That Elusive Cure

by Lisa C Hinsley

  I wanted the drive to Clatterbridge to be silent. I wanted to be left alone with my thoughts. But Jimmy prattled on beside me, hardly pausing for breath. He’d spent the early morning researching medical machinery and trying to find similarities between what already existed and what he’d seen inside the pod. Turns out he’d taken pictures on his phone for reference.

  The key to the church was hidden safely away, or so I hoped. I’d hidden it at the bottom of a box of tampons. Not that I needed them anymore. The medicines long ago put paid to my fertility. I hoped when Jimmy went searching, and I knew he would, that he wouldn’t think to look there.

  My phone beeped. I’d been sitting with my head tilted away from Jimmy. He didn’t even realize I wasn’t listening. I’d been watching the trees whip past the window as we drove along the motorway. I glanced at the screen. Janie had messaged me.

  Are you going to get your chemo today?

  I wondered how close she came to jacking it all in when she was getting treatment at the hospital and visiting the pod within days of each other.

  I am, heading there now.

  “…I found a picture of a new style scanner they are developing in Massachusetts at some hospital there.” Jimmy looked more animated and happy than I had seen him in ages. “The mechanisms in that are remarkably similar to the ones in the MicroHealth machine maybe…”

  I tuned Jimmy out again as my phone beeped. Janie had responded.

  I kept going as well. No point risking buggering up the chemo, just in case. That’s what I figured. Belts and braces, lol.

  Jimmy pulled off the motorway and onto the exit ramp, still talking away. “…They’re also developing nanotechnology with some success. I can’t find pictures of how they’re making that happen, I’m guessing they’ve got the designs under lock and key…”

  I typed in a reply. Feels strange going in. Like an exercise in futility. I suppose it can’t hurt, but I have to admit I feel so well. Over the last year I’d started to feel like a proper cancer patient. I realized this morning that I’m not thinking like that anymore.

  Jimmy drove into the hospital complex and up to the security guard’s kiosk. He wound the window down. “Bringing her in for treatment,” he said to the guard.

  The gate lifted and we drove in. Last day of treatment? Last day of burning veins? Last day of sickness and a long list of side effects that came hand-in-hand with the medicines? Butterflies erupted in my belly and I realized just how desperate I was for this elusive cure.

  Be real, I thought, picturing the pod, the sinky foam mattress and the warm feeling in my guts as the machine did whatever it did. Be real.

  As usual there were a few people milling about near the entrance to the oncology ward. I couldn’t figure them out. Patients wheeled their drips out with them, dressed in pajamas and dressing gowns, or pushed out by enablers in their wheelchairs, all so they could have a stupid smoke. Most of them were gaunt, end stage patients, their skin as grey as the ash on their cigarette, cheekbones sticking out as they inhaled. And they made me so angry.

  I wanted to go up to each of them, give them a shake and shout, “Do you think this helps?” If I could do something to make my bowel cancer better, increase my odds, I’d do it in a heartbeat. If I’d been a smoker I’d have given it up the day I was diagnosed. I’d given up processed foods, wheat, dairy, and the sweetest fruits. For over a year I gave up sugar until I started to cheat and sneak the occasional cake back into my diet. Even discounting the sugar issues, virtually everything that passed my lips was organic. It had got to the point where it seemed there was little I could eat. Did I like doing this? Absolutely not. I was sick of not eating like a normal person. I missed ice cream and chocolate and bread and scones and a hundred other things. But I avoided them for a reason, for the slight chance, the possibility, the maybe that eliminating them might increase my odds.

  The smokers made me so angry, yet I tried my best to hide it as I walked past.

  “You’re so bloody judgmental,” Jimmy said once we were inside.

  I flashed him my disapproving look and stalked off towards the stairs. I ascended fast, realizing on the half landing that my knees weren’t hurting in the slightest. I forgot my irritation at Jimmy and turned to him, smiling.

  “The pain’s gone.”

  “What pain?”

