by Heidi Lewis
The Hospice
By
Heidi Lewis
Copyright © SD PUBLISHING 2020
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
The material and advice in this book is for entertainment purposes only.
This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For questions and comments about this book, please contact the author at [email protected]
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Live…laugh…love
Chapter One
“Hurry up Jack. We’ll be late!” his mother called impatiently. She had become almost military in her ways since Jack’s diagnosis. Keeping charge of the less important things, such as time-keeping and paperwork, made up for the thing which she had no control over, her son’s disease.
As she waited in the entrance hall a feeling of Deja-vu swept over her. She remembered how her actions now mirrored those of Jack’s school days when she would stand in the hallway anxiously awaiting the appearance of his blond, tousled head at the top of the staircase. Then there was his graduation ball, when, once again, she stood in the hall imagining how dashing he would look – and she was not disappointed. On his first day of work, when again she stood in that exact spot, waiting to offer both encouragement and reassurance to him. All of those instances somehow felt like they were leading up to this day. Little stepping stones that would lead to a final destination.
It was hard to believe how quickly things had changed. In the brief space between summer and winter, Jack had gone from being an ambitious, independent twenty-eight-year-old to a fragile, sickly man once again dependent on his parents. As the long summer nights drew in, Jack became tired and drawn. Then Autumn arrived, turning the leaves of the trees yellow, the same sickly yellow colour as Jack’s skin, and when the first leaves of the season began to fall from the trees, so too did Jack’s fair hair.
Today was one of those days to be dreaded yet accepted. It was Jack’s consultation day with his oncologist to find out if the treatment had worked and to receive those all-important PET scan results.
“I’m here. I’m here!” he responded.
“Good man,” she said calmly, trying to conceal the shock on her face when she saw him.
It seemed that every time she lay eyes on him lately, he was getting thinner and paler and wasting away a bit more with each passing day. Of course, neither of them spoke of such things. Any conversation they had regarding his illness, was filled with positivity. Today would be no different.
When Jack reached the bottom of the stairs, his beloved dog, Bowser, ran towards him. He stopped just short of jumping on Jack. It was as if he knew that his master was too frail for horseplay.
Bowser had been a gift for Jack’s twenty-first birthday. His parents had thought that a dog would provide him with some much-needed companionship and perhaps, provide the chance to meet a fellow female dog walker. He had been single at the time and was still single now, something that bothered his parents enormously.
Bowser was a male Alsatian, with intelligence that could put a human to shame. He could carry out all the standard dog commands effectively and without any challenge: he could sit, bark, give the paw, stand on two legs, chase his tail, give a cuddle and, he could even help bring in the groceries from the car by carrying the smaller bags in his mouth. His life was spent by Jack’s side.
Jack bent down gingerly and gave Bowser a quick rub under the belly. Bowser responded with a small whimpered and gave Jack a loving look.
“I can drive Mom!” Jack stated, trying desperately to cling to the remnants of his independence.
“It’s just easier if I drive today and besides, I’d like my car to stay intact!”
“I’m a great driver” Jack exclaimed.
“Maybe you’re a great driver on the Formula One track but not on public roads. You’re a lunatic!”
“I’ve never had an accident, so how do you explain that eh, Mom?”
“Luck!” she smirked.
“Maybe that’s why I have none left,” Jack stated matter-of-factly.
“Oh, Jack ….” She paused, unable to produce any more words due to a large lump which had lodged in her throat. Crying was out of the question.
They glanced knowingly at each other and climbed into the car.
Jack looked at his parent’s home from the passenger seat. It was a four-bedroom, detached, red brick house. He remembered that, when he was a child, it had seemed modern but now it looked old, yet elegant. It had been built by his father in the 1970s and it was a project of which he was immensely proud.
Jack’s father, Anthony, was a sales executive for a major medical manufacturer. He loved his work and loved his six-figure salary even more. However, his real passion in life was DIY. He could turn his hand to anything from building, wiring an alarm to putting up fencing. Anything that involved dexterity and manual labour enthralled him. Jack spent many weekends helping his father on projects and, it was those weekends that sparked Jack’s interest in carpentry.
Anthony was immensely proud when Jack finished his apprenticeship and became a fully qualified carpenter. Although the job commanded only a modest salary, his father knew, without a doubt that, working with timber was Jack’s true calling in life.
As the car exited the residential area, Jack could see all the way across Hudson Bay. It had been a small, almost idyllic fishing village before. However, tourism had become increasingly popular in the area and with it, the associated development and visitors.
