Heated Sweets: A Taste of Love Series, #3

Prologue

It’s my nineteenth birthday, and I can’t believe I’m celebrating it in an operating room. How crazy is it to have your doctor sing you ‘Happy Birthday’ as you count backward from ten? Pretty weird if you ask me, but I’m more than ready to get this over with. It’s been two years of pain, misery, and just maybe today I’ll have the answer to my question. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

I’ve heard it all.

It’s part of growing up and becoming a young lady.

You might have Endometriosis, and even though there’s no cure, we have options.

In a few hours they’ll all be revealed and then I have to make a choice, one that could haunt me for the rest of my life or ease the pain that I’ve already endured.

I’ll never forget that day in his office six months ago when the doctor finally listened to me. When he took what I was saying for real. He finally understood that I couldn’t live my life the way I wanted because the pain caused me to stay hidden. I couldn’t go to school. Walking at times was a struggle, standing on my feet to work was even worse than sitting in on a lecture with one of my professors. Try to explain to your boyfriend that you rather stab your eyes out than for him to touch you. Yeah, that’s what I thought too as I watched them all run for the hills when they realized I was nothing but a hot mess.

My mind drifts to the conversation I had a few weeks ago with my doctor as I allow my body to rest so they can perform my first laparoscopy.

Francesca, we have a few options that can help treat the symptoms if we find out you do, in fact, have Endometriosis. They aren’t the best for a woman as young as yourself, but since there isn’t a cure for this, it’s the best we can do with what we have. Option one is to do a complete hysterectomy, and that really isn’t the best at your age. Option two is to control it with an oral birth control, and since you’ve been taking that for years with no relief, I don’t know how that’ll be of any help now. Option three is to put you on the Depo Shot. This will cease your monthly periods, causing your body to go dormant. This option allows for the growth to basically not grow. If we find evidence of the endo, we will remove it from the locations if we can. Then the shot will slow down the growth from returning. Option four would be for you to get pregnant now as your body will naturally stop menstruating. The longer you go with this the harder it can be for a woman to either get pregnant or even ovulate to allow a successful pregnancy. Infertility will be an issue in the future, and I think you need to weigh all your options now, rather than later. Here’s some paperwork that you can read and study up on. If you have any questions, write them down and we’ll discuss them after surgery.

That’s all I got… No, we can find treatments, they’re working on ways to cure this. No, it’s either do nothing, take a pill, shot, or become a young mother. I’m crossing option four off the list since I highly doubt that my current boyfriend is ready to donate sperm to cure me. I’ll just take a nap and when I wake, I can make the discussion.

To my feelings when I woke, they could go to hell… My body felt as if I’d been ran over by a train and back over a few times.

The nurse explained that the doctor would be in soon to go over the surgery with me. I must have dozed off because the doctor is now gently shaking me awake.

How ya feeling? he asks as I try to wake up and figure out where I am again.

Sleepy and sore.

That’s to be expected, but we’ll get you some medicine and send you home where you can rest better.

Okay, I say, licking my lips to wet them.

The surgery went well, and we did, in fact, find our culprit. To my calculations, you’re about a stage III which places you with a moderate amount of Endometriosis. I did what I could to scrap the sections that were reachable. Because you had more than I expected and in areas hard to reach, we’ll have to deal with it more in time. I want you to rest and then think more about your options. I’ll have the nurse schedule you to come in later this week. At that time, we’ll go over the results more and your treatment.

Okay, is all I can say since I don’t understand it all.

Get some rest, don’t lift anything over five pounds, and Happy Birthday, he says to me before he grabs my chart and leaves the room. I’m trying to figure out now what’s so special about today and when will it all be over. Who wants or deserves these results on a day that you should be celebrating. Mentally I remind myself to never schedule another surgery on my day. Today should’ve been all about me as I celebrated with my friends, but instead I’m in pain and loopy from the drugs. At least I have answers, and soon I can find the help that I need. For now, I’m going to sleep and deal with this tomorrow.

