by Betty Balaba
Getting out into the fresh air, each leg felt stiff. As if that wasn’t enough, I already felt breathless at the top of the hill, as if someone had been chasing me. How could I be this unfit in three weeks? I would have to stop soon at this rate, and started conjuring up every reason I could to stop. I had a lot on my plate. I hadn’t slept well. My body needed to recover. And, well, I just didn’t feel like it! I started to slow down to walking pace. But running used to give me energy and I definitely needed to keep my energy levels up. Stepping up my pace, I told myself that I was enjoying it. Trust me: sometimes I can talk myself into anything. As time went on and the miles were eaten up, I really did begin to enjoy myself. I checked my phone and I found I had run four kilometres! I didn’t want to see the time yet, so I just kept going. I even passed a couple I used to see on my morning runs and we waved to each other. Reaching the brow of the hill, I checked the phone again, 5 kms in 40 minutes! I used to be able to run that distance in 26 minutes – but it was good enough for today. I slowed to a speed-walk, and headed home.
Arriving home feeling newly invigorated, I saw my flat with fresh eyes. Definitely on the wrong side of homely. It was usually lived-in but spotless and tidy. Now the hospital had blown-up my routine and things were sliding. It was never over-furnished, with just a few landscapes of Italy that looked more expensive than they were. Pride of place was a half-metre picture of the London skyline, made out of silver. Now that was expensive – even more than my cream leather three-piece suite. The floors were blond wood, scattered with kilim rugs. I had bought them from a guy in Portobello market one Sunday afternoon, who told me they were Persian. I still didn’t know if they were actually Persian but for £60 I could handle walking on rugs from questionable sources. Knick-knacks, I couldn’t do. I wasn’t a fan of ‘pretty clutter’ – not to mention all the dusting it needed. I didn’t like places that were one step from away from Miss Haversham’s dusty mansion. A serious house clean was needed. But I still only managed a quick shower and – for once – some undercooked porridge before heading to the hospital. It was starting to feel like being at the hospital was turning into my real job.
An hour later, I was walking next to my mother as they wheeled her down long corridors towards the scan room. The feel of her hand in mine was quite normal now, even though she had never liked touchy-feely displays before.
“Do your best,” I whispered when we reached the door. “It will be painful, Mum, but it’s important to find out what’s wrong.” My mother nodded at me as she was wheeled in. I wasn’t allowed into the room where she was being scanned, so I waited nervously outside. I knew my mother would take a long time to heal as she was diabetic, so I hoped it wasn’t anything too bad. There wasn’t even any phone signal so I just sat there and tried to be still. Instead I found my mind racing and inventing diseases which hadn’t even been discovered yet. I found I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t been torn between work and worrying about her. A nurse from my mother’s ward passed by and told me to go to the canteen and wait.
“You’ll be more comfortable there,” she said, with a reassuring smile. Comfortable! I thought to myself. The hospital experience was anything but comfortable. Coming here every day had done nothing to alleviate my dislike of the places; if anything, I hated them even more. Instead of going where the nurse had asked, I found my way back to my mother’s empty cubicle. The nurse finally reappeared.
“Your mother’s all done,” she said. “She did really well. We’re just waiting for the porter to bring her back.”
“Thanks,” I said nervously.
Half an hour later, she was finally back. She only picked at her lunch but I couldn’t bring myself to push her to eat any more. I was heading to my mother’s bedside when I spotted the curtains drawn around the opposite bed. A new patient. I could hear the nurse behind the curtain settling her in.
“Please ring the bell if you need anything.” The curtain may have provided a physical privacy, but you could still hear every word spoken.
“When can I get something to eat? It’s been ages,” I heard the patient say.
“You just finished lunch. But I’ll be able to get you something to eat soon.”
“When will that be? Don’t you have any cake or anything? Not much can’t be solved with a good piece of cake.”
I smiled; a lady after my own heart. The curtains were thrown open to reveal a woman in her sixties, with styled grey hair and a warm smile. She gave everyone an enthusiastic wave and introduced herself to the ward with a friendly ‘hello’. Her eyes found me sitting at my mother’s bedside. “Is that your mum?” she asked. My mother was napping. I smiled and nodded. Instinct told me that this new ward member wanted something… from me. My mum opened an eye as I stood up to see if she needed anything. I hadn’t had a chance to speak to my mother yet when the lady opposite spoke to me again.
“Are you going downstairs to the canteen?”
No, I wasn’t going to. “Do you need anything?”
“Could you please get me a Caramel Latte?”
“Sure, one moment.” I went over to the nurses’ station at the front. The same nurse was sitting there. “Is the new patient allowed to have a Caramel Latte?”
“No, she isn’t. A Latte’s fine, but not with caramel, she’s diabetic.”
“Okay.” I had taken a step away from the desk when she stopped me.
“Is she sending you to get it?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” It would give me a chance to stretch my legs.
“Well if you’re sure.”
I nodded. Heading back to the bedside I could see she had been watching me.
“Would you like a small or large?”
She smiled. “A large one, please,” she winked. “Saves you going twice.”
I couldn’t help smiling. She was rifling through her purse looking for money. “It’s okay. I’ll get it.”
“No, no, don’t pay for it.”
“I’ll get it, and then I’ll know how much it is.” She nodded.
I passed my mother, now awake, who stopped me. “Is she allowed whatever you’re getting?”
“Yes, I asked the nurse and she said it was okay. Do you want anything?” My mother shook her head.
The lifts were kind to me and I returned in record time. I handed the lady her Latte. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “Didn’t they put any whipped cream on top?”
I shook my head smiling. “I’m afraid not.” She handed me the exact money. I guessed that she’d ordered the drink often and was very familiar with the price. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, my name’s Lesley by the way.”
