As her fingers touched mine tears flooded my eyes, my face hot and prickly as I tried to stop them. “I’m so sorry.” I grabbed another napkin and pressed it to my eyes. “I’m not usually like this.” Truth was I hated being emotional. But this possibility, the slim chance this woman might not be a liar or a crazy person, that this machine might actually exist… Tears welled up for a second time and I struggled to control myself.
“Take your time,” she said, her voice soothing. “As soon as you’ve got it together, I’ll take you to it. And to answer your question, it’s far better to see it for yourself than for me to try and describe it. But just in case you’re dying of curiosity,” she flashed me a wry grin as she realized what she’d said, then continued, “it looks a little like a pod.”
“A pod?”
“Yes, like out of some science-fiction movie.”
I stopped staring at my unfinished tea and glanced at her. Janie was smiling, and I couldn’t decide whether her grin was concealing an inside joke. No way was I going to let my hopes get up any more than they already were. This woman that I hardly knew could be setting me up for some cruel trick. I had to remember that. The ache in my liver whispered to me that no matter how silly the idea of this magic machine seemed, I had to give it a chance. Even if I just went to see exactly what this futuristic pod of hers looked like. I rubbed at my tummy as I tried to ease the pain.
Janie pushed the key across the table towards me. “Have you heard enough? Do you want to go there?” I could almost hear the unspoken words, the words hidden between the lines: do you want to be cured?
“Yes,” I said and closed my hand around the key.
4
Seeing the Pod
I followed Janie’s car, one of those odd-looking little Fiat 500s in lilac, through the countryside and into Birkenhead. She’d said where we were going, and I knew the place. I’d passed by the church on many occasions. I’d even daydreamed about buying it and setting it up as a flat for my daughter, keeping part of the space for me and creating a studio. That was me letting my bohemian side through. The place Cass lived in was grotty, but she refused to move back home, and my dream was to buy her a decent place to live. She had this boyfriend who seemed to be quite handy. I’d let them live there for free in exchange for his manual labor.
We pulled into the tiny car park. I still had the key in my possession, and I thumbed it nervously as Janie got out of her car and walked up to the door. We were in the town center, a stone’s throw from the council parking lot I used almost every week. To think this mystery machine had been there the entire time almost made me feel taunted by it. I searched briefly for hidden cameras, my eyes settling on Janie as she stood on the stone steps by the sad-looking church, patiently waiting for me. Taller buildings crowded in on three sides casting the building into shadow.
“You ready for this?” She took the key from me and inserted it into the lock. “You need to give it a little jiggle or the mechanism won’t turn.” She yanked on the key, her fingers white for a moment as she struggled. Then the key turned. I glanced up at the windows. They were so dirty I couldn’t tell if they were stained glass or not. Wire mesh covered each and added to the camouflage. The stone walls might once have been a warm grey, but now traffic dirt covered every surface and the building looked as if it was covered in soot.
My nerves were getting the better of me now, like a ball of static had got inside of me and needed me to jump around to get it out. I stamped my feet and tried to regain control.
“Go on.” Janie indicated that I should turn the handle.
“Okay…” We swapped positions and I pushed the door open. It was one of these heavy oak affairs, although the wood was so grimy I couldn’t actually tell what kind of wood it was. My belly ached, the tumors making themselves known, and I stepped over the threshold.
Inside was dark, the windows shedding little light. We entered the nave, our footfalls loud on the stone floor. Someone had pushed all the pews up against the walls, piled like firewood and abandoned. A pod-like machine big enough for a single person rested in the cleared space, its metallic hull gleaming like buffed silver. In the background a large cross still hung behind the altar.
“This is it.” Janie knelt beside the machine and put her hand on the surface, almost like a lover’s touch. “This is what cured me.”
Curiosity got the better of me. I could see why she’d said maybe it came from the future, the machine looked like a prop from Star Trek. Her fingers danced over an almost hidden control panel. The seal broke and the pod opened.