They drove down the main street and passed the busy shops and cafes. They could see people going about their business. As they drove on further through the town and down near the pier, they noticed a handful of tourists admiring the view. There sea was calm and the colourful fishing boats were bobbing up and down in the breeze. They drove on and soon went past the Church. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed his mother blessing herself. Like Jack, she was a devout Catholic, but since the summer and his diagnosis, Jack had been too angry to even think about God, never mind bless himself.
The journey was a quiet one, with neither Jack nor his mother, in the mood for small talk. In his daydream, he had almost forgotten that they were headed to hospital, in the nearby city of Charlestown.
Everything was riding on this meeting and they both knew it.
Jack’s diagnosis had been so sudden. First, he had noticed a tiny 6mm mole on his left arm, which became itchy and painful. He ignored it for weeks, but then it started to grow rapidly and became almost the size of a grape within a month. He could no longer ignore it. He had it removed in late spring and put it out of his mind. Then, the family doctor, Dr O’ Rourke asked him to come in to discuss the biopsy results.
Jack put off the appointment for days because he had not wanted to reg
ister the urgency in the doctor’s voice during that phone call. He eventually turned up at the surgery a few days later after a long, tiring day in the workshop. He knew by Dr O’ Rourke’s face, that it was not good news. He had skin cancer, melanoma to be exact. He would require further surgery and that, followed by a few rounds of chemotherapy, would be the end of it. Or so he thought.
A few weeks later he developed a pain in his shoulder, and after a few weeks of misdiagnosis, it was revealed that the cancer had spread. He was to start chemo straight away and have a full PET scan to see if there was any further spread. It all happened so fast that neither Jack nor his family and friends had time to properly process it. Jack had always been an eternal optimist but his optimism and faith were now being tested. He had only ever fleetingly thought about his mortality during funerals and the odd sad movie, but now it was an irrevocable reality.
“Christ make today go well,” he thought to himself.
The road into Charlestown seemed busier than usual and he wondered about the people travelling in the other vehicles. Were any of them in the same predicament as him? He could not remember ever feeling so isolated and lonely as he had over these past few months.
Although always surrounded by family and friends, he still felt alone. Like the world was a snow globe and he was outside looking in, desperately trying to break the glass to gain entry.
“Are you okay love?” his mom questioned, trying to smile encouragingly.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m just a bit tired that’s all,” Jack replied.
“Just think, we will be home in a couple of hours and all of this will be over.”
Jack was not sure who she was trying to convince. Still, he was appreciative of her efforts to be positive. She was as supportive as always these past few months and it seemed that their relationship had changed for the better. They had become good friends, something he would have shuddered at not so long ago. She was the one who had convinced him to move back home after his diagnosis in early summer. He had agreed to do so on the condition that it was temporary. Just until he had regained his strength, but the idea of returning to his beloved apartment remained a dream.
He had bought the apartment when he was just twenty-three. He was so proud of the fact that he had struggled for years to save the hefty deposit, but it had been worth the wait. It had a view of the pier and it was only around the corner from his workshop and his parents’ home. He could walk to the many bars and restaurants along the pier and to the park, which Bowser enjoyed. While his parents had hoped he would wait to be in a relationship before he moved out of home, Jack had moved out because he valued his independence more than most.
Although he had had two “serious” relationships as a teenager, Jack was officially single since Ellen O’ Mahoney had dumped him a day before his twentieth birthday. He was gutted at the time and made a conscious decision then that being single was far simpler for the time being. But truthfully, he had always thought, and secretly hoped, that someone special would appear in his life. However, the weeks drifted into months and the months into years. He had never envisaged himself being single at twenty-eight, but then again he had not envisaged that he would have cancer either.
It was only now, with the terrible diagnosis, and previously at his grandfather’s funeral, that Jack had felt the lack of a special person in his life. His schedule, however, kept him busy: with full-time work, walking Bowser every evening, training at the gym and socialising with his friends on a Saturday night. Sundays were reserved for spending time with his teenage brother, Johnny. He was busy and he liked it that way. One of the worst things about his illness was that it deprived him of the things he enjoyed the most in his life. At a time when he needed to be kept busy, he found that he had so much time on his hands, but so little energy to do anything.
His weekly routine consisted of chemo, which made him sick and almost bedridden for two days afterwards. Then he spent the rest of the week lounging around the house, watching Netflix alongside Bowser, and waiting for Johnny to come home from school to provide him with company.
Johnny was more academic than Jack, but they shared the same sense of humour. They were incredibly close, considering the twelve-year age gap between them. Jack hated the thought of Johnny seeing him sick and banned any talk of his illness around him. His parents were adults and could handle whatever life threw at them, but Johnny was just a kid who idolized his older brother. Jack did not know if his brother had any inkling of the severity of the diagnosis, but he was pretty sure that like most kids his age, Google would have provided him with answers.
