Everything You Told Me

by Lucy Dawson

  I glance at Matthew, to make sure that’s sunk in. ‘I only ask because on Saturday, I had what appeared to be a suicide note in my pocket – it wasn’t, I hasten to add – and my mother-in-law told me she was worried I might have already been diagnosed with a terminal illness; presumably because that’s about the only circumstance under which she can imagine I might have considered suicide. An attempt on my part to spare everyone a lot of suffering, I suppose.’

  ‘What?’ Matthew exclaims, completely horrified. His hand has gone limp in mine.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart, just a second.’ I turn to him beseechingly, then back to Dr Sawyer. ‘I really want all of us to be very clear that’s not the case. You have no record of my being tested for anything so far?’

  ‘None at all. But you do have symptoms now?’ Dr Sawyer prompts. ‘Have you still got this headache?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You haven’t been waking each day with a headache or pain?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And when you did have it, was it worse when you coughed or sneezed?’

  ‘Not so I noticed.’

  ‘You were also sick on Saturday morning too, and had visual problems?’

  ‘Yes,’ I confess. ‘My sight was blurry when I first woke up, shortly before I vomited. The pain in my head was pretty excruciating, like the worst hangover I’ve ever had.’

  ‘OK, Sally.’ She looks at me reflectively for a moment. ‘Well, we’ll take a look at you now, and I think we’ll also run some blood tests. I’ll see if we can get one of the nurses to do that while you’re here so you don’t have to come back again later. I’m also happy to refer you for a CT scan too. Then what I’d like to do is book you in for another appointment for the end of this week, so we can run through everything in more detail then.’

  ‘Sorry, what are the blood tests and CT scan for?’ Matthew interrupts.

  ‘We’ll do a full blood count, renal function, liver function, bone profile, and thyroid function, to make sure that there isn’t a reason like high calcium, an infection, or an underactive thyroid behind Sally’s symptoms. The CT is to make sure there isn’t any kind of condition affecting the brain,’ Dr Sawyer says. ‘These unusual things can present sometimes, and it’s important that we rule them out, but I would stress that they are rare.’

  ‘You don’t think this sounds like amnesia of any kind, though, do you?’ I say.

  ‘No, I don’t. Transient global amnesia doesn’t present like the episode you’ve described. Are you on any other medication at the moment, Sally?’

  I shake my head. ‘I had a glass or two of champagne on the Friday night, and I’ve not been drinking alcohol at all recently, but that wouldn’t account for blacking out like that, surely? My mother-in-law did offer me a sleeping pill, but – no, wait.’ I stop suddenly. ‘That was last night, anyway. Sorry. I’m getting confused – like I said, I’m very tired—’

  ‘Whoa, sorry. Can we just stop here for a minute?’ Matthew cuts in, looking very frightened indeed. ‘Sally, you don’t have a brain tumour. That’s not possible.’

  This is dreadful, but I had no choice but to be honest with the GP about everything. It’s too important. I squeeze his hand again. ‘Even if I do have something, we’ll deal with it, OK?’

  ‘No, no, no.’ He shakes his head vehemently. ‘This isn’t… right. What I mean is,’ he turns to Dr Sawyer, ‘we’ve been under massive stress recently. Sally’s been amazing, but life has been extremely challenging for her. She had a very traumatic birth with our son six months ago. She had to have an emergency section, and our son needed to be resuscitated immediately after delivery. They put an airway into him –’ to my horror, Matthew’s voice wobbles suddenly and his eyes fill with tears – ‘and took him straight down to the special care unit. He was there for a couple of days and it made things like feeding him very challenging for Sally. Sorry.’ He swallows and tries to gather himself.

  I had no idea he had been so affected by what happened – or is he actually upset about what he thinks I was trying to do on Friday night? Because I’m not sure, and don’t want to say the wrong thing, I end up saying nothing at all.

