steps? Chemotherapy?”

“No,” Dr. Reynolds sighed. “Even with radiation, the mass would shrink too slowly. You could have a stroke any moment. Dr. Hemmond and I believe that you may have as little as two months before the pressure becomes too much for your brain. There is too much risk that you will die before the mass has shrunk enough to ease the pressure. Surgery is your only option. It is not without consequences.”

“When?” Michael got right to the point. As in business, cutting everything to the facts was essential. Becoming emotional had never served any purpose.

“Normally a surgeon will schedule seven to eight months from now. You do not have that time. I am going to recommend Dr. Hemmond. He is a very good brain surgeon and he has a cancellation in three days time. I urge you to take it. If you do not, you will have to find another surgeon, or you will die.”

Michael felt numb. “I expect other surgeons would be booked as well.”

“They are,” Dr. Reynolds put a hand on Michael is arm gently. “Michael, there is a good chance you will not survive the surgery. If you do, there will be damage to the brain.”

“What are the odds of surviving this sort of surgery?” The numbness was being replaced with a gnawing panic, but Michael didn’t show it. He was a master of calmness no matter the turmoil he might feel inside. “What sort of damage?”

“One in two patients survive,” the doctor waited for that to sink in.

“If I do not have the surgery, I die. If I do have the surgery there is a fifty percent chance I die,” paraphrased Michael. The whole thing seemed surreal. Michael repeated his earlier question. “What sort of brain damage?”

Dr. Reynolds took out a sheet showing one of the many scans that Michael had undergone. “This is the small mass. Dr. Hemmond can carefully remove your eye and then remove the mass, reinserting the eye without any problems to your vision. That is the easy procedure.”

It did not sound easy. Michael is stomach rebelled. He liked his eyes and preferred to keep them in his head. He did not particularly care how skilled the surgeon might be.

Dr. Reynolds pulled another scan from the bottom of the file folder and placed it on top. “This is the larger mass. We need to approach it where there will be the least consequences to your daily living. Essentially, he is choosing what brain damage to give you. By removing a part of your skull here and coming through this area of the brain, we would affect the area of your brain that deals with language. After the surgery, it is very likely that you would have a condition called Speech Aphasia. While you will be able to understand everything spoken, you would have trouble replying. You might forget a word. You might mean to say a word like ‘fork’ but insert ‘onion’ instead. You will not be able to read or write. The words and letters will get mixed up. It will be a permanent condition.”

“How likely is this brain damage to occur?” Michael felt like he had been punched. To never speak properly, write or read again?

“It would be almost certain,” the doctor said with sympathy.

“But there is a chance that it would not happen?” he had to ask.

“Michael, I would not count on it.” Dr. Reynolds shut the file. “This is the best chance that you have to live. I am going to schedule the surgery. I would respectfully suggest that you update your will and see to any unfinished business in the next three days. If you survive the surgery, we can biopsy the removed masses and find out if it is cancer. We will proceed from there. Please go to exam room one and the nurse will take you through the pre-op forms and liability forms.”

Michael nodded and swallowed thickly.

Dr. Reynolds squeezed his shoulder. “I will do everything I can to get you through this. In the meanwhile, I am going to up your dosage for the pain medication that you are on to help with the migraines.”

Michael shook the doctor is proffered hand then proceeded to exam room one. The nurse walked him through the paperwork. He agreed not to hold the doctor or the hospital responsible for anything that might occur during the surgery including death. He received paperwork detailing his aftercare and what to expect. His head would be shaved at the hospital for the surgery. No food or water after midnight the day of the surgery. He would remain in hospital for a minimum of three days, perhaps more depending on how things progressed. He was given a prescription for the medication increase and told not to drive or operate heavy machinery.

Today was Monday. Surgery was scheduled for Thursday. He was to be at the hospital at seven in the morning. How was he going to deal with the Claymont acquisition? What about the other legal issues he had sitting on his desk? Who would take over his work? Moreover, who would take his place as head of the company?

Michael did everything on automatic. He listened politely to the nurse, nodded in all the right places, signed his name where he was supposed to. He took his paperwork, folding it, he placed it in the inside breast pocket of his suit. He did not need anyone knowing about this. Not just yet. He thanked her for her time and was silent as usual on the drive back to corporate headquarters. He pretended to be checking emails on his phone, however the truth was he didn’t even see the screen. Going through emails was pointless. He could not concentrate.

It was four-thirty-one when Michael came back to his office. He knew this because he grabbed his current journal, wrote down the time and date and then wrote down his prognosis. It seemed so permanent when written down in his script. Michael had kept a journal since the age of eight. For a moment he sat, staring at the words. Then he began a list of things that needed to be done. He would have to adjust his will, Ethan and Evan, his two nephews from his brother Noah and his wife Elle had not been alive when he made the last will. He would like to leave something in trust for them should the worst happen. Then there were instructions for the Claymont deal. He would have to get the legal team up here to finish what was necessary and leave everything in order to make it easier for his replacement. There should be instructions given for the Kellington court case. They should settle out of court and out of the press. It would be the best scenario. As for his own replacement, perhaps Deegal for the head of the legal department and Gains for the head of the company. Noah would not be interested. Max was no longer with the company in any meaningful way. Gains would be the best candidate. He was trustworthy. He knew the vision that the company had for the future.

Michael was interrupted as Ann knocked on the glass and entered his office, shutting the door firmly behind her. “Michael, I thought we should talk.”

“Now is not the best time,” he continued to write furiously. “Could you ask Deegal to come here? Tell him to bring Sanders and … what is the other assistant is name?”