“This is what you do.” She climbed inside and lay down. A type of foam lined the pod, it expanded around her as she got comfortable, cradling her body. “I took four sessions to be fully cured. It’s very easy to use and the machine tells you exactly what to do.”
“So it speaks English to you?”
“Yes, another reason why I don’t think aliens left it. I hardly think they’d program the thing with English. It’s home-grown.” She pointed to a label above her head. “Besides, it says MicroHealth here. I guess they were the manufacturers.”
I walked slowly around the pod. The machine was a thing of beauty, the metal flawless, the seams - if there were any – invisible. “How is it powered, it’s not exactly plugged in to a socket.”
Janie climbed out. “Who knows. Who cares.” She shrugged. “Give it a go. I won’t close the lid. Settle yourself in the pod and get a feel for it.”
I circled it once more, fear growing in my belly. I decided the machine was definitely manmade, I just wasn’t sure of when. And if the machine wasn’t from now, how on earth did it get here? Its very presence made my mind spin with possibilities. Would it cure me? A small part of me was beginning to think maybe the answer to that was a yes.
I climbed in carefully, wondering if it would hurt when it worked, like the nettle-stinging sensation some of the drugs gave me. Or worse, like the deep consuming pain I suffered after the first operation. Or like feathers brushing up against my skin, or perhaps I’d feel nothing at all. Maybe it wouldn’t even work on me. I’d had bad luck with every other treatment the doctors had thrown at me. Why would this be any different?
A wave of claustrophobia threatened to make me bolt, but somehow I kept control and lay down. The foam mattress expanded around me, reminding me of memory foam, but with a little bit of intelligence. It gave me a sense of security and the feelings of being trapped were simply forgotten.
“Right, I have a list of instructions here.” Janie sat cross-legged on the ground beside the pod and showed me a small piece of card. “It’s super simple, not sure you even need the instructions, but they made me feel better before my first session.” She ran her hand over the smooth shell of the pod, a faraway look on her face. “When you’re ready, press your hand onto that pad up there.
I looked where she was pointing. Inside the lid, positioned roughly above my chest, was a square panel that was shiny metal instead of the buffed silver of the rest of the pod.
“Go on, I’ll stay here the whole time.”
“What, you want me to do this now?”
“I suppose you don’t have to. But it’s really not a big deal. You should give it a go.”
I stared at Janie. “You sure about this?”
“Absolutely. I owe my life to this machine. Trust it.” She smiled warmly. “Go on.”
I still wasn’t ready to be trapped in the pod. “Does it hurt?”
Janie thought about my question for a moment then said, “No… it doesn’t hurt as such. More a sensation of warmth. You’ve had a CT scan? You know the one where you think you’ve peed yourself and your skin gets really hot? Well it’s nothing like that. I felt warmed-up and very relaxed. It’s a nice feeling.”
“The CT scan…?”
“Yup, but without the peeing sensation. Or the hot skin.” She nodded. “It’s not scary. Honest.”
“But how does the medicine get in?” I sat back up and swung my feet
out of the pod.
Janie shrugged. “You know, I haven’t a clue. There’s no needles…” She frowned as she thought about it. “Maybe it goes into the air and you breathe it in?”
For just a moment I realized I was in an old abandoned church with a woman I hardly knew, trusting her because I thought her smile was honest. I’d climbed in a machine of unknown origin – at least for me. Maybe she was a serial killer, and this was her modus operandi. She’d trap me in this pod, wait until I’d suffocated and then dump my body in the Mersey. Maybe she thought of it like a mercy killing, because let’s face it, I was on that road already, she’d simply be shaving off a few months.
The musty smell of the church threatened to overcome me. Beyond my feet the cross that had been left on the wall gave me a small amount of comfort. It seemed to tell me that I wasn’t insane for trusting this woman and I should let events take their destined course.
