He Loves Me Healthy, He Loves Me Not by Renee Dyer Release Blitz!
Title: He Loves Me Healthy, He Loves Me Not
Author: Renee Dyer
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: August 30, 2016
Publisher: Forever Red Publishing
āIf you are looking for a book with substance, I highly recommend this.ā -Cranky - The Book Curmudgeon
"A story of strength, Love and bravery. A story that will make you think and bring you to tears but most of all a story that will fill your heart.ā -The Book Fairy Reviews
āRenee Dyer has poured her heart and soul into the pages of the novel, and could be felt more with each word read.ā -Prisoners of Print

Itās a strange little word about to change Nick and Brenna St. Jamesā world forever.
Brenna was raised to believe love conquers all. Losing piece after piece of herself causes her to waver in her beliefs. Insecurities abound and she canāt stop wondering if Nick can love the person she is now. Is it fair to ask him to?
Nick wants a do over. To go back to a time before Brenna was sick, before everything changed. But genies donāt exist, life doesnāt grant wishes, and time machines havenāt been invented. All he can do is follow his heart...and his heart wants Brenna.
Together, they have to face a battle they never imagined.
When fighting is all you have leftā¦
When love can't heal everythingā¦
When life rests in the balance of the unknown...
When their vows, āā¦in sickness and in healthā, are put to the testā¦
Will Nick and Brenna be able to fight through the odds stacked against them, or will everything come crumbling down?
Chapter One
Brenna
Snow swirls around me as I try to wrap my mind around the news I received. I sit in the cold interior of my car unable to bring myself to start it. My tears add to the chill overtaking my body and I welcome the bitterness, hoping it will cause numbness, bringing on memory loss.
How am I going to tell Nick?
Thinking of my husband brings a fresh wave of pain and tears. My loving, supportive Nick. From the moment I laid eyes on him, in a club, of all places, I knew he was the one. It was the strangest feeling. My heart didnāt stop beating and I didnāt lose my breath like you read in romance novels, but there was an awareness that flowed through every fiber of who I was. His dark eyes and perfect smile called to me through the masses of people and I knew I had to meet him. I remember shaking my head, thinking, He canāt be the one. Heās so not my type. I couldnāt picture him running down a field, carrying a football. In fact, I would be surprised if he stood six inches over my five-foot-two frame. I had scoured the dance floor, looking for someone else to catch my eye, but something about him kept drawing me in. I chuckled at the absurdity of it all. Since my teen years, I had been attracted to jocks and the man to finally turn me to mush had me picturing cubicles and computers.
Heād ignored me that night, seemed to see right through me. It was actually my best friend, Amy-Lynn, who forced me to make the first move. Iām still thankful for that. At twenty-three, I may not have known what I was truly missing out on. Eight years later, I can say heās the best thing thatās ever happened to me. Weāre connected. I felt it that first night. I feel it now. Nick burrowed himself into my soul. Thatās whatās making this so much harder. Itās going to break his heart. He was sure I would be alright.
I try to calm myself, but my mind travels back to the appointment, to the words Dr. Wendell spoke. My head falls onto the steering wheel and fresh tears fall as I tumble into the madness of my memory.
āBrenna St. James.ā
My head pops up from the magazine I wasnāt really reading. An older gentleman with a kind smile awaits me. I stand slowly, holding the chair for support. If I try to move too quickly, it can bring on an āepisodeā. I know this is the best place for it to happen, but the embarrassment of these strangers seeing how my body tears me down is too much to handle. With slow, unsteady steps, I make my way toward the man and shake his extended hand.
āIām Dr. Wendell. Itās a pleasure to meet you.ā
āItās nice to meet you,ā I say weakly. With my nerves wreaking havoc on me, forming a coherent sentence feels impossible.
White hair, mustache, small beard, glasses, bow tieāI take in the entire picture of the doctor before me, trying to calm myself. Heās talking about the cold weather and I think I respond, but my brain feels so muddled. Itās not every day you have to meet a neurosurgeon. Unexpectedly, he breaks out singing Beyonce, her famous āto the leftā line repeating on his lips while he does a little shimmy. I canāt stop myself from giggling. His antics have their presumably desired effect. My tension starts to ease, and I feel a bit more relaxed. I like this guy.