  “The ache in my joints that the steroids give me. It’s all gone.” The grin was stretching across my face. I strode into the waiting room, looking far too happy to be there, and reported in at the reception desk.

  “Are you seeing the doctor today?” The receptionist asked.

  “Nope, I don’t think so, but it’s my last treatment.” I glanced at Jimmy and added, “For now.” I shouldn’t play with the fates and jinx things before I knew I was being fixed for certain.

  The wait was as long as ever. Over an hour of sitting quietly. Jimmy kept his mouth shut, even though I could see he was itching to talk about the gubbins of the pod and instead spent the time surfing the web on his phone. No doubt researching about nanotechnology some more.

  Me, I spent the hour people watching. I knew what I was doing. I was choosing who I would send to the machine once I had been fixed.

  “Kathy Wyatt.” A nurse came into the waiting room calling my name.

  “One more time?” I asked Jimmy quietly.

  He shrugged. “Who knows. But I’m beginning to have faith.”

  Jimmy? Finding the faith? Maybe it was time to believe just a little bit.

  The nurse showed me through to Bay 3, the littlest one with only three treatment chairs. Jimmy pulled up a seat and sat next to me while the nurse busied herself with checking my medicines.

  “Can you take these, please.” Julie placed a small paper cup with seven pills in the bottom and went to get some water for me. I poked the pills, not entirely sure what they were, and realizing I’d never bothered to ask. I thought the two small round white ones were steroids and the others were a couple of different types of anti-sickness. But like I said, I wasn’t really sure.

  “Can you confirm name and date of birth?”

  I repeated these several times as she went through the bags of IV solution for today and packets of pills for the next nine days, doing the last check before hooking me up. Then it was time, the part I hated the most, the needle in the back of the hand. You’d think I’d be used to them by now. Two years of being poked by people. I had dimpled scars from needles in the crooks of my arms and the backs of my hands. I watched as she prepared everything and looked away as she got ready to pierce my skin.

  “Ouch,” I said, my body stiffening, but somehow keeping my hand perfectly still. It was a practiced expression of pain.

  “I’m just going to give it a flush through, and then we’re all set to begin.”

  Nurse Julie walked off, letting the flush run. And all I could think was: the pod doesn’t hurt.

  13

  Feeling… normal

  Friday morning arrived, and I did a surprising thing – I woke up. Usually the day after chemo was the first of a week of late sleeps and feeling dreadful. Instead… I sat up and almost felt the need to pinch myself. I felt normal.

  My mobile beeped, Janie had texted.

  How are you feeling today, are you up to a visitor?

  I stared for a moment. I was not up to a visitor, I decided, at least not at home.

  No, but do you fancy going out? I feel the need for doing something different.

  A reply came seconds later.

  What are you thinking?

  I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to hang around the sick house, not when I was feeling so good. Feeling, dare I say it, normal.

  What about out, tonight?

  I had a bucket list somewhere. Jimmy had told me to write it out almost two years ago when we first got the diagnosis. Problem with bucket lists is I kind of see it as a celebration of me being sick, a reward. And I certainly didn’t want to think of a weekend away somewhere nice as a prize f
or getting ill. So the list had been put away, collecting dust until I got really ill and couldn’t manage the things anymore.

  Before Janie had a chance to reply, I knew what it was I wanted. Pub crawl?

  A good five minutes passed before a reply came. I figured maybe she was a teetotaler and I’d just offended her or something. Then my phone beeped.

  You’re on.

  Excellent. I climbed out of bed and headed for Jimmy’s study. “I’m off out tonight. Girls’ night.”

  Jimmy pushed back from his desk and stared at me. “You sure that’s a wise idea?”

  “I feel great!” I dropped into the armchair in the corner of the room. “Really, I don’t feel like the chemo has given me a single side effect.”

  Jimmy got up and took one of his guitars from where they hung on the wall. He idly strummed for a moment then said. “I can’t think of a better advert for that machine. Every home should have one.” He gave me a big goofy grin. “Go on, have fun. Have a drink and let your hair down.”