  ‘I mean, he’s fine now, and Sally is too, although she picked up an infection. It was just a very, very scary time. We’ve found it quite hard to get back to normal since then. Particularly as our son doesn’t really sleep. Sally’s been dealing with the nights completely on her own so I can hold down my job, but over the last few days she’s been – very understandably – vocalizing to our family and friends that she can’t cope any more, telling them that she hates her life – that kind of thing. But on top of all of that, after what happened on Friday, her friend told me that Sally has in fact tried to commit suicide before. I’m now really desperate that Sally gets some support with this, if it’s some sort of post-natal depression, because I don’t want whatever happened on Friday to have been the start of something; some sort of trigger. I’m saying all of this really badly, but this isn’t a brain tumour.’ He looks at me pleadingly. ‘It just isn’t,’ he whispers.

  I turn back to the doctor. ‘Is it possible that if I did have a brain tumour I might have behaved in an extreme way that I now can’t remember? Like taking myself off to the other end of the country in the night?’

  ‘Yes, it’s possible.’

  I hesitate. ‘Can tumours also alter your behaviour? Make you irrational, or paranoid?’

  ‘People with tumours may experience negative changes to their personality, yes.’

  ‘Would I be aware that I was behaving like this?’

  ‘Well,’ she says carefully, ‘someone might not realize that their behaviour has changed, or become problematic, no. Let’s wait and see what the results of the tests are before we jump to any conclusions, though, shall we?’

  Back in the car, we’ve been driving to collect Chloe from school in silence for about five minutes, when I finally clear my throat.

  ‘Matthew?’ I say tentatively.

  He jumps slightly, and turns his head worriedly to me. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m so sorry you had to see all of that happen to Theo when he was born.’

  He doesn’t say anything, but I watch his fingers grip the steering wheel a little more tightly.

  ‘It must have been horrific for you.’

  ‘I thought I was going to lose you both,’ he says simply. ‘You were on the table and they were stitching you up while they were trying to get Theo to breathe—’

  ‘You saw that too? Them working on me?’ I’m appalled.

  ‘I saw some of it, yeah,’ he says flatly. ‘It was a much smaller screen than when Chloe was born, which I wasn’t expecting.’ He exhales. ‘And then when it all started to go wrong…’

  I wait for him to continue.

  ‘I felt so helpless. Two of them were sewing you up, the other lot were putting the mask over Theo, and then when that didn’t work and they put the tube down him…’ He shakes his head. ‘He was so fucking tiny, Sal.’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry, Matthew. You should have told me.’

  ‘Of course I shouldn’t!’ he exclaims. ‘I wasn’t the one it actually happened to, was I? You had enough to deal with.’

  ‘Do you think about it still now?’

  He doesn’t look at me. ‘Yes. I tend to get flashes of it when I’m not expecting it.’ He clears his throat. ‘I’ve dealt with it all quite badly, I think.’

  I simply had no idea at all about this. And I’ve just taken him to an appointment where he’s been hijacked with the news that there might be something else new and seriously wrong with me, on top of also thinking I tried to commit suicide two days ago. My poor, poor husband.

  ‘But listen, this isn’t about me. I’ll sort myself out, and I don’t want you to worry, because I can handle it. It was quite a shock to hear you come out with all that at the doctors, though.’ He stares at the road ahead. ‘You mentioned Mum had some concerns? Did she discuss them with you?’

  ‘Yes,
she did, but I’m glad. She was worried that my not telling the truth, and insisting I can’t remember what happened, was going to lead Dr Sawyer down a path that would unnecessarily frighten everyone. The thing is, I am telling the truth, and while it obviously has scared you, and I’m very sorry for that, I honestly have no memory of Friday night at all – and until your mum brought it up, I didn’t even know my not remembering what happened might be caused by something being physically wrong with me. So I’m actually very grateful to her. I didn’t want to have to tell the doctor everything, but what choice did I have? It would be completely irresponsible of me to have some symptoms and not get checked out as soon as possible, wouldn’t it? For Chloe and Theo’s sake.’

