💞Now and Forever💕~Chapter 12 🙏~Starless Night~🌑

When no phone call came from her doctor's office after a week,  Virginie secretly heaved a huge sigh of relief.  No news was, after all, good news.  Her only confusion was the over the minor pain that generally came just before her cycle.  The pain ebbed but her time of the month didn't materialize.
    Their first anniversary was on the horizon and as she was in the habit of doing, Virginie obsessed over how to make it the perfect occasion.
   "How about booking that Inn you spent your honeymoon at?"  Hilde recommended as the two got breakfast dishes finished.  Hilde did want to give the house a good going over before going to see her kids in various parts of the country.
  Nodding, Virginie liked the idea.  "If only I knew it would rain again.  Our wedding night was just about sent by God."  She sighed.  Then, too,  Hercule will have to get the time off.  He might not be able to get it at the right time."
Hilde laughed heartily.  "What IS it with you and rain, my girl?"
   Virginie's answer was interrupted,  to her relief, by the ringing of the phone,  which was answered by Hilde.  "Hello?  Yes, she is.  Who may I say... ?  Oh, yes she is, Dr. Doyle .  One moment."
   Virginie was at the phone by the time Hilde got the second syllable of Doctor passed her lips and Hilde handed Virginie the earpiece.  "I'll start in on the living room."
Virginie only nodded. "Hello, Doctor Doyle.  I was begin....."   she started to say, only to be cut off with a request that sent the blood rushing from her body to her feet.
"I would like to see you and your husband in my office at your earliest convenience. Tomorrow is recommended."
"I...I ..I'm sure I can get my husband to join me.  But can't you tell ...I mean, you said that I didn't think there was anything serious..."
"I apologize for mis-speaking,  my dear.  While I have hope, the best chance of that is to get things going as soon as possible."
"If ...If I can get my husband to come home right away,  we can be at your office this afternoon."
"That might be a good idea.  If you can,  call the office and let Helena know.  And meet me at the hospital."
If anything else was said,  Virginie didn't remember.  She hung up the phone and quickly called her husband's precinct and asked that Hercule Poirot call home as soon as he could.
"Thank you, constable."
As soon as she hung up, Virginie went to the cupboard for a glass, and ran the water.  She just got the glass to her lips with her shaking hand when Hilde returned to the kitchen.  "I'm afraid those windows need more cleaning than the pair of us will...?"  She stopped in mid sentence, upon seeing the young woman at the sink,  staring at a glass that she was still holding to.  "Virginie?"
  "I need to sit down,"   Virginie whispered.    "I can't make myself move."
Grabbing a chair from the small kitchenette,  Hilde placed it right under Virginie and sat the girl down,  as soon as she was able to release her hand  from the glass she was just about gripping.
"Honey, what in the world ? What did the doctor say?"
The phone rang, and miraculously, Virginine found enough strength in her legs to get to the phone in almost a single movement, it was that quick.  "Hello?  Oh, Hercule.  Thank God.  Honey....the doctor...he wants to meet us at the hospital.  They found ....something that they want to deal with it quickly.  Can you..?  Of course. I knew ...I love you,  too.  Don't get into a car accident.  Yes.  Hilde will help me pack."
Virginie hung up to find Hilde standing hardly a step away.
"Pack?  For what?  Honey, what did the doctor say?"
"Oh!  I need to call my doctor's office to let him know..."   Virginie picked up the receiver and gave the operator the doctor's number.  "Thank you."
   A moment later, she was speaking to Helena,  Dr. Doyle's receptionist.  "I will be at the hospital with my husband probably by noon or sooner."
"I'll let Doctor Doyle know,"   Helena replied sounding semi-formal and yet concerned as a friend.. "Thank you."
   Before she realized she was going to ask, Virginie blurted,  "Helena, did the doctor tell you  ANYTHING? "  It was a stupid question and she knew it.  But she was desperate for anything specific.  All she knew was that her doctor wanted her at the HOSPITAL at soonest convenience. So what was so CONVENIENT about the panic attack she was in?  "I'm sorry, Helena.  Foolish thing to ask.  Okay. Thank you.  I'll make sure. Bye bye."