Needless to say, I didn’t know that this would be the first of many operations. The first of many emotions that I was going to rollercoaster through in my life. The first step in finding a way to hide from my reality. They forgot to tell me all this in the pamphlet I was given; trust me, I read the fine print, and they left this all out.

Chapter One

I’ve been back in Atlanta for two months, and it feels like I’ve been gone for a year. The girls are still the same, but everything else around me is different. At night, I lay down and think on what it would’ve been like if I wouldn’t have left for those few months. Would I have fallen harder for Brody? Would I have the opportunities that I have now in my career? Would I have bought this house, or still be living in my apartment in the city? I have no idea, but I do know that I can’t dwell over the past. I have to keep looking at the future–making plans for the next stage in my life. If I don’t do this, I’ll sink back into the deep depression that I was in before I went to New York. Don’t get me wrong, I love how my friends are happy and their lives are full of joy and love. It’s just not in the cards for me anymore. The dreams that I had as a child are gone. The white picket fence–destroyed. The butterflies that I thought I’d have when I found my one true love–vanished. The giggling kids that I envisioned running around the grassy backyard–terminated. This is why I left… Now, I ask—why did I return? Was I truly ready for this life again? Was I ready to face the fact that Brody moved on and might’ve found his other half? No, I wasn’t ready for any of this. However, I’ve been giving myself a pep talk daily to make this work, to stop running from the monster that grows within me, to try and let people in when all I really want to do is hide.

I knew things were going to be awkward with Brody, I just never expected it to be like this. Since the gender reveal at Zara and Hatcher’s last month, I’ve seen Brody on three different occasions. Once next door while he was visiting Hatcher, at the bakery, and then five minutes ago when I literally bumped into him and his so-called girlfriend. How in the world is it that Atlanta is this small when it comes to you wanting to avoid people? All I wanted to do was take some pictures in the park today for the piece they need in the Urban Living Magazine and haul my tired self back to the burbs and hangout with my very pregnant best friend, Zara. Which, by the way, I have to admit that I thought she was a little crazier than normal when she talked about the ladies in neighborhood. But now that I’ve seen it firsthand, she was right. I’ve found myself ducking in and out of the driveway as I run to the door and hide behind the blinds from the suburban moms. I’m pretty sure that all they do is cook, plan, cook, and stalk Zara and me. Not to mention poor Hatcher, he can’t even check the mail without getting harassed by them. Oh, and did I tell you they all think I need to date their cousin, brother-in-law, or, the newest one is the single dad who moved in six houses down. Yes, I have a dinner party to attend in a few days as we welcome them to the neighborhood. Don’t worry, I plan to drag Zara along kicking and screaming. She only agreed to go after I promised we would sit in the corner and talk about them as we stuff our faces and they pick at their plates. This party is the perfect decoy to keep my mind off Brody and my lack of a love life. My other distraction has been sinking myself into my photo shoots. Moving back here has been a plus for me being able to hide behind my lens. ALL the mothers, single moms, and extended families are booking with me. I love it as I can focus on getting that perfect moment captured in the day, while my nights are filled with editing.

My problem, though, is that Morgan, Natasha, and Zara have caught on to this little trick and think that I’m about to self destruct. I, on the other hand, don’t see the issue. I knew a long time ago that I would be alone. Heck, isn’t that the reason I ran away from love with Brody? I couldn’t give him my whole heart… He deserved someone better, someone who could devote themselves to him, a family, and love. If I would’ve stayed, it would’ve ended worse than it did. If you ask Natasha, she’d explain that I’m using my illness as a reason to not be happy. Okay, she might be correct to a point, but it’s also a way to protect myself. I figure I have a few good weeks left before they gang up on me, and I plan to use these upcoming weeks for me. The plan is to prepare and become the person my family, friends, and clients need. I’m going to stop and take time for me. I even joined a support group for Endometriosis survivors in the city that I’ll give a try. My new doctor suggested it, along with some therapy. I’m going to let the girls know tomorrow, and I know they’ll support me in this just as they have with everything else in my life. I hate to be the downer in our relationship. I hate that they worry about how I might feel with joyous news. This has to change… I have to find happiness… I have to learn to be Francesca again, and not the barren sad lady behind a camera.