  His jaw tenses and he doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then suddenly bursts, ‘Actually, I’m just amazed all that doctor gave you was that patient health questionnaire to take back next time.’ He nods tersely at the piece of paper I’m holding in my lap. ‘Tell me what question nine says again? In the last two weeks have you—’

  ‘—had thoughts that you would be better off dead, or of hurting yourself in some way,’ I read.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ He shakes his head crossly. ‘I mean, forget everything else fundamentally – that doctor had, seated in front of her, a woman with a baby who’s had a tough time recently, has told everyone she can’t cope, and it turns out in the past she took a paracetamol overdose! What the hell point is there in that fucking questionnaire?’

  I look at him carefully, but stay quiet. He’s really frightened. That’s what this outburst is about.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says a moment later. ‘It’s just… the one thing I’m clear about is that I love you more than anything. I just want to keep you and the kids safe, and all of us together.’

  ‘I know,’ I manage eventually. ‘I love you too.’ We pull up outside Chloe’s school, and Matthew starts to look for a space along the already crowded roadside.

  What on earth will we do if there is something wrong with me? I can sort everything else, but not that. Somehow my own body already feels slightly alien… Although that is completely absurd. I don’t know for certain that anything is the matter. I need to hold onto that.

  Having found a very tight space, Matthew eventually manages to squeeze into it, and turns the engine off. ‘Are you all right? Do you want me to go in and get Clo?’

  I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak.

  ‘You don’t want to come too? She’d like that – it’s not often we get to pick her up together.’

  He’s right. Chloe will be so delighted to see us both that she’ll come running towards us, arms outstretched, shouting, ‘Mummy! Daddy!’ and I don’t know that I’ll be able to keep it together. She doesn’t need that.

  I shake my head, my eyes bright with tears. ‘I think I’ll just stay here, if that’s OK?’

  Matthew looks at me and says shortly, ‘There’s nothing physically wrong with you, Sally. Those tests are going to come back just fine.’ He opens the car door. ‘I’ll leave you the keys, just in case.’ He climbs out, and I watch him stride towards the gates and bang in through them.

  He gets so angry under pressure. I know that’s just how he copes, but I wish he wouldn’t. It doesn’t make it any the easier; in fact, it just adds to the stress.

  It occurs to me suddenly that even if Caroline is wrong and I’m not OK, I’m still won’t be able to explain why I put the note in my pocket. Or why I cleared my phone down. But then, I suppose that’s the whole point about irrational behaviour – you can’t explain it, only what causes it. Far more importantly, suppose I do it again and this time I actually do fall. I try to swallow my rising panic. I just can’t be ill… I can’t!

  There’s a sudden knock at the window and I jolt, to see one of the mums standing alongside the car, holding her daughter’s hand, a lunchbox and several bits of paper with drawings on them in the other. I open the door and am immediately assaulted by a heady waft of perfume.

  ‘Hi, Sally.’ She smiles with the passive-aggressive steel of someone pissed off at being held up for point five of a second longer than they have to be because of the sheer stupidity of everybody else around them. ‘Do you think I could ask you to pull back so I can get my car out?’ She nods at her massive Lexus. ‘It’s a bit tight.’

  ‘Sorry, Lydia. Matthew was on a mission,’ I apologize, and for reasons best known to myself, opt to slide inelegantly across to the driver’s seat rather than getting out and walking around.

  I have to arch my bottom up to get over the gear stick, which makes me lose my balance a bit, and, yelping in alarm, I stick my right arm out, which in turn makes the buttons on my already straining shirt ping open over my boobs, revealing my bra. I look up to see the mum and her daughter watching me incredulously, as I perform my bizarre in-car yoga.

  Face flaming, I carefully ease our Renault back as they climb into their Lexus, and the mother waves tightly – it’s actually closer to a fist-shake than a gesture of thanks. I’m instantly reminded of Kelly as the Lexus roars off, only to have to stop impatiently at the red traffic lights at the top. Everyone is just getting in her way.

  I watch them pull away again determinedly and think about Mum telling me I’m wrong about Kelly, she’s played no part in this; Caroline telling me this morning to stop concentrating on Kelly; Kelly herself insisting I’m crazy, she’s totally innocent… I close my eyes. After this morning at the surgery, surely I should concede I might have been unduly paranoid and obsessive about her?