   Virginie returned the receiver to its cradle and then leaned against the wall, with her eyes closed until she found enough strength to get her moving up the stairs, with Hilde only a few steps behind.
"Virginie, PLEASE!  Stop and tell me what is wrong!  What did the doctor say?"
"Help me pack, please.  All he told me was that I had to be at his hospital office with Hercule."  Virginie told her friend.  They reached the top of the stairs and Virginie headed to her bedroom with single-minded focus.
  "DAMNIT, you KNOW something!"  Hilde demanded to know.
   Virginie stopped her search for her small suit case and stared, unblinking, at the family friend of years.  In all the time she'd known Hilde,  she had never heard the woman swear.  But now the middle-aged woman was in tears and Virginie rushed to comfort the woman.  "I don't know, Hilde.  It's nothing good, but Dr. Doyle said he would be able to deal with the problem if it was dealt with, as soon as possible."
   Hilde didn't say anything more but grabbed the suitcase Virginie had started searching for and packed underwear,  two or three night gowns and her toothpaste and toothbrush as well as the brush on her dressing table.  All the while,  Virginie sat, just watching.  "What will Hercule do?  He is just beginning to recover from the miscarriage.  If ..."
  "SHUSH!  No talk like that!  Doctor Doyle is the best doctor in the city if not this entire country.  And he has the stubborn determination to beat you, your husband and a heard of mountain goats.  If anyone can get us through this, it will be him."
"Am I as stubborn as a heard of mountain goats?"   Virginie couldn't help but giggle at the comparison.
"You better had, girlie.   Doctors don't make a habit of dragging people into their office unless it's something important."
By the time they got downstairs,  Hercule had stormed through the front door and was about to shout for his wife when he saw her and rushed to embrace her.  "Come on. Constable Stewart is waiting. "
In almost the next moment,  Poirot stopped. "A suitcase?  What did...?"
It dawned on Virginie that there was NO mention of even needing a suitcase. On the other hand,  Dr. Doyle did make a point of mentioning that he would be waiting at the hospital. "Better safe than sorry, I guess.  The doctor did say he wanted us to meet at the hospital.  So, I thought..."
"I'm sure the matter, it is not so serious!"  Hercule insisted, though his tone suggested he wasn't sure he believed what he was saying.
They were on the way to the hospital when Poirot realized that Hilde was with them. "My apologies, dear Hilde. My focus, it has been on Virginie.  You didn't need to ..."
"Nonsense!  I'm not going to pace a hole in the kitchen floor."  Hilde said from the front seat of the car. And we're all going to support each other and chuckle this fuss off when it turns out that Dr. Doyle is making a mountain out of an ant-hill."
"Mole Hill, "  Virginie corrected.
"It's even smaller than that.  And remember,  doctors aren't God. They make mistakes, too. Keep that in mind."   Hilde declared with a decisive nod as if  her statement was the last word on the subject.  There was no doubt that everyone wanted to believe what she said.
At the hospital,  Poirot thanked his colleague.  "I will call tonight and let the captain know if I will be able to work tomorrow."
"Don't worry.  And let us know..."
"I will. Thank you."
The police officer drove off and Poirot, holding his wife's hand,  headed for the door of the hospital, with Hilde leading the way.    Inside the hospital,  the went to the front desk and Virginie informed the receptionist that she was expected by Doctor Doyle.
  "Take a seat. I'll call the doctor and let him know. "   The receptionist pointed  to chairs that were situated at a carpeted area  to the right of her desk.   There were three other people sitting, reading a newspaper or a book.  They, too, had small suite cases .  Inside of a minute of their arrival,  the receptionist called one name and a couple got up,  took the written instructions from her and nodded a thank you before heading off in the direction given on the paper.  Another minute, or so, and another name was called.  The lone man,  about middle age,  stood up and took the instruction from the receptionist.  He said a quick, nervous thank you and headed to the elevator.
Leaping from his chair,  Poirot paced the small area. "Oh, mon Dieu!  Your doctor, he scares you half to death!  He has us rushing to get here, and then he leaves us waiting! I won't be surprised to learn you have no more than the head cold!"
In spite of her nerves, Virginie found a smile; replying;  That could be. Dr. Doyle always was a bit of an alarmist.  A corn on my left baby toe and my foot could be falling off."
Playing along,  Hercule teased.  "I am certain,  my love that you will only lose your baby toe."
  The three began chatting and almost forgot where they were when the receptionist called, "Virginie Poirot."  All three rose from their chairs, almost at the same time.  The receptionist commented,     "It's likely only Mrs. Poirot and her husband will be allowed in the office."
"Quite alright," Hilde replied. "If the doctor doesn't allow me into his office, I'll come back and wait."