Johnny was the good-looking one in the family and stood six-foot-tall although just sixteen years old. He had jet black hair, and dark, almost Arabic skin similar to his late grandfather.
The girls were mad about him –a fact that he was well aware of. Jack found tales of his romantic escapades amusing and, in big brother style, reminded him that he was only sixteen and it was not so long ago that he had been playing with Lego.
***
“You’re in the wrong lane Mom!” Jack exclaimed nervously.
“I knew that,” she smirked, making the necessary lane change.
Soon they pulled into the hospital grounds. It was a modern hospital, having been built in the late nineties. The massive building was six stories high and had a gracious limestone finish. The grounds were immaculately landscaped and could have been mistaken for the gardens of a lavish country estate. An avenue of oak trees lined the walkway from the main entrance to a large communal area, where Jack could not help but notice an emaciated lady drawing deeply on a cigarette, while clinging to a mobile intravenous drip with her other hand.
Why on earth would anyone so desperately ill still smoke cigarettes?
He felt his phone vibrate as a message arrived. It was from his best friend Mark.
“Best of luck for today bud!” he read and then quickly put the phone back in his pocket. “Anyone important?” his Mom asked inquisitively.
“Just Mark!” Jack replied, purposefully not disclosing the contents of the text.
Jack had grown up with Mark and since their first day of school, when they had met outside the school gate, they had remained firm friends. Mark was a mature student studying Arts and Jack was envious of Mark’s carefree attitude to life. He simply drifted along without allowing anything to bother him. He had taken time out to travel the world and had only returned to Hudson Bay last year. He had taught English in Beijing, gone swimming with sharks in Perth, skydived in Dubai and he had the pictures to prove it.
Sometimes Jack felt he had missed out because he had always worried about money, his family, and his future. Now he realised that his twenties had slipped by into the abyss. Even though he was now beginning to feel content with his achievements, he knew fear had held him back from doing more reckless, adventurous things. Mark always said fear was just “false evidence appearing real” and that thought comforted him today. He thought that it was funny that the saying had never been truer than today and it was all he could cling to.
“Right, let’s do this shit!!!” Jack mumbled to himself.
They both stepped nervously out of the car and began the short, but exhausting journey to the entrance. As they walked towards the entrance door, Jack began to feel nauseous and faint but he decided to keep this to himself, as his mom was worried enough.
They walked down the long corridor, which seemed to Jack, to be getting longer with every step they took and eventually they arrived at the consultant’s waiting room. Knowing he could not stand for much longer, he slumped down into a seat and let his mom inform the receptionist that they had arrived.
He glanced around the waiting room. It appeared to be like any other hospital waiting room with generic chairs, used magazines and a television attached to the wall. There was only one other person in the room, a middle-aged man who looked as pale as Jack did. His mother returned and said,
“The receptionist said we are next to be ca
lled.”
“What about that man? He is before us,” Jack said.
The man quickly replied, “Oh, I’m just waiting. My wife and daughter are inside with the doc.”
They both smiled at the man, wondering if it was his wife or daughter who was ill- or perhaps both.
“Perish the thought,” thought Jack.
Chapter Two
Maria was woken by a gentle yet stubbly kiss on the cheek.
“I’m sorry Honey but it’s time to get up!”
Still drowsy, she recognized her father’s voice and cologne but could not figure out why he was calling her. She was, after all, a fully grown, mature woman of twenty-three.
“What on earth is he playing at? She wondered sleepily.
She opened one eye and glanced around the room, the sunlight beamed through the skylight and cut through her drowsiness. She remembered why her father was calling her. She remembered why her body ached. She remembered why she felt nauseous. She remembered it all. Those milliseconds of memory lapse were bliss.
“I’m getting up now Dad, just give me a couple of minutes,” she replied.
Her dad smiled and left the room, but she almost wished he had not. Being alone was unbearable lately. When she was with people, her mind was occupied by the gentle flow of pointless, everyday conversations. But when alone, her mind dived into the depths of despair. If she lay there any longer her thoughts would travel to the darkest of places, so she began the slow ordeal of getting out of bed.
Her feet touched the hard, wooden floor and a refreshing blast of fresh air drifted in through the open door. She grabbed her robe which had been draped across the end of the bed and, as she swung her arm to put it on, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
She had a flashback to her school days, in history class with Mrs Macadam and learning about World War Two. She remembered the pictures of the emaciated Jews in the concentration camps. It was these thoughts that she was afraid of, so she tied her robe and left the room briskly.