  Except I know Caroline warned me about Kelly – that definitely happened. And Kelly swapped the ring too. It’s hardly as if my fears are totally baseless… But then I have to accept it is also possible I had no control over what my body was doing and my mind was thinking on Friday. Maybe the very fact that I’m thinking about it all now is irrational?

  I realize suddenly it’s not a question of not knowing who to trust around me. What’s truly terrifying is now I don’t know if I can trust myself.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Chloe chatters away as we drive back, but for once I’m quieter, letting Matthew field. I open the window as we head down one of the more open stretches of road and feel the cool air chill my skin, closing my eyes and letting the sound of Chloe and Matthew’s voices wash over me. My head is spinning with questions and fears that I have no answers for. I can’t make sense of anything. I feel as if I’m trying to grasp at the finest of silvery threads, but they disappear like smoke as my fingers curl around them. All I am able to hold onto for certain is that I would not ever knowingly hurt myself. But it feels nowhere near enough to anchor myself to.

  ‘Sal?’ Matthew taps me. ‘Chloe’s cold.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.’ I lean forward instantly and do the window up again. ‘Is that better, are you OK?’ I spin around to look at her fretfully.

  ‘Hey, it’s OK. She’s fine, aren’t you, Clo?’

  Our daughter nods, busily watching videos on my phone of herself when she was about two. Matthew reaches out and takes my hand in his, holding it gently, until he has to change gear and is forced to let me go again.

  We eventually pull up on the drive, and I reluctantly undo my seatbelt as Matthew switches the engine off. Mum is going to have twenty questions for me, and she’s going to be scared out of her mind when I tell her I’ve got to go for a CT scan… But as we approach the front door, there are more immediate problems to hand. I can hear Theo crying before we’ve even managed to make it into the house.

  ‘What on earth?’ Matthew says in alarm, and fumbles with the key in the lock in his haste, before the door swings open to reveal my poor mother, desperately rocking and shushing an absolutely scarlet and completely wet-faced Theo, alongside an equally harassed-looking Caroline, who is helplessly watching on. Both women’s relief to see us is palpable. Theo has clearly been crying for some time.

  ‘Hey!’ I exclaim, and hurry over, gathering my little boy into my arms. His sobs immedi
ately begin to subside and I feel him start to relax. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Mum says. ‘He was fine, we were having a lovely time. I read him some stories and put him down for a nap, and that’s when it all started. He was crying and couldn’t settle, so I went in, picked him up – and then he just wouldn’t stop.’

  ‘There, there.’ I rub Theo’s back. ‘There weren’t any sudden noises? No one else has been here? It’s just been the three of you in the house?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Sally!’ Mum explodes suddenly. ‘Please don’t start all that again! My nerves won’t take it. Of course no one else has been in the house!’

  I stare at her in surprise. ‘I just meant he didn’t hear a strange voice, or someone delivering something that might have freaked him out? He’s not normally like this.’ I inspect Theo with concern. ‘Hey, hey! It’s all right, I’m here.’

  Chloe looks on in interest, kicking off her school shoes, before coming over to Theo and stroking his foot, crooning helpfully, ‘Oh, poor baby boy!’ as she’s heard me say before. ‘He just wanted Mummy,’ she says simply, and then wanders off into the sitting room.

  ‘I think that’s about the size of it, to be honest,’ Caroline admits. ‘He honestly wasn’t at it for more than twenty minutes, though, just to reassure you. Although it felt a hell of a lot longer than that, didn’t it, Sue?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Mum, ‘it did.’

  ‘Your mother has done sterling work. I think I’ll go and put the kettle on, shall I?’

  She escapes off to the kitchen, and Mum turns to me. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all snippy. Do you mind if I just go and have a sit down in the other room for a moment?’

  ‘Of course not. I might see if I can get Theo to nap now, even if it’s just for ten minutes. Maybe he’s just overtired. I assume he’s not actually slept at all?’

  ‘You assume correctly.’ Mum looks at Theo in amazement. ‘My goodness, young man. You’ve aged me at least ten years today…’ She pats me feebly. ‘You have the patience of a saint, Sally.’