"You're family, Hilde. I'll ask if you can be allowed to sit in." Virginie's tone was insistent and neither the receptionist or her husband was going to argue.
  Virginie took the note of instructions though she already knew where the doctor's office was, from her appointment of over a week earlier. Then again, she wasn't sure of anything at the moment. Every step it took to get to Dr. Doyle's office didn't seem to get them any closer. At the same time, it was too soon. Like a trip to the gas chamber or the electric chair, or the dentist's office.

At long last, they arrived at the office. They hardly had time to get seated in the little reception area when the doctor opened the door of his private office and all three stood up to meet him.

"Doctor Doyle, would Hilde be able to sit in on the consult with us? I've put the poor dear through so much, just..."

"Of course. It'll be a bit of a tight fit, but we can make it work."

And so they did. Going so far as taking a chair from the waiting area.
Virginie sat between her husband and family friend who was, to all intents and purposes, family They formed a near half moon around the doctor's desk.

Clearing his throat and glancing at the file folder on his desk, Dr. Doyle spoke, "I have a bit of difficult news. It doesn't have to be as bad as all that, but it will require drastic measures, Mrs. Poirot. I'm afraid that mass that was removed, was malignant."

Hilde murmured a barely audible "No!" and Hercule held onto his wife's hand, almost afraid of letting go, as much for himself as for Virginie.

"Wh...what does that mean in terms...?"

Doctor Doyle spoke up, "The good news is, the spread can be stopped. However, that will require, as I already pointed out, a drastic measure. You will lose your uterus. That is to say, womb, which means..."

"That I won't... be able to have children." Virginie spoke the words as if they were worse than the word 'Malignant' the doctor spoke hardly a minute earlier. A baby had always been part of her dream for her home with Hercule. Now she was listening to her doctor tell her that the dream was being taken from her. From them.

"We can ADOPT!" Poirot quickly assured his wife. "That is a problem that is easily solved. The matter most important is that the doctor does what he has to, to get rid of the..." He couldn't say the word he dreaded. Instead, he reluctantly spoke the word 'Tumor'.

"Your husband's right, Mrs. Poirot. I noticed you brought a small suitcase. I trust that's for your stay?"

Virginie only nodded. "As soon as you told me to meet you here, I just assumed..."

"Well," the doctor spoke with a measure of sympathy but also matter-of-fact firmness. "That was a wise assumption. I would like to check you in today. I booked the operating room for seven a.m. tomorrow. The sooner we deal with this, the better. The longer we wait, the less hopeful the long term prognosis will be."

"What are the chances now, Doctor?" Hilde spoke up. She was about to apologize but Virginie smiled, as if to say, "Thank you for asking."

"Better than half at this point. And that's why I want to get this done tomorrow, so you can be on the road to recovery."

Virginie had been crying silent tears up to now, and looked at her husband, whose eyes were full of tears he was afraid to cry in front of the doctor and Hilde. "What do we do, Hercule? I wanted us to have..." she spoke in a choked voice.

