“Good. You should really want this. It’s a privilege to be able to use this machine.”
Janie placed her hand in a certain place on the hull of the pod and the lid began to open.
“How’d you do that?” I asked as I tried to work out where a switch could be located on such a smooth hull.
“It’s right here. You simply place your hand there and it opens like magic.” Janie kneeled and I did the same. The metal finish was smoother in the place she was pointing, but hardly noticeable and you’d only know it was there if you knew where to look. “You need to take your shoes off,” she said as she glanced at my feet.
I sat on tattered red velvet steps in front of the cross and unlaced my trainers. I didn’t want to ask Janie for reassurance again. Either the pod worked or it didn’t. I climbed in, the funny stuff the mattress was made of expanding to cocoon me.
“What now?”
“Put your left hand on that panel above you. That’ll trigger the lid.”
“Okay. Here goes nothing.” I took a deep breath and reached up.
The metal was cool to the touch and nothing happened for a few seconds. I half expected Janie to break out in laughter, tell me I was a fool, that this was all a hoax. But then the lid began to close slowly. A moment of panic hit me, my heart fluttering in my chest, my belly full of the collywobbles. I was about to be sealed in a fancy-looking coffin. Was I insane to agree to this?
Then a voice spoke. The voice was female. She spoke softly, reassuringly. “Please place your hand by your side.”
My palm was still on that metal panel. Obediently, I lowered my arm and felt the foam envelope it, like it had the rest of my body. The lid was halfway closed now. Janie stared in, watching until the lid closed all the way and I was sealed in.
Inside the pod was more roomy than an MRI scanner, but only marginally. There was the same feeling of being straitjacketed. If something went wrong, how would I get out? Would Janie hear me shouting from the other side? How soundproofed was the pod? My stomach lurched and then I knew it, I’d vomit and asphyxiate on my breakfast because the foam wouldn’t let me turn my head. These were my final moments.
Then the voice spoke again. “Heartbeat and blood pressure raised. Antihypertensive being administered.”
What on earth did that mean? I hardly had time to worry. A sense of calm washed through me, the nausea disappeared and I couldn’t hear my heartbeat thrumming in my chest any more.
“Patient registered via DNA. Scan initiating.”
The woman’s soft words relaxed me further. Could you build subliminal messages into speech? I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to restart the claustrophobic panic, and tried to detect if I could feel the machine doing anything to me.
“Diagnosing.”
What would she find, I wondered. More than I already knew about?
“Eighteen tumors found in the liver ranging from 2mm to 36mm along with five seed tumors. Three tumors found in the left lung, two in the right, ranging from 18mm to 26mm along with one seed tumor in the right lung and three in the left.”
Well, that was the right amount of tumors, but the idea of seed tumors was new to me, and I found the information chilling. The machine started to talk again.
“Four sessions recommended to fix cancer sites.”
My eyes flashed open. That’s it? Only four sessions, just like Janie! The lid of the pod didn’t seem so close now, my reflection fuzzy in the brushed metal surface above me, an image of a sedate version of me that didn’t show the anticipation building inside.
“Shall I begin the session?” the voice asked, and I realized I needed to respond.
“Yes…” my voice choked, the word coming out too quiet. “Yes,” I repeated, this time with more confidence. This was it, this was my time, my luck, my lottery win. I had doubted Janie, dismissed the machine as madness, but here I was, encased in a magic pod expecting to be cancer free. A few weeks ago I‘d been working out the best date for my funeral – one I could attend. I planned it as a celebration of my life, of life in general, and to be timed for the last weeks of my life. I liked to call it my pre-funeral. A hum built up beneath me, a kind of vibration that started at my toes and worked softly up my body. As I closed my eyes my last thought was, this best be real.
The vibrations concentrated on my torso for what felt like a long while. Just like Janie had said, the treatment, whatever that was, made my insides go all warm. The sensation was pleasant and if it had gone on much longer I’d probably have fallen asleep. Instead, the vibrations moved up my body to my head then stopped.