“One last question, how long do I have to be in the pod?”
“That’s the best bit. Think of all the treatments you’ve had, the hours of sitting around as the docs do something else to your body. The pain, the needles, the side effects that last for months… well forget all that. This takes minutes.” This time her smile came over as smug. “Lie back down and put your palm on the panel. It’s your turn to get better.”
“Look, I’m sorry, Janie.” I climbed out of the pod. “It’s all too much. I’m not sure I can do this. Not right now.” Moving away from the machine, I watched it from the corner of my eye as its lid slowly closed.
“Really, you’d rather suffer?” She appeared so surprised.
“You were in my shoes not so long ago. Don’t you think all this,” I waved a hand at the pod, the church and everything around us, “is odd? I need time to think about it.”
“Up to you. It’s your life.” Janie sounded a bit miffed. I really had to wonder what her motivation was. She was on her feet already and heading out of the church.
I followed slowly, glancing behind me at the pod one last time before Janie locked the door on the surreal scene, a futuristic medical device with a tortured Jesus on the cross hung behind.
5
Chemo Day
Clatterbridge: my least favorite and yet favorite place to be. I missed it when I didn’t have sessions. Felt the absence of the security blanket of chemotherapy. But when I was there all I felt was pain and sickness.
It’d been a week since Janie had taken me to the church and shown me that weird pod. She’d been texting me every day since, asking how I was, whether I’d decided to use the machine or not, telling me how it would relieve the symptoms of the chemo, take away the ache in my liver, even get rid of the weak cough that wouldn’t go away. Every day I’d thought about the machine, rolling the possibility of being cured around my mind. Despite the utter oddness of the entire situation I really had considered telling her, “Yes,” in the days right after the visit to the church. Now, as I sat in the hospital, I was unsure. I hated chemo but it was an evil I knew.
I was hooked into the poison and listening to the people in the bay beside me. A mother was there with her adult son. He was scrolling though info on his phone and telling her in detail what happened if the chemotherapy drugs were spilled. The way he described it, you needed something similar to a HazMat team to clean it up. It would burn the surface off the flooring. It would burn off skin. No wonder the veins in my arm hurt so badly.
The mother shushed him and the silence was worse than the Wikipedia entry he’d been reading.
My phone buzzed.
Hi Kath, hope chemo goes okay today. How are you feeling? xxx
Janie, I’d guessed she’d send me a text at some point today. How did I feel? I was almost finished after nearly two hours of the oxaliplatin chemotherapy being pumped into my vein. I didn’t feel sick yet, but I knew that was in the post. The drug gave me major issues with cold things. During the first few days after an infusion even lukewarm liquids were too cold, everything had to be off the boil. I’d be taking a thermos of hot herbal tea to bed tonight so I’d have a drink if I woke in the night. As it was, with the bag of drugs almost empty, swallowing was becoming difficult as even my own spit was too cold to deal with.
Feeling rough. I replied. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. Every fortnight I came into Clatterbridge smiling and joking. I went out quiet, holding my arm where the infusion had gone in, any good humor long gone. The walk down to the car would be slow.
I hate to press you, but I really need you to decide about using the pod. If you don’t feel confident enough to use it that’s not a problem. I’ll find someone else.
Oh Jesus. I didn’t need this. Not today.
The machine attached to my meds started to beep. I just needed a flush of glucose solution to rinse out my veins and I’d be done.
Flush is about to start. Can you leave to come get me now? I fired the text off to Jimmy as the nurse arrived to sort me out.
On my way. Hopefully Jimmy would indeed be on his way. Working from home had seemed such a brilliant idea at first, until having an office in the house became an excuse to work even more.
I needed to reply to Janie, but didn’t know what to say. Although I really didn’t rate the pod as anything other than a joke, I couldn’t help but think about it. It was too smooth, too shiny, too sophisticated… too perfect to be a prop. Even the way Janie had found a secret button so the top pivoted open soundlessly was too real. There was something about it that stuck in my brain, like a memory splinter. No matter how I tried I could not remove the thoughts the pod triggered: cure, remission.
