Id

by P. Craig

  “A little anxious for the verdict,” the man—David—replied.

  John sighed quietly. “I thought you’d say that. I’ll get straight to it, then. As you know, you came to me two days ago complaining of dizzy spells, followed by long periods of severe headaches, one or two of which had resulted in a temporary loss of consciousness. Now, as you had a routine physical only a few months ago, I merely did a cursory check of your key vitals to ensure that there was no significant change in the interim. With all outward physical checks showing you to be in perfect health, I suggested we explore a number of other possibilities not covered in the original routine check-up, and it was while I was shining a light into your left eye that you experienced a sudden blackout...”

  As David listened, he felt his wife’s fingers intertwining with his own; she squeezed his hand in a reassuring manner.

  “Now, unfortunately,” said John, “that did rather send alarm bells ringing in my head, so I immediately called an old friend of mine—a neurology consultant at the hospital—and discussed both what had happened and also the other symptoms that you'd reported. On his advice, I arranged for an ambulance to take you to the hospital, and while you were still unconscious, my colleague carried out an MRI scan. As the session finished, you will recall that you came round again and then—somewhat impolitely, I believe—pressed him for his initial assessment of what the scans were showing.”

  David vividly recalled the disorientation he had experienced upon waking in an entirely different room from the one of his last waking memory. His cry of alarm had shocked the doctor good and proper. His subsequent choice of language hadn’t gone done too well, either.

  “There was nothing obviously wrong,” said David. “Though the doctor didn’t want to say that for definite.”

  “Yes, it appeared that there was nothing wrong... superficially, at least,” said John, with a slow nod.

  He paused for a moment, glanced down at the file and then looked at David and Emma in turn, before his gaze settled upon his old friend. He let slip a sigh that prompted a tightening of Emma’s grip around her husband’s hand.

  “Regrettably, a subsequent, more detailed examination of the scans revealed—I’m so sorry to have to tell you, David—that there are two, bean-sized growths inside your brain. One is located in the occipital lobe; the other in a region deep between the parietal and frontal lobes.”

  Stunned, Emma’s eyes widened and she turned to look at her husband.

  David shook his head in disbelief. “A tumour?!” he said, though deep down he had known all along that such a diagnosis was always a possibility.

  His friend nodded and again sighed heavily. “Two of them, unfortunately.”

  “But how can that be?” Emma asked, finding her voice, though her shock was evident in her tone.

  Shrugging, John shook his head. “It’s difficult to say. Almost impossible, really. It’s unlikely to be any one specific factor that has caused the tumours to develop, but the root cause could range from anything like a heavy blow to the head to, perhaps, a latent genetic defect.”

  “There’s no history of such a thing in his family,” Emma said firmly.

  John shrugged again.

  David could tell his friend was clearly finding it difficult to know what to tell them. “Are they operable?” he asked, his question prompting another tight squeeze of the hand by his wife.

  John nodded. “Most definitely so. Tumours of that size are rarely too problematic to remove. However, as I said, one of them is situated awkwardly between the parietal and frontal lobes, deep within the cerebrum, so the danger, if there is a danger, lies in the removal of that one. I would think—and, in fact, my colleague would expect—that, although potentially complex, surgery will ultimately prove successful.”

  David nodded slowly. His friend’s words, though explicitly optimistic, were implicitly betrayed by a look in his eyes—a look that spoke volumes for the doubts that he had left unsaid.

  A silence descended upon the room, as both David and his wife attempted to assimilate what they had heard.

  “What’s the worst case scenario?” David asked finally, though he already knew what the true worst case was likely to be—his death.

  John’s eyes dropped to the file beneath his hands. “If complications arise—and that, I assure you, is a big if—then there might be additional neurological injury beyond that already created by the tumour itself. Any damage to the occipital lobe, for example, may adversely impact the visual cortex and, consequently, affect your eyesight.”

  David nodded. “And damage to the other lobes?”

  John hesitated. “Well, in theory, that could result in difficulties with your ability to control emotion, to assimilate sensory information, to control levels of aggression, to speak coherently, or any one of a dozen other autonomic responses that we all take for granted, even that of breathing. More specifically, you may have trouble with your memory. One of these tumours is located in an area where any damage caused by its removal could well affect the neural pathways that are used in the storage and retrieval of memories.”

  “Long-term difficulties?” Emma asked, squeezing her husband’s hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

  “Only in the very worst case scenario,” said the doctor, closing his eyes while nodding.

  “And in the best case scenario?” David asked, glancing at his wife and hoping she couldn’t see the fear in his eyes.

  “Best case scenario—you’re home within a week and back hunting out in the sticks within a month.” John gave them a warm smile. “If I were you—if I were either of you, in fact—I would focus solely on a positive outcome.”

  Water was gathering at the corners of Emma’s eyes, tears that were welling over the fears that were racing around inside her head, stripping away her defences and making her vulnerable to the emotion that had been bubbling away ever since David’s previous visit to the doctor.