Two lefts later, he opens the door to his office. Itās surprisingly cozy. I expected it to be clinical, sterileā¦I donāt know, whitewashed. Instead, a floor to ceiling bookshelf filled with books, family photos, a globe, and a couple model skulls greets me. They arenāt as creepy as I would have guessed. Plants on coffee tables, a couch, and rocking chairāheās gone to great lengths to make sure his patients feel comfortable. I hardly notice the exam table against the far wall.
We spend the first part of the appointment going over my symptoms and when they started. He talks about the tests Iāve undergone and why my primary doctor felt they were necessary. I try not to get irritated all over again. Iāve spent nine months getting worse while my primary refused to listen to how I was feeling. Then she sent me to a completely insane neurologist. Months of my life have been wasted on unnecessary tests and doctors who refused to help me, and nothing changed until I finally got angry enough to demand who I saw.
Those demands led me to this appointment.
āDr. Nugent sent over your final work up from a few weeks ago,ā he says after wrapping up his long list of questions. āI also have all your files from Dr. Herrington and Dr. Lauzier.ā
āI signed a waiver for all the tests I had done at the hospital to be sent to you,ā I add, hoping he has everything and I donāt have to make another appointment to start getting answers. After getting the runaround for so long, I just want answers, and Iām done waiting for them.
āYes, I have all your scans, too. Would you like me to go through them with you? I find if the patient sees whatās happening to them for themselves, it helps them to be better equipped to make decisions.ā
Iām not sure what decisions heās talking about, but my nerves kick in to overdrive. I nod, unable to form words. Fear fills my entire body as he signs into his computer and pulls my scans on the screen.
At first, the grey images seem like a blur to me. I can easily tell itās my brain, but Iām not sure what Iām supposed to be seeing. He quickly shows me how part of my brain, the cerebellar tonsils, hang out of my skull, crowding my spinal column. In fact, theyāre crowding it so much, I have a fluid obstruction forming. He explains that the massing can cause pressure on the brainstem, spinal cord, and block the CSF flow, the fluid running through and around the brain. My mind swirls, processing everything heās saying too fast for me to make sense of it.
Thereās a blockage between my brain and spine, fluid isnāt flowing correctly, and without getting the fluid to flow better, there is no way to slow down my symptoms. I want to shrink into the floor, become nonexistentā¦anything to take me away from his words.
āMrs. St. James.ā
āBrenna, please,ā I squeak out.
āBrenna, your symptoms are progressing rapidly due to the lack of fluid movement. They are going to get worse as the obstruction gets worse. The tonsils are hanging too low, causing too much crowding. Your brain will continue to produce CSF, but there is nowhere for it to go.ā
I stare into his blue eyes, begging him not to say what I know is coming. My heart races and I can hear the blood pumping through my ears. I blink twice quickly, trying to make it all go away.
āMy recommendation at this time is surgery. I feel itās the only way to provide you any relief.ā
And my world disappears beneath my feet. Iām left free floating in a sphere of panic, disbelief, and anger. How could my body betray me like this? Where is Nick? I need his arms around me, protecting me.
No one should hear they need brain surgery alone.
Dr. Wendell continues to tell me about the surgery, but Iām too lost to hear him. I have to stop him and ask him to start over. His eyes full of compassion and understanding, he starts over and I do my best to keep it together. I manage to do just that until I get into my cold car.
Iām not sure how long I sit in my car, allowing myself to emotionally unwind, but my shivering spurs me into action. With shaking fingers, I rifle through the papers on my passenger seat, trying to find the keys Iād haphazardly thrown there in my need to break down. My eyes roam over the information and dates sprawled before me and my stomach churns. Fearing Iāll be sick, I slam my eyes shut, needing to block out the reminders of todayās news, and blindly search for the keys.