Chapter Two

The photo shoot I had this morning has me dodging traffic as I race across town to Morgan’s bakery. I agreed to meet them for lunch at noon—glancing at the clock on my dashboard it’s alerting me that I’m already ten minutes late and stuck in traffic. What the heck, move outta my way, I scream at the mini-van in front of me creeping along. My fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter than normal as I blow out a frustrated sigh. The bakery enters my line of sight as I try to find parking. The easy choice would be to park in the garage around the corner from the cafe, but then I would have to briskly jog as I’m already late enough. I wouldn’t worry about being late, but Natasha only has an hour and a half for lunch before she has to return to court. The need to make sure that I have ample time to explain everything is strong, which means I need them all there. Slamming on the brakes as I notice the car pulling out from the curb. I flip on my blinker and wait as they pull out leaving me with an open parking space. Carefully, I focus on parallel parking. Positioned correctly, I dash out and dig for some change in the bottom of my purse for the meter. This section allows for a maximum of two hours, and I fill the metal coin monster full of shiny silver. With a deep breath, I glance at the traffic and wait for a moment when I can jog across the street without getting splattered. That would be one hell of a way to go out… Here I am trying to get my life together and I meet body against car—yeah, nope—not happening today. We’ve already had one scare this year with Zara and her car accident, so I make sure to wait for the perfect time to cross.

Slinging the door open, I enter the bakery and take a deep breath allowing the scents of the sugary goods to bask my soul. It’s crazy how just the simple smell of sugar, vanilla, and frosting can calm me. It’s even crazier when I process the fact that Morgan’s bakery grounds us all. It’s not just her livelihood—it’s ours, too. Each one of us finds some form of comfort from the bakery, especially when we need it. Morgan used this place to find her true self, to figure out what she wanted in life. She was able to find the person she is today. Zara found her soul mate, the one who she was destined to be with for the rest of her life. Natasha finds peace when she needs a break from the judicial system. She always says she just needs a bite of a cupcake to wash the stress away from the day. Me… Well, I’m getting reconnected with not only myself but my friends over a sandwich, cupcake, and cup of tea.

Approaching the table, I notice immediately that Zara is already stuffing her face. Chuckling, I toss my purse down next to her. Hungry, I ask. In return I don’t get a response, but the death glare of a very pregnant woman.

Don’t judge, she responds with a mouthful of food. Shaking my head, a smile forms, and I can’t help but let out a small laugh from how crazy my friends are. Nice of you to join us, Natasha slurs in my direction, and I can’t tell if she’s being funny or has something to say to me. Brushing it off, I apologize for being late and wave over at Jaime for my tea. She’s been here long enough now to know exactly what I order and how I take my tea. I gave up coffee months ago when I realized that chamomile tea reduced my abdominal pain which leads to me having about four cups a day. Two in the morning, and two after dinner. I still drink it on occasion when the need for caffeine arises.

I tuck my shoulder-length black hair behind my ears and start picking at my nails. I’m nervous, which I have no idea why I am… This is us… This is our group and my family; they aren’t going to judge me for trying to find my way to happiness. It just means that once I say the words out loud—it’s official, and if I give up, I have people to call me out on my flaws and failures. Small talk is what we need first… Then I can tackle the big stuff.

How are you guys, I ask, and it seems like I might have asked the wrong question from the looks of all three of them.

Zara pipes up first, Fat, can’t breathe, can’t see my toes, so I’m hunky dory.

You aren’t fat, I sound off back at her, and notice Morgan reaching over to pinch Zara’s arm.

Owe! Zara yelps.

That’s what you get. I told you every time you use that word, I’ll pinch you.

How many pinches have you had to do today? Natasha asks.