  Nudging his chair a little closer, David wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her close. “What happens now, then?” he asked of his friend, though his eyes were still locked upon his wife’s, silently communicating the inner strength that had finally, just as he had hoped, shown itself when he needed it most.

  John leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’ve already been in contact with the hospital. After explaining your situation and calling in a few favours, I’ve managed to get you pencilled in for surgery tomorrow evening. It’s short notice, I know, but the quicker we get the tumours removed, the better the outcome will be, particularly in the long-term. I assume you don’t have any objections?”

  David shook his head. Self-employed as an author and with his most recent novel safely in the hands of the publishers, there wasn’t much on his plate that he couldn’t leave to a later date.

  “Good,” said John, with a quiet sigh of relief. “I didn’t think there would be a problem, but it has only just occurred to me that I should really have asked first before making the arrangements. Personal interest perhaps overriding professionalism in this instance, I think.”

  John smiled as he said this; such was its warmth and sincerity, it made David feel glad that he had a friend like him to look out for his best interests.

  But then he’s always been looking out for me. Even when deep in the mud in some godforsaken conflict-ravaged country in the middle of nowhere.

  David wondered if he had been as good a friend to John as John had been to him. He hoped so.

  “Now, as I say, the operation is scheduled for tomorrow evening,” John continued, “but as my colleague Dr Rubinstein has instructed me to tell you, it is desirable that you enter the hospital today, as soon as possible, so that a few tests can be carried out prior to surgery. They’re routine tests, nothing invasive, but I think it would be beneficial if you went early to the hospital, even if only from the point of view of familiarising yourself with the surroundings and the nurses and doctors who’ll be looking after you. I think it
might help. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

  David shook his head. “No, of course not. I’ll pack a few things and head right there.”

  His friend nodded. “Do you have any more questions—anything you’re not sure of? Neurology isn’t my area, so you may want to save any questions concerning the operation and subsequent treatment with Dr Rubinstein, but if there’s anything else...?”

  David glanced at his wife. He could tell she was fighting hard to hold back the tears. He gave John a rueful smile. “Thanks. I’ll call you if I think of anything.” He hugged his wife, holding her face close to his own, though his eyes were still fixed on his friend’s. “I guess I should get packing. And maybe, while I’m at it, figure out what I’m going to tell Charlie.”

  John nodded his understanding. Closing the file, he stood up and then started towards the door. “I’ve a gap in my schedule this afternoon,” he said, looking round as he grabbed the door handle. “I’ll try to check in on you at the hospital to make sure everything’s okay.”

  David shook his friend’s hand, their eyes locking in a silent exchange of regret, gratitude and friendship. There was no need to say anything else; in truth, there was nothing else to say.

  Smiling ruefully, John pulled open the door and stood to one side to let them by. “Can I get you a taxi?” he asked, as they walked out into the corridor beyond. “Your car’s still being repaired, right?”

  David glanced over his shoulder. “That would be good, thanks.”

  John nodded. “I’ll get Mary to call one for you.”

  David raised two fingers to his temple, mock saluting his old brother-in-arms.

  Smiling again, this time with more humour, John did likewise and then stepped back into his room, closing the door behind him.

  Walking slowly back towards the reception area, David felt Emma shivering beneath his touch; the struggle to control her emotions was beginning to sap all her energy, all her warmth.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered, hugging her more closely and rubbing her arm in much the same way as she had done earlier to his back.

  “It should be me asking you that,” she said, sniffing and looking up at him with big, wide eyes—the same beautiful eyes that he had fallen in love with all those years ago, though now they were wet and glassy-looking.

  “I think everything will be okay,” he said, hearing so much strength and conviction in his voice that he, too, could almost believe it, even though he knew it was at best little more than a half-truth. “Bean-sized tumours, that’s what he said—in fact, that’s all he said about their size—so I can’t imagine there’ll be much of a problem getting those out.”

  “No, hopefully not,” said Emma, sniffing again as she tried to give him a smile.

  David stared into her eyes, hoping his strength was still shining through his doubts, and then pulled her closer towards him, wrapping his arms around her and letting her bury her head in his chest. If anything, her grip around him was even tighter, even more protective, and though she was still shaking—still sobbing in a way—she was holding back the tears, her strong will refusing to let them flow.

  “It’s all going to be fine, you know,” he whispered in her ear. “We’ll get through this, all of us, and we’ll come out better, even closer, than we were before. I’m not going to die and leave you two alone. I’ve got too much love for you both to do that.”

  “You’d better,” said Emma, her big, wide eyes looking up into his once more. “Because I sure as hell don’t want to wake up the day after tomorrow knowing I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life.”

  David kissed her on the forehead and then looked down into those penetrating, searching eyes, those deep blue oceans that he had lost himself in a thousand times. “You won’t be. I promise—right here, right now—that you will never have to do that.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” Emma said, her eyes lighting up as a smile spread across her face, “even if I have to argue with the Almighty to get into Heaven to take you to task about it.”

  David laughed. “I’m quite sure he wouldn’t stand a chance of stopping you.” He kissed and embraced her even more warmly than before. “Come on, let’s get this taxi.”