Poirot cleared his throat, "We will adopt. We will give a parent-less child a good home. But that is not for now. NOW, you do what the doctor tells you and get this ...illness out of your system. We will take the steps one at a time, from there. YOU are the important one right now. Please let the doctor do what needs to be done."

A moment's hesitation before Virginie Poirot hesitantly nodded. "I will."

Upon making that decision, the doctor gave her a form to sign, detailing the health issue and the procedure to correct it. Scanning the official form, the word CANCER jumped out at her and Virginie quickly signed. From there, the doctor picked up the phone and called for a wheel chair to take Mrs. Poirot to her room.

                                                              ~~~~
    Once settled into her room, Hilde used the excuse of going to a nearby shop to purchase a book for Virginie to read, just so husband and wife could have time alone. It was easy enough to tell that both were on the verge of dissolving into a puddle or even a lake of tears. And they needed to. As did she.

   She didn't see what her dear 'niece' was signing. She didn't have to. Hilde had her own horror stories to tell. Her sister, who waited for too long, after noticing things weren't right. At the little gift shop across the street from the hospital, Hilde bought Virginie a mystery novel by Neville Johanson. The 'romances' were getting a bit too provocative. As if that was a issue at the moment! Well, in a way, it was. There would be no children for a couple who dearly wanted ...and deserved a little one.

   Perhaps, just PERHAPS the reason for all of this was to give an orphaned child a home. But why did God have to TAKE so much! It seemed utterly wrong! HEARTLESS! If anyone deserved a good home with children and the proverbial white picket fence it was Virginie and Hercule Poirot. So WHY was that dream being denied to them?!

   By the time she returned from the shop, Hilde had cried her silent tears and prayed her silent prayers and hoped that one or the other of those pleadings would do an ounce of good.    In her hospital room, Virginie was already in what she called her 'visiting'  bed clothes and in her hospital bed.  I a chair that was facing her,  Poirot made his case for staying the night,  before her surgery.   "And sleep WHERE, love?"  Virginie pleaded.  "In that chair?  As a place to sit, it's good enough.  But to SLEEP in?" She made a show of cringing at the very idea of sleeping in the high backed piece of furniture; vinyl covered lime green and fairly well padded. The comfort level, on the other hand.

   "And you think I will sleep at home? I will worry all night, without shutting, for one minute, a single eye. Listen, love, we have done this before. I will do it again. And AGAIN until you are well and we can concentrate our efforts on maybe bringing into our home a little girl or boy. For NOW, we focus on getting you well. "

   Virginie lifted her hand that was covered by her husband's and kissed it. "You are IMPOSSIBLE, Hercule Poirot."  The statement was made without so much as a hint of anger in Virginie's  tone. 

   "This, you have told me. Still,  I am not dissuaded. I will stay the night. My neck, it will survive."

A nurse came walked in and informed Virginie's visitors that they had to go home. "Mrs. Poirot will be having dinner soon and then it's an early night. Surgery first thing in the morning."

Hilde hugged Virginie and Hercule and just about demanded that he read to his wife from the new novel. "And call me as SOON...the minute you know she's out of surgery. Please, Hercule!"

"I will call you as soon as I am told, Hilde. I promise you." He kissed her right hand. "You go home and get some sleep for the both of us."

"From your lips to God's ear." Hilde declared; stealing one last hug from her 'niece' before leaving the room.

"My husband insists on staying the night," Virginie told the nurse. "Could he have dinner or will he have to ..."

The nurse smiled, loving the devotion of the young couple. "We have emergency provisions for situations like this. Dr. Doyle said this would likely be the case. And I'll also fetch a pillow and blanket for your over-night visitor."

   Dinner, for the pre-op patient, consisted of a tuna sandwich and clear soup and Jello. Her husband had a somewhat more substantial meal, but only by degree. Two sandwiches instead of one. Chicken Noodle soup and chocolate cake instead of jello.

Poirot ate only to keep Virginie from eating what she wasn't allowed to.. "No danger of anyone asking for second helpings."