Five, and still counting. If you guys hear her say it, pinch the hell out of her, Morgan states before grabbing a piece of muffin from her plate.

What about you, I direct toward Natasha.

Oh, you know, adjusting between work and the house. You going to cut through all this and just tell us why you called this meeting today?

Can you lay off the attitude? I snap back at Natasha. I feel like she’s ready to attack me at any moment, and I still don’t know why she’s acting this way. We were fine the other day—today it’s like I ran over her cat.

I will as soon as you spill it. We’re dying to hear what you had to tell us in person. I mean, come on, Frankie—last time you moved, and we just don’t know what to expect. Excuse me for being a little on edge with this meeting.

First, I’m not moving. Do you really think I’d buy a house and then move? Give me a little more credit than that, please.

Well, what is it? You can’t keep an emotional pregnant person on edge like this, it’s not good for the baby.

How long you going to use that excuse? Morgan asks, causing us all to laugh. It’s true, and in a few months she’s not going to be able to use it anymore.

Can I eat first, then talk after? I ask, knowing what the answer will be, but you can’t blame me for trying.

No, they all say in unison, and I sink down in the booth a little further. It’s now or never.

I take a sip of my tea and place the cup back down on the table, but I don’t let go of it. The warmth from the ceramic feels good on the palms of my hands. Not to mention it keeps me from picking at my fingers under the table to hide my anxiety.

You all know I started seeing a new doctor last week, and I wanted to share a few things that we talked about. He made me understand how I need to let you three in more, and since you’re my biggest support group, I need to explain things more. I stop and take a moment to look at them, to gauge their faces before I continue. The silence is thick, it’s as if the busy bakery around us is empty. Which it’s not, it just feels that way. My subconscious is on high alert, making me feel as if ALL eyes and ears in the room are on me.

Spill it before I freak out and have this baby. Zara pulls me from my thoughts and back to the reason I’m here today.

Sorry, okay where was I? Oh yes, the new doctor. I’ll start with the easy one-first—a support group. I guess the research center here has an amazing support group, and he highly suggested that I join. He feels that if I’m around others who also suffer, they might be able to give some feedback and advice on how to deal with the challenges. I agreed and plan to go to my first one tomorrow evening. I pause because I know they will have questions. I mean, we’ve been doing these meetings for a while, and not just for me.

So what is it? Do you have doctors speak? Who controls this? Are you joining a cult? Zara asks, causing us all to laugh.

No, it’s not a cult and yes, they have doctors, nurses, and other founders from the center help with the meetings.

So like AA, Zara says as she shrugs it off.

No, but okay, we can go with that I guess.

Carry on. Natasha motions her hand in my direction for me to get to the other stuff. I can tell she’s starting to get impatient, and the clock is ticking for her to get back to work soon.

Second, he highly advised me to get some therapy. He wants me to talk to a professional about my fears, anxiety, and maybe seek treatment for the slight depression I battle from. This I told him I would think about. I still haven’t made the first appointment, but I will soon. Third, he, of course, wants to do another surgery. This one would be different and more intense than the others. I was schooled on a few things at the appointment. Seems that my old doctor was also old school and didn’t really dig in there. Long story short, he wants to dig around, cut out, and laser off as much as he can. He also pointed out that I should have the left ovary removed as it’s doing more harm than good to my body. It’s dead, and with all the adhesions and scar tissue, I need to let go of it.

"Can we sing Let it Go afterward? I can dress up and everything," Zara spits out. She does this when things start becoming intense. It’s her way to break it up some and make me smile, which she did a fine job at. I can picture her dressed as Elsa from Frozen singing to the waiting room. Yes, if she does this I’ll admit, I might never show my face back in that place.

No, we will not let it go anywhere, but thank you for the offer. This means I have to make a decision, but not until my next appointment in four weeks. I have some things to think about, and he wants me to go to those support groups first before I make my mind up. I know what my answer will be, but I also need to know it in my heart. So… That’s my big news.

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