  Hand in hand, they turned and continued down the corridor, ready to head home.

  ***

  Outside the window, outside the car, everything was a blur of green and brown, with only the occasional gap in the hedgerow revealing the wide expanse of parkland that lay beyond.

  The view, or the lack of it, was of little concern to David; nonetheless, the distraction of looking out the window was welcome—and it provided him with time to think.

  “I think it would be best to tell her everything,” said Emma, repeating the same remark she had made a moment earlier—a remark to which he had made no reply.

  “I’m not sure,” he said finally, concentrating his gaze on the strip of clear, blue sky he could see above the gauze of green and brown whizzing by. “It’s a lot for her to take on board, especially with the speed it’s all happening. And besides, if things go well, I might be back before she even notices I’m gone.”

  “She’ll notice. Believe me, David, she will notice.”

  “Will she?” he asked incredulously, turning in his seat and looking at his wife. “I mean, she never pays much attention when I am around. She’s always just mooching about or hanging around in the yard while plugged into that iPod thing you bought her that’s about the size of my credit card, which—I hasten to add—is what paid for the damn thing in the first place.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the taxi driver was smiling.

  “She’s a teenager,” said Emma, calmly, “that’s what teenagers do. Heck, that’s what I did when I was her age—something similar, anyway—and I’d be surprised if you weren’t much the same.”

  “I didn’t have an accessory permanently attached to my hand, though,” said David, though he immediately wondered why, especially as it wasn’t entirely true.

  “She’s a lot more astute than you sometimes give her credit for,” said Emma, redirecting the conversation back onto its original path.

  Sighing, David rested his head against the window. “I know she is,” he said, after a moment’s silence. “I do, I really do, but it’s just... oh, I don’t know.”

  “She’s your little girl and you want to keep the harsh truth of your condition away from her,” said Emma, nodding. “Well, that’s fine and good, but she’s a big girl now, and I think—no, I know—she’d feel hurt if she thought you couldn’t share what’s happening to you because you thought she couldn’t handle it.”

  Outside, the green and brown blur was slowly becoming more defined, individual branches and leaves gradually revealing themselves to the eye.

  “Up this lane here, right?” the taxi driver asked, glancing over his shoulder as he sat with his hand on the indicator and his foot poised over the accelerator.

  “Yes, thanks,” said Emma. “It’s the house at the very top of the lane.”

  The driver nodded. Flicking the indicator paddle, he turned the wheel to the right and started the car towards the tree-lined lane that led up the small hill to their home.

  “What are you going to say to her?” Emma asked; she looked at her husband expectantly, waiting for an answer—or at least the answer she wanted to hear.

  “I’m still thinking,” David replied, nibbling at a ragged nail on his hand.

  The truth was that he didn’t know what to say, even if he really wanted to tell Charlie what was about to happen to him—which he didn’t. He well remembered what it was like when he had been his daughter’s age and his parents had told him—completely out of the blue—that his grandfather had died on the operating table after going into hospital for what they all thought would be a routine heart bypass. As far as David was concerned, remembering his feelings on the matter from when he was young, going into hospital for any kind of surgery usually only equated wi
th one outcome—and that was the death of the person involved. Based on that logic, he figured the less his daughter knew, the better it would be for her. If his situation subsequently deteriorated into that long-term scenario John had discussed—which pretty much equated to a worst-case scenario, he figured—then he and, more likely, his wife would deal with it then. For now, Charlie could live blissfully in the dark.

  The change in sound as the wheels travelled from tarmac to gravel snapped David out of his reverie. He looked out through the opposite window, watching as the car drew past the front of their home.

  “Never did get round to painting those window frames,” he said, though the instant he said it, he knew it had come out the wrong way.

  “You will,” said his wife. “You can do those bottom windows when you’re recovering, perhaps.”

  The taxi slowed to a stop a short distance from the front door.

  “That’ll be sixteen seventy-five,” said the driver, pressing a couple of buttons on the meter.

  David handed over a crisp note. “Call it an even twenty.”

  The driver winked and nodded in appreciation as he took the note.

  “Have you decided yet?” Emma asked, as she opened the door and lowered a foot onto the gravel.

  “Still thinking,” said David. He opened his door and quickly stepped out. The air was cold and he could feel the hairs standing up on his neck. He shivered. “Yep, still thinking.”

  His wife gave him a look. “But your time’s up...” She cringed the instant those words left her lips.

  David smiled with amusement. He walked round the rear of the taxi as it pulled away and put an arm around his wife. “Your key or mine? Or shall we wake the princess?”

  “My key. Besides, I think Charlotte’s already up. I heard her rumbling around in her bedroom as we were leaving.”

  As his wife stepped up onto the veranda around their house, fishing the front door key out of her pocket, David looked over his shoulder and watched as the taxi disappeared out of sight down the lane. In an hour’s time, it would be him and not an empty space occupying the back seat on the way to the hospital. Whether or not he ever saw the approach to the house again was a question, one of many such questions, that he wasn’t willing to dwell on for too long.