  "I would, right now, if I could." Virginie said, handing her husband the novel Hilde bought her. "Read to me. please, Hercule. Take my mind off food and...things."

     He hardly had to ask what  'things'   his wife was referring to, and happily received the book and began to read.  Before too long, Hercule was as involved in the story as his wife, who lay back on her pillow, covered by the blanket.  Half way through the chapter, Hercule glanced at his wife and saw her eyes closing. "Would you like that I should stop?"
   
    "No,"   Virginie spoke softly, "Please continue,  Hercule.   I'm enjoying it. Relaxing.  Like those...nickelodeon theater boxes for the mind."

   "You sound tired,"   Poirot said; hoping he didn't sound as alarmed as he felt. 

   "I want to fall asleep hearing you read to me,"   Virginie said,  sounding like a record on a victrola that was winding down.  "Are you tired, love?"

     "I am enjoying the story,  love."  Poirot said, barely able to stifle a yawn. "I hope the chapter ends before I, too, doze off."

    By the time he finished the last paragraph of the first chapter of the novel, Virginie was sound asleep.  
    Rising,  slowly from the chair ,  Poirot set the book on the bedside table and then stood, gazing down at the woman in the bed.  His wife.  The woman he loved more than his own life. WHY was this allowed to happen? There was not an earthly or logical reason for it!  Virginie did NOTHING to deserve the loss of the child she so dreamed of and looked forward to. And now... after tomorrow, there would be no more children. Not the way she wanted.

     Scarier, though, than the prospect of a childless future,  was the very thought of a future without her.
   Kissing his right index finger and touching Virginie's nose,  though just barely, Hercule left the hospital room and headed to the nurse's station and asked,  "Pardon.  Could you please tell me,  do you have a hospital chapel?"
    Of the two nurses,  only the older gave Poirot any attention. Her look told him that she was offended in the question of whether or not the hospital had a chapel.  Not that he cared about whether or not she was offended.
   "Young man, this is a....,"  the woman in the white nurse's uniform/ Nun's habit started to say, with an edge that would have cut through leather. She was interrupted by her colleague, whose tone was kinder.
    "One floor down, and at the end of D corridor."   The same nurse checked the little watch that was  pinned to the  left breast pocket of her white uniform. "Only 4:15? Wonder what made me..."  The nurse snapped her fingers. "Oh, of course.  Your wife is scheduled for surgery tomorrow so she had an early dinner. That's what made me think it was later."

   "Merci."  Hercule nodded and walked away from the desk.  Barely ten steps away, he stopped and walked back to the nurse's desk, almost hesitantly.  "I am sorry to interrupt again but ... do you know anything about certain..."  Poirot searched for the word to replace the very medical condition he could not bear to THINK  about, much less mention!  As he stumbled for the phrasing, the nurse, who'd scowled at his misplaced question, a minute or so earlier,  asked for his wife's name.  The surly  edge in her voice had vanished.

   "Virginie Poirot,"  Hercule replied. 

    Pulling up the metal file folder from a neatly arranged collection of folders, the nurse read through the file and then returned the folder to its position.

   "Please, madame, what does the doctor write?  Will my wife be well, after this surgery?"

    "Your wife's doctor is.... cautiously optimistic,  Monsieur Poirot, that your wife will make a full recovery.  I say 'Cautiously'  simply because life, as a rule, holds no guarantees.  However, insofar as he is able to prognosticate with accuracy,  there is every reason to believe that Mrs Poirot will come through well.  She's a healthy woman, apart from this current....difficulty,  and her doctor exercises all due diligence with his patients."

  "Merci beaucoup,"  Poirot nodded.  "I appreciate your honesty. I will be no longer a bother.  Again, the chapel it is..." 

   "One floor down, D corridor.  Nearly to the end of the hall." 

     This time, Poirot did not back track.  He took the elevator one floor down and made his way to the hospital chapel with all haste.  Because, despite the nurse's words and the confidence she attempted to exude,  something told Hercule Poirot that all was not as 'well' as the nurse wanted him to believe.