  Have ‘a’ drink? He was having a laugh. Alcohol was one of the forbidden consumables. I suppose he thought he was being nice telling me I could have a drink. He didn’t have a clue. I felt like misbehaving in epic proportions.

  I went back to the bedroom and grabbed my phone. Let’s start early. Been months since I had even a sip of a drink. Start off in West Kirby, maybe grab an early dinner there? I sent the text, had another thought and quickly composed another. There’s a new bar on the promenade. Fancy checking it out?

  Jimmy was still noodling around on his guitar, this was his main way of getting into ‘deep think’ mode. Must be some issues with work, I decided.

  The phone beeped. Can’t wait. Meet at six o’clock at the Moby Dick?

  Yes. See you then. I wasn’t sure if the evening could come quick enough. I needed to waste some time. I eyed the phone for a moment then grabbed it. I dialed and waited for an answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Mum, it’s me.”

  “Kath, how are you? Chemo not got you too bad this time, I hope. Wasn’t it yesterday you went?”

  “I’m feeling good, Mum, really good. Do you think the farm still has strawberries? I feel like doing some picking. We could go together?”

  “Are you certain you’re up to that? I could come to you. I have some soup made, we could have lunch at yours.”

  “No, Mum. I want to go out. I really want some strawberries.” I held my forehead with my free hand and tried to remain calm.

  “What does Jimmy say?”

  I sighed. I should have realized I’d be in for a big dose of mollycoddling. “I don’t go asking Jimmy for permission. I decided I wanted strawberries. I thought you’d want to come with me.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, dear. Of course I want to come.”

  I could hear the strain seeping into her words. I supposed she could hear the same with me. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her.

  “Kath, you still there?”

  “I’m here, Mum.”

  “Why don’t you come and get me? I’ll tell you all about what your father’s been up to.” An attempt to dispel the bad feelings. Couldn’t fault her for effort.

  “Okay, Mum. See you in an hour.” I hung up the phone thinking how the conversation was far harder work than I’d thought it would be. No one was used to me having energy these days, or being well enough to drive, or having the desire to go anywhere. If this machine did cure me, I realized it wasn’t just me and Jimmy that would have to adjust. This was something that would send ripples out to all my family and friends.

  I arrived outside Mum and Dad’s little terrace house less than an hour later and beeped my horn. Time needed to go quickly and I was feeling impatient. I beeped again. Moments later my mother came out the door looking harassed.

  “Hi Mum.” I leaned over and gave her a brief cuddle as she sat in the passenger seat.

  “You sure you’re okay to drive? Didn’t you have chemotherapy yesterday?” She buckled in, giving me a sideways confused expression.

  “I am fine. Yes, I had chemo but I’ve sailed through this one.” I grinned. “What I really, really want now is to pick several punnets of strawberries and sit in the car scoffing them all with you.”

  Mum opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted.

  “I want a day when I’m not treated like a sick person.” I glanced over at her. “Please, Mum. I just want to be treated as normal. Think back to two years ago, before I got ill.” Clouds danced across the sky, and the sunny day threatened to turn to rain. I put the car in gear and pulled into the road.

  Mum was silent for a moment then she said, “We’ll eat them until we’ve got red juice dribbling down our chins.”

  She was smiling, perhaps a little guarded, but this was the best I could expect.

  “So what’s Dad up to while we’re off fruit picking?”

  Mum suddenly burst into tears. I pulled into a layby. “Mum, what’s wrong?”

  She struggled to speak for ages then finally managed to say, “I think your father has another woman.”

  “No…” I thought about Dad cheating on Mum. “No, I don’t believe it.”

  Tissues had appeared from up her sleeve. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “There’s this woman, a new woman at their boating club. Tess is her name. Tess and your father have gone off camping together.”

  “It’s a club, Mum. There’ll be a bunch of them. Why would you think Dad’s bunking in with this other woman?”