For a moment nothing happened. In the absence of the machine humming, my ears rang, making up for the sudden silence. Then the woman spoke.
“Session complete. Next session in three days’ time.”
When she stopped speaking, the lid popped open and slowly rose back to its original position. I felt good, as if I’d had a big dose of vitamins. I was relaxed and so comfortable I didn’t even make a move to get out. The foam hugged me as I stared out the end of the pod, the cross visible again and telling me to have faith, I would be cured. God I hoped so. Not sure if it was sacrilege or some other no-no, not really sure I cared that much about offending a God who had abandoned me to cancer, but I crossed my fingers and toes and hoped for that mystical cure being offered.
“How was that?” I’d forgotten Janie was there. Startled, I felt a little of the calmness the machine had given me ebb away.
“Strange…” I thought maybe I’d have trouble extricating my body from the clinginess of the foam mattress, but as soon as I tried to pull my arms from its grip the foam deflated and flattened back down. I clambered out, slightly unsteady and holding onto Janie as she offered her arm. “Good but really strange,” I said.
“How many sessions do you need?”
“Um, a few. Four I think.” I frowned, trying to remember. “No, it was four. I’m sure she said I needed the same amount as you needed. You know, I was so relaxed I wasn’t paying enough attention.” Suddenly worried, I asked Janie, “Does it matter? Will I mess things up?”
Janie laughed. “No, I don’t think it matters that much. I forgot how many days to wait before coming back and came a day late. The machine told me I was late, but it didn’t seem to affect treatment in the slightest.” She put the laminated card in my hands. “Here, don’t forget this. It’s the basics – not that it’s particularly complicated. Shows you how to open the pod, climb in, place hand on lid, let it do its thing, and so on and so forth. Hold onto it and give it to the person you choose when you’re done.” She helped me over to a righted pew and returned to the pod, resting one hand gently on its hull.
“Am I kidding myself? Is this all a really elaborate joke?” I stared at her. “I’m not sure how much more disappointment I can take. Would you tell me if this wasn’t real? Would you tell me now before I get my hopes up?”
Janie came to me and took my hands in her own. “I swear on my life that this machine works. I would never do something so cruel as pretend to have a cure. This is as real as it gets.”
I nodded, seeing the honesty in her eyes. Maybe imagining it there, maybe I needed to dream for a little while. I hadn’t thought of anything other than my own demise for such a long time. Everything I did seemed to be tainted by the end date hanging over my head. Even when planting the fruit trees last year I did so knowing I’d never see them grow larger than me, never see them covered in fruit. I’d never live long enough to see the asparagus crop fully. Stupid things, really. My hair would never go grey. My skin would never wrinkle. Never grow old. Never fade away. Who wants to live forever, anyway?
7
Sally Needs Help
By the time I pulled into my driveway I had decided not to tell Jimmy. He’d laugh at me, call me a fool for believing and I’d never go back for the other sessions. I’d tell him I had a nice afternoon with my new friend Janie and he’d be too busy thinking about work or in between meetings to be interested in an
y more details. He’d just be glad that I’d been out of the house.
Janie and I had separated on friendly terms. We’d hooked up on Facebook before driving off in separate directions, promising to keep in touch. I figured I’d be far more likely to keep that promise once I’d got proof the machine actually worked. To be honest, as I sat in my car not quite ready to go inside and face Jimmy, I began to feel a bit stupid. I thought of films about the olden days and how those quack doctors rolled up with their wagon filled with tinctures and potions and false hope, sold the promise of a cure and left before the truth could be discovered. Was I one of those gullible people waving their money in the air trying to get a bottle of snake oil before the wagon rolled off into the sunset?