āWhere the fuck are they?ā I shout into the empty car, my voice sounding broken.
I am broken.
Itās why Iām sitting here, unable to call the one person who can comfort me. Comforting me, means breaking him, and I canāt do that. With my keys found, I start the car and pray the warmth that will soon fill the space can bring me peace.
Lowering my visor, I open the mirror and cringe at my reflection. Mascara streaks my cheeks and all the color has drained from my face. I look hollow.
I canāt talk to Nick looking like this.
Iām not sure where the thought comes from, or why I think cleaning myself up is going to make delivering this news any easier, but I grab napkins from the console and furiously scrub my skin. The paper is dry and my skin starts to feel raw under the pressure, but I donāt care. I need to be me for a little longer.
Shoving all the papers to the floor, I grasp my purse. I take a few minutes to touch up my makeup and then give myself another once over. My eyes speak back to me, telling me no matter how much makeup I put on, or how many times I touch it up, it wonāt cover the truth. I try to push the thoughts from my mind, but I canātāno amount of positive thinking will change whatās about to happen to me.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the seat and force myself to breathe. I need to be calmāget into character, so to speak. Nick will need me as much as I need him. My voice needs to sound sure. I canāt tremble. I canāt cry. I sure as hell canāt breakāno more than I already have. Itās time for me to be strong.
One more deep breath and I open my eyes, pull my cell from my purse, and force myself to focus on the snow falling around me. Keep your eyes on the snow. Watch the flakes fall. Get lost in the white. My fingers type out his work number and I bring the phone to my ear. Iām not sure which is louder, the ringing or my heart. Itās beating so fast, Iām afraid itās going to pump right out of my chest.
Keep your eyes on the snow. āYouāve reached Nicholas St. James. Iām currently away from my desk. Please leave a message and your contact information, and Iāll get back to you shortly.ā
A deep sigh falls from my lips and relief floods through me. Iāve never been so happy for Nick to have a meeting.
āHey, babe. Just left the doctorās. Driving home now and itās snowing. Iāll be home in about a half hour. Call me there.ā
I drop my cell in the drink holder and start the drive home in suffocating silence. I leave the radio off, but without the background noise, I realize how loud my mind is. Thought after thought bombards me. Questions I wish I had asked. Questions I worry Nick will ask. Will he be able to handle this?
Will he leave me?
Heās stood by me through so much, but I canāt help but wonder if this will be too much.
My cell rings, dragging me from my wandering thoughts. Iām in no way ready to talk to Nick, but if I donāt answer, I know heāll worry. Ten more minutes and I would have been in the safety of my home. With a sad heart, I reach for the phone, click that little green icon, and brace myself.
Iām about to find out how strong my marriage really is.
āHello.ā
āHey, babe. Howād the appointment go?ā
Trying to lighten the mood, I joke, āThe doctor said itās all in my head.ā
He sighs through the line and I have to choke back the sobs trying to break free.
āThatās great, Bren.ā
āUhā¦no. Iām so sorry, Nick. I shouldnāt have joked about this. It is all in my head, but that means I have to have surgery.ā
āSurgery?ā he questions.
āYeah, surgery.ā
Our call goes quiet while the news sinks in. I want to say something, but I have nothing to offer to soften the blow. How do I offer comfort when I feel so lost?
āI wasnāt there for you.ā
His sad voice adds to the misery of the day. I wish I could tell him itās okay, but I needed him with me. The more I think of whatās going to happen to me, the more I know how much Iāll continue to need him, so I say nothing.
āIām so sorry, Bren.ā
Review:
He Loves Me Healthy, He Loves Me Not by Renee Dyer lived up to my expectations!
I have loved Renee's books from the very beginning, and this book has quickly become my absolute favourite.
Just by reading this novel, you can see the amount of love and passion that went into writing it. The characters have an emotional depth and maturity to them, that can only be achieved by an amazing author.
I highly recommend this novel to everyone. You will not regret reading it.
4/5 Stars!

Thank you for sharing, reading and reviewing. I'm so happy you enjoyed the book.
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