Can you give me one more day? I texted back to Janie.
Okay. I’ll give you one more day then I’ve got to offer it to someone else.
Well, it seemed the pressure was on. My nurse came back with a heat pack for my arm even though they weren’t supposed to – health and safety bollocks. They used microwaved bags of saline solution and I always found this amusing. She gave it to me wrapped in a couple of paper towels. I stuffed it up my sleeve, the heat soothing the pain left by the drugs.
As I trudged downstairs I remembered Janie’s text of a few days earlier, telling me how the machine would ease chemo side effects. Jimmy wasn’t here yet and I waited in the warmth of the reception area. To be honest, if I’d had my wits about me, I’d have felt stupid standing in the shelter of the hospital, gloves on my hands, a scarf around my neck, a winter coat buttoned up all the way on a late spring day. All of those layers because I feared the light drizzle and a gentle wind.
The thought of having what Janie described as a painless session in her machine relieve the issues the drugs gave me suddenly seemed not so strange. I guessed it didn’t do anything at all, just gave a placebo effect that helped the person feel better. Before I over-thought it any further, I took off a glove and sent a text to Janie.
I don’t need to think about it any longer. I want to go in the machine.
The reply came as Jimmy pulled up in the drop-off zone.
Oh my god, didn’t think you’d actually say yes. I’m so pleased you want to use it! You will not regret this decision. :) I’m going away today for a week’s holiday. Gill and I are celebrating my being cured with a last minute getaway. I’ll be back next Wednesday. Could go on Thursday? xxx
The need to go in the machine and get some relief from the drugs suddenly seemed so urgent. I blinked away tears, borne more of frustration than anything else. I’d have to cope with the side effects for a few more days, just as I had so many times before.
The automatic doors opened and I stepped outside, my hood up and my face buried in the layers of my scarf. Should have said yes when I was in the church. Then maybe I wouldn’t be feeling so shit now.
“How are you?” Jimmy asked as I got into the car.
“Miserable.”
“I’ve got the heat on high for you.”
I glanced over. Jimmy was in a t-shirt and shorts, sweat trickling down the sides of his fac
e as the heaters pumped out hot air.
“Thanks.” I rested my hand on his leg for a moment, our eyes locked.
“It’s the least I can do for you, my love.”
I stared out of the window as he drove through the hospital campus. Someone dressed in a short-sleeved blouse and holding an umbrella for protection against the rain was on one of the paths. I wanted to be that person. Not afraid of the weather, huddled in a car with the heat on full, my poor Jimmy melting next to me. Next week I would be brave. I’d get in the machine and see how magic it actually was.
6
First Session
I arranged to be at the church at the earliest time Janie would agree to. The last week had been awful. The two days following my chemo I’d projectile vomited everything that passed through my lips. Seven days later and I was still unable to stand anything warm, so only hot liquids and hot foods would do. The exhaustion had taken me by surprise. That aspect hadn’t been so bad in the previous sessions, but this past week it hit me hard, had me sleeping until noon, napping in the afternoon and in bed by eight o’clock.
All the while I suffered the side effects. The weak cough that had plagued me for months persisted. The ache in my liver ebbed and crested, sometimes sharp enough to make me gasp. Other times just a dull niggle I could easily ignore.
Each and every day I regretted not taking a chance with that blasted machine.
I arrived before Janie, parking in the tiny car park and keeping the engine running until she arrived, the heat blasting from the vents. She unlocked the door and I joined her in the church, the set up as I remembered.
“Are you excited?” she asked.
I realized my heart was beating fast, and I gave her a sheepish grin. “You know I am. I’ve been wishing all week I’d gone in when we came here a couple of weeks ago.”
That Elusive Cure Page 2