This one particular night when Paul picked me up to go out to eat, he was picking his face. Oh no. This was not a good sign. He only did that when he was extremely nervous. As we were attempting to eat dinner, I asked what was wrong. We were both just moving food around on our plates. He admitted to me the night before, while I was working, he went with a prostitute. He said he was very drunk and she picked him up. He had tears in his eyes when he told me a doctor should check me. At that moment, I despised Paul. I went to the gynecologist and got every possible test I could get. I ignored his calls.
Bam! Atlas called. He came out to Vegas and I picked him up at the airport. Oh boy. I could feel myself drowning. He was so much fun, and I loved this man. I took a week vacation and left with Atlas as a “screw you” to Paul. It was Christmas. I was in Florida. While in Florida, Atlas's mom and stepdad shared the holiday with us. Atlas had presents for everyone. He even had extra presents in case people didn’t have presents. I don’t remember my present, but I had one. I do remember a present that said “To: Nobody. From: Somebody.” He gave it to a friend who drank warmed up red wine. Weird. Her name was Sally. She wasn’t attractive at all, and she wasn’t a threat. My second Christmas present was Atlas asking me to marry him. I said yes.
I returned to Vegas to get the news that I had cervical cancer. I called Atlas and told him about the cancer. I’d never heard him so upset. I tried to call him again and again. He never answered. This was my fiancé. I called Atlas's mom and asked what was going on. I was informed he couldn’t handle the fact that I was dying. Geez…ok.
I started drinking a lot. I was drinking Chivas Regal scotch until I passed out or blacked out. One night after work, I was at one of my regular bars in the Horseshoe. I recognized one of the busboys from the Nugget and joined him at the bar. We drank and talked for hours. He was just twenty-one years old and he loved the Phil Collins song Sussudio, and so did I. I was drunk and it was time to go home; it was getting late. I went to stand and my legs were rubber. The busboy offered to take me home and I accepted. I lived on the other side of town and he said it was no problem. When I got to my apartment, I realized the valet had my keys. He took me back to the Horseshoe to get my house key, and that's all I remembered. I woke up in my usual oblivious state. I was naked and I’d peed my bed. I had a blurred memory of the busboy being in my apartment, and through the fog remembered giving him one of my porcelain masks. It was a black and red original music face. Shit! Did I sleep with this kid? Oh boy, I had to go to work that night. How embarrassing. As soon as I arrived at work, there he was. I approached him and thanked him for taking me home. He thanked me for the mask. I asked him if anything had happened and he said, “Yes. You took your clothes off and went into your bedroom and passed out. I let myself out. “I thought to myself, “I have to get a grip on my life.”
I went to many doctors in Vegas, and none of them were optimistic about the cervical cancer. One wacko female doctor I went to told me to swab myself with a Q-tip and she would send it to the lab. I never went back to her. Paul suggested we go to California. Yes, I forgave Paul for going with the hooker. After all, if he hadn’t cheated, I would have not known about the cancer. Paul made appointments at UCLA Medical Center, Santa Barbara Cancer Center, and Scripps Clinic. Scripps is where I met Dr. DiMarco. He scheduled me for a biopsy, and I flew to my appointment with Paul. The doctor actually cut little pieces of tissue in different areas of my cervix. The biopsy hurt so bad I nearly passed out. The only way I can describe it is like if you squeezed your lip as hard as you could and then pulled it over your head. Ouch. The doctor then scheduled me for a cone biopsy, hoping to cut all the dysplasia out. Paul drove me for the surgery. At the time it was in-patient. The risks were high. The surgery could cause infertility, and if I did get pregnant, there was an increased risk of miscarriage. I had no choice but to take the chance. Well, all went well, and Paul continued to fly me to California for follow-up checkups each month. Paul paid for all the doctor visits and all the procedures. My insurance from the Nugget wouldn’t cover out-of-state doctors. I thought, “I guess he really does love me.” Through all this, I never heard from Atlas. I did talk to his sister, and she told me, “Sally, the Christmas Nobody, is pregnant with Atlas's baby.” I felt really sad and I wondered if I could get pregnant. I wondered if I did get pregnant, would I lose the baby? I guessed I was lucky to be alive. I was done with Atlas.