But Janie hadn’t asked for money. She’d given me the key, and even if she had another, it didn’t stop me from passing the key onto another person. It was all so confusing and I wasn’t going to solve any of this today, not here in my driveway with the sun beginning to heat the air to an unbearable level even for me. I grabbed my handbag, hiding the key to the church in the pocket where I kept a few tampons. Not that Jimmy would ever dare to go digging in my bag, he had a fear of sticking his hand in there, like he might catch something if he did.
“I’m home,” I called out as I unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
Jimmy appeared at the top of the staircase, a mug in his hand. “I was just about to make tea. Want one?”
I nodded. God how I wanted a cup of tea. Curl up on the sofa with the Ray Bradbury book I was reading for the umpteenth time and forget about that stupid machine.
Jimmy stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at me in an odd way. “What have you done? You look different.”
My cheeks pinked up, how could he guess so quickly? Did that mean the machine actually did do something? “Nothing, just walking along the beach.”
“That must be it.” He took another long look before turning away. “Must be the sea air or catching the sun on your skin or whatever. You look almost healthy.”
I laughed nervously. “Thanks,” I said, attempting my best sarcastic tone and hoping he wouldn’t notice.
The kettle roared into life as I collapsed onto the sofa. The day was catching up on me. I was overdue my next anti-sickness, yet the usual nausea was somehow absent.
“Did you get my messages?” Jimmy put a cup of tea on the side table next to me.
“What messages?” I dug in my handbag for my phone. Sure enough, I had a couple of messages and a missed call. I scrolled through to find Sally’s name. She must have called just after I left the church.
“Sally couldn’t get a hold of you. She wants to know if you can pick her kids up from school. She’s having a really bad day.”
“Must be to be asking for my help…” I read pretty much what Jimmy had said in her text message. I shot off a reply and glanced at the clock. “They’re in an afterschool club that ends in ten minutes.” I slurped at the tea. “Must go.” I took one more gulp of tea, gave Jimmy a quick peck on the lips and grabbed my keys.
Peter and Lucy were waiting at the gate, a stern-looking teacher giving me her best disapproving expression as I arrived.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said and herded the children back to the car before the teacher could tell me what she thought of me. She was lucky anyone was coming for them, what with their mum being a manic depressive and me with cancer. But the teacher probably didn’t have a clue, Sally kept her problems as secret as possible.
The church and the machine were fading into memory by this time, like a daydream rather than being real. But the extra energy keeping me going wasn’t a dream. Maybe it was all a placebo effect.
The kids sat quietly in the back of my car. Too quiet for eight and ten years old. I knew what they would do the minute they got home and it made me so sad. I decided to try and insert a little levity into their life and veered off the road that led to their home and went to the beach instead. When Sally and I were kids it was our favorite place to be. We’d walk the sands talking about our toys and books. Then as we got older the subject became boys and boys and... oh yes, more boys.
“Come on you two, let’s go for a walk.”
Lucy and Peter glanced at each other, their expressions far too adult for my liking. It was Peter who spoke. He always did, getting words out of Lucy was like finding the Holy Grail to me.
“But Mum will need us.” His tone was so serious it made my heart break.
I sighed. Children his age shouldn’t be worried about their mum. “She’s been by herself all day. She’ll be okay for another ten minutes,” I told them as I engaged the handbrake.
The children exchanged another long look, the type that made me think mind reading was real. “She’ll be needing me to make supper. And Lucy says she’ll need a cup of tea.”
I decided to ignore his pleadings and opened the door. “Just ten minutes, kids. She’ll be fine.”
Being an adult won the battle for me. Obedient and quiet, they climbed out of the car. I’d parked by the beach in Hoylake. Other kids were here, either with parents or without. I counted almost as many dogs as people. “We’ll walk to the lifeboat station and back. The sea air will do you good.”
They followed me, not once breaking into a run or smiling or chasing the puppy that came and begged for their attention. In the end I gave up halfway to the station and turned back.
We found Sally tucked up in bed. Peter went straight to the kitchen while Lucy climbed under the covers and started a whispered conversation in her mother’s ear.