  “I just know. You don’t live with a person for fifty years and not know when things have changed. Doesn’t matter that others in the Old Codger’s Club are there, I know what he’s up to.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Two years of being selfish and worrying about me and only me had destroyed my interpersonal skills. Rather than say the wrong thing, I sat quietly. I knew Dad had cheated on Mum when I was in college. Once with a secretary then a couple of years later with a neighbor who’d moved away. My understanding was that if he strayed again he’d be told to leave.

  “He’s out there now, somewhere in Wales, bedding down with that… with that woman.” She spat the word out like it was venomous.

  “I’m sure you’re wrong, Mum. Do you want me to talk to him?”

  She put a hand on my knee. “No, dear. You have enough to worry about. I’ll deal with him.” She blew her nose loudly. “I’m sorry. I’ve spoiled our afternoon out.”

  I leaned over and gave her a hug. “No, Mum. You haven’t ruined a thing.” And she hadn’t. For once a tragedy wasn’t about me. This felt normal, almost like a relief. A burden from my shoulders had gone. Maybe I could relearn how to be a member of the family, of the human race. I could stop being Cancer Kath and be simply me once again.

  “Still want strawberries, or do you want me to take you home?”

  Mum took a deep breath and put her tissue away in her sleeve. “I would very much like to pick some strawberries.”

  “Okay, then.” I drove off towards the pick-your-own farm, having already decided that I was going to ignore her and speak to my father anyway, all the time wondering what on earth I was going to say to him.

  14

  Out With Janie

  The taxi dropped me off at the Moby Dick in West Kirby just after six. Not so long ago the pub had been converted into a steakhouse, and was probably my current favorite restaurant. My resolve to have a wild mad night had been dampened by my mother’s tears earlier. I’d almost cancelled with Janie, thinking that if I really had that much energy I should drive to where Dad was in Wales and catch him in the act or confront him or something. I wanted to think he was innocent, but Mum had been very convincing. And I hated to admit it, but didn’t people say once a cheater always a cheater. Did that apply if there were decades between cheats?

  I let out a long sigh as I climbed the steps into the pub. Shake it off, I thought. Tonight is about you and how damn brilliant your insides feel.

  Janie was s
eated at the bar with another woman beside her. That kind of threw me, and for half a second I almost bolted. I saw tonight as a Janie and me only affair. I wasn’t sure if I could cope with any additions. Somehow I made my legs work and walked up to them.

  “Kath, hello!” Janie was in fine form. She had some brightly-colored cocktail in front of her, as did the other woman. She gave me a great big hug and sat back down.

  “Hi…” I said, glancing nervously at the addition.

  “This is Gill, my other half.”

  Gill waved and nodded towards her drink. “Would you like one?”

  For half a second I didn’t say anything. I looked from Janie with her short, brown, cancer-cut hair, her athletic figure and tomboyish clothes to Gill, a younger woman who I’d describe as slight with long light brown hair with a gentle wave. She was dressed in an almost romantic style, her shirt decorated with frilled edges and matched with a long flowing skirt. I remembered Janie saying her other half was called Gill, but I’d not actually made the connection of what that meant.

  “I’d love one,” I finally said and sat down.

  My cocktail arrived quickly and I made a face at the sweetness, I wasn’t used to so much sugar. But the alcohol soon warmed me up to the evening.

  “How are the sessions going?” Janie didn’t waste any time asking.

  I glanced at Gill.

  Janie laughed. “Don’t worry. Gill knows all about what happened to me, don’t you?”

  Gill reached over and placed her hand over Janie’s. “She didn’t tell me at first. I guessed, there were too many changes happening too quickly. I cornered her and made her confess.”

  “That’s actually a relief to know that. My other half, Jimmy, knows. He didn’t notice a difference so much. You know what men are like. I’m not sure he’d notice if I came home with one of my arms missing.” I chuckled. “He found out when he saw my car in the church car park.”