   At the chapel door,  Hercule Poirot hesitated for a moment and simply stared at the oak door,  with its little rectangular window. He realized the importance of reverence.  But didn't God know the heart?  Putting on an act of acceptance and piety wouldn't fool God.   And why did he even want to?  He needed .... ANSWERS.
   Pressing down on the latch above the door handle,  Hercule Poirot walked into the chapel as if he was heading into the principal's office at school...a whole life-time ago.  On the other hand, he wasn't about to face a headmaster over a childish infraction. He needed answers.  From a pastor  or priest or more importantly,  from GOD. 
    The room was lit but not harshly.  The few electric lights that were on were compensated by the glow of the thick white candles at the front of the room. They sat on silver plates that formed something of a liturgical candelabra.  There didn't seem to be anyone in the room besides himself, and, in one way this was a help. In another way, it was just plain uncomfortable.  Like being in the head master's office and waiting for him to show up. 

     Sitting at the right pew of the very first row,  Poirot could only stare, for ...he wasn't sure how long, at the cross with Jesus hanging.   Finally, if only to break the unnerving silence, Hercule Poirot spoke up.   "Easter,  it is about Your not being on that cross anymore. I wonder why you are still depicted as being there.   Perhaps, to give people comfort that You understand our pains."   He cleared his throat to chase away the threat of tears he was sure would return.  "If that is true, then I cannot comprehend,  mon Dieu, WHY it is that You are letting this happen.  Why is it that my wife, who wanted only to marry and share children with her husband...why she..... WE are denied this?" 

   Again, Hercule cleared his throat, but it was becoming more difficult to dispel the ache.
    "I cannot help but fear that THIS is not as bad as it can get.  I only pray that I am wrong.  Mon Dieu, I have never NEEDED to be wrong about anything in my entire life more than I need to be wrong about this!  First, the loss of our child,  and now this...this...malignancy.  I am thankful that Dr. Doyle,  he has been so diligent in seeing to Virginie's care.  PLEASE!  Help him find what is doing her harm and let him rid her of it!  Ple..."   His voice broke and Poirot bowed his head and let tears slide down his cheeks. 

   Hercule wasn't certain how long he sobbed,  semi-silently, before he regained his composure and finished what he began to say.  "PLEASE.  Give to Dr. Doyle the help he needs to make Virginie well. I cannot lose her.  Please."
    Sitting in silence for a few more minutes,  Poirot wiped his wet cheeks with the palms of his hands and got up to leave.  He needed to go to the men's room for tissue paper to wipe his nose.  Then, he would spend the rest of the night in the chair next to his wife's bed. 
    Approaching his wife's room, Poirot was stopped by the middle aged, white haired nurse, who greeted him with a smile and a bit of good news.  "Wish I could find you better comforts than that chair, but I was able to find a foot rest from an empty room.  Not perfect but it'll get you a bit of rest. You look done in."

   "Oui, and thank you."  He offered a brief but sincere smile.

   "Monsieur Poirot, "  the nurse said. "I realize this sounds foolish but try not to worry.  Dr. Doyle is one of the best in his field.  Your wife is blessed to have him on her side.  If it's possible to fix, he'll fix it." 

   Poirot nodded. "I prayed that it would, indeed, be fixable."
   The nurse gave his shoulder a reassuring pat and went about her business as Virginie's husband returned to the hospital room, where Virginie was sound asleep. Going to the right bed side,  her husband only...looked at her for ..possibly an eternity or so. Ever so tenderly, he caressed her cheek.  Kissing his right index finger, Poirot touched it to Virginie's lips.

 "Please,"  he whispered his single-worded prayer before getting himself situated , as comfortably as possible.  As the nurse promised,  there was a blanket, a pillow and a foot rest. How she set it all down without waking Virginie,  Poirot had no idea.  And yet, it was a blessing.  The night before major surgery and she slept as soundly as if she was in their bed at home.  Poirot could only hope for such an easy slumber .

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