“Hey Sal.” I sat on the armchair opposite the bed. “It’s probably time to get up.” I knew better than to force her. The trick was to slip in the children’s needs without making her feel like a crap mother. It was a very hard trick to do.
Peter came in with a full mug. “Mum, I’ve put a tea beside you. Three sugars, just like you always want.”
Sal was curled up on her side, the bed covers almost covering her entirely. Long strands of black hair escaped onto the pillow. They were greasy and I wondered how long it’d been since she’d had a shower.
“Peter’s made a tea for you. Do you want me to put some food on for the kids?”
Sal made a small noise and buried deeper. “It’s so dark,” she finally said, her voice muffled by the covers.
“That’s because the curtains are closed and you’re buried so deep you’re nearly in China.” I tried to insert a joke, something to lighten the mood, if not for Sal, at least for the benefit of the kids. I opened the curtains and threw open the window. Sunlight streamed into the room, the sun low in the sky.
“That’s not what I meant,” Sal said.
I’d been in dark places too – maybe not like Sal, and certainly not for the same reasons – but I’d been there. Peter had gone off and reappeared with a bottle of prescription pills. He placed it next to the mug and went back to the kitchen.
I’d been taking care of Sal for as long as I could remember. Her father committed suicide when she was a baby and we spent long hours working through her emotions as teens. Then years later, Rob killed himself. I think losing her husband was harder than losing her dad in some aspects. Every day I feared what I’d find when I showed up here. Today she was still alive and I was feeling well. Almost deserved some sort of celebration. An image of the machine floated behind my eyes, reminding me of my strange afternoon. Maybe it would make me better. That way if Sal went further downhill… let’s just say I could fulfil promises made before cancer got me.
8
Dealing with Sally
“What do you think it’s like?” Sally was still under the covers. Lucy must have finished whatever it was she had to say as she crawled out from under the covers and left the room.
“What do you mean?” I knew exactly what she meant. The thing I had thought about on and off for the last two years. Would I snuff out? Be reborn in some squalling baby? Go on to a higher plane where I was rewarded for bearing the cross
of cancer?
“Death.” She sniffed and moved about under the covers. I guessed she was crying. “Rob came to see me earlier.”
Sally laid that one out for me. Like a booby trap or landmine.
“Told me to accept the darkness. That he needed me.” Sal pulled the covers back enough that I could see her face. “But the children… they need me more.”
I nodded at the tea. “Peter brought you a tea and your meds.”
“Would they miss me?” She glanced at the door. Fortunately the kids were elsewhere. “All day I thought about what they would do if I died. Do you think they’d cry?”
I nodded. “Of course they would. They love you very much.” The last time Sal had spoken like this she’d had to go in to hospital for a few weeks. I’d looked after the kids, but that was before chemo hell took over my life. I wasn’t sure I could cope right now.
“I think they’d cry. For a day or two. But then I think they would be relieved.” Sal wiped the tears from her cheeks. “They’d be glad that I’d finally gone, and wasn’t destroying their childhood anymore. You’d make them children again. You and Jimmy.”
“Stop being silly.” I sat on the side of the bed and put an arm around her. “Drink some tea. Do you want me to take out your meds?”
I waited, but she didn’t reply. Her face had gone lax, the look in her eyes distant, like she was very far away.
The writing on the bottle said two. I popped the top off and put the tablets in her hand. “Here.” I pushed her hand to her mouth and handed her the mug. “Swallow those down. They’ll help you to feel better.”
“Feel…” She was hardly even blinking. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Sal swallowed the pills and a small amount of worry left me. I couldn’t stay at her house forever, but I needed to make sure she was okay enough to leave her alone with the kids. I stared at her for a long while. She’d gone blank, not speaking, hardly even blinking. There was only one choice for me. I stepped out of the room and rang home.
That Elusive Cure Page 3