“I’m Becca.” I went back to my mum’s bedside.
I finally left for work still not knowing the results of her scan: those would be coming later. I arrived to find Sophie bustling about in skinny jeans, tidying her fashion magazines.
“Is it dress down Friday and I missed it?” I owed her some banter from the day before, which she’d spent larking about measuring me and taking snaps on her phone. She waved a manicured hand.
“Don’t even start! Using my phone whilst eating soup spelt out crisis for my favourite velvet skirt this morning.”
I couldn’t help chuckling.
“Sorry to hear about your mother,” said a voice from behind me. I turned around to find it was Greg who had spoken. He was fiddling with the scarf which he always wore – no matter what the weather. I knew that was a sign of nervousness. But how could the news have travelled so fast? I’d only told my boss and Sophie.
“Emma told me,” he said, reading my mind. “I was looking for you about something to do with the marketing plan…”
He was about to leave but must have seen Sophie’s jeans for the first time.
“I don’t think that’s what I’d call office smart…” he said teasingly.
&n
bsp; The minute he said it, I knew he was asking for trouble. Sophie only took critical comments from some people and he wasn’t one of them.
“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” she retorted, quick as ever. I took off my jacket – it was suddenly feeling a little warm. But Greg pushed on.
“Are they called skinny jeans because you have to be skinny to wear them?”
Was he suicidal?
“Doesn’t accounts mean you have a head for figures?” retorted Sophie. “Seems to me you wouldn’t recognise one if it was standing right in front of you.”
“Come on children,” I stepped in. “Play nice.”
Greg shrugged and sloped off in the direction of his desk.
“What is the matter with you two?” I asked Sophie. “Why all the sniping?”
“I hate the way he treats me like I’m thick,” she fumed. “I may be a receptionist but what would he do without me? Next time the photocopier jams the pages of his precious report, I won’t come running!”
“You shouldn’t let him get to you,” I soothed her.
I had only taken four steps when she called after me in a weakened voice.
“Do you think I look fat?” I turned decisively.
“No, Sophie. You don’t.”
“Then why…”
“Because he’s an idiot,” I cut in. “You have a female figure, not a boy’s, so you’re going to have curves!” She chewed her bottom lip looking at me. “Do you want to look like a teenage boy from behind?” I continued.
“No,” she said reluctantly.
“Well then lady,” I concluded. “Continue being your fearsome self!”
She abandoned tidying magazines to hurry back to the reception desk. You didn’t see it often but it was there if you nudged it a little: Sophie was insecure about her weight.
The moment soon came when I realised that, having minded my mother through her scan then dashed back to work, I hadn’t eaten since the breakfast porridge. But now it was three and there was no chance of leaving the office again, having been away all morning, even less so of leaving remotely early. Emma had to see me diligently working all afternoon so I could get the credit that I needed to leave early the next day. But that didn’t put toast out of reach…
I went to the kitchen and took out four slices of white bread. The brown bread didn’t even get a look in. There was something about hot white toast with melted butter: you know the feeling. The smell filled my nostrils. Mmm, I took a bite. I guiltily felt like the crunch could be heard on the other side of the room. Sitting down at the round Formica table, the scrape of the chair sounded deafening. I wasn’t exactly being quiet about this little feast. I was studiously de-crumbing my plate and about to get up when as Sophie came in.
“Are we keeping you awake, Miss Johnson?” she grinned. I smothered another yawn with my hand. I shouldn’t have had four slices: now I felt like I needed a lie down.
“Is it me,” I said, “or is today dragging?”
“What are you talking about? You’ve only been here for half of it!”
“Fair point,” I laughed. But goodness, I was tired. I stood up and felt like I had a vice around my waist. I was going to have to undo my trouser button and hide it behind the belt. Surely my trousers hadn’t shrunk as well as my running skins? Normally I could eat any amount without having to undo a button. I told myself it was bloating: must be the gluten! Sophie shook her head.
“You want to watch that,” she chided. “Once on the lips, forever on the hips.”
“As long as my lips are enjoying it, I won’t complain…” What was she talking about? No one could put on weight that quickly. And my hips were quite fine as they were. Sophie was about to say something when we both heard her name being called, and she ducked out.
I washed my things and printed out the report I’d need to take to Greg. Approaching his office, I couldn’t keep my eyes from widening. It was a complete mess! Papers, files and reports everywhere. What couldn’t fit on the desk spilled out onto the floor. If it had been my office, the mess would have left me rocking in a corner. I smiled as he moved things to make some space. I say smiled, but I could have been grimacing. He looked back at me sheepishly, one hand tidying and the other fiddling with his scarf again.
“Don’t worry!” he said. “It’s ordered chaos! I know where everything is. Everything!”
I sat down on the chair he had cleared for me, thinking he was probably right and did know where everything was. We worked successfully for an hour, adding figures to his spreadsheet, and him comparing them to the different departments’ reports.
“Well, that was painless,” he said. We both knew we worked well together.
“I aim to please,” I said, getting up.
“Yes, be careful with that…”
Were we still talking about accounts now?
Grabbing my things, I went out, careful not to step on the sea of papers. By 4:45 p.m., the end of my to-do list was coming pleasantly into sight. An email notification came up on my screen. CUPCAKE ALERT! It read. I baked them with my own fair hands last night. If you don’t like them, keep your opinions to yourself! This isn’t Bakeoff. I didn’t open the full email but I knew it must be Sophie. She took to baking at all hours and brought in the results for everyone to taste. And I also knew she had only given them out now because I hadn’t been there in the morning. Sophie appreciated my sweet tooth and knew I appreciated her cakes. I could already see a stream of people heading for the kitchen. When I joined them, I found a red velvet cupcake with my name on it. The first mouthful was exquisite; my favourite flavour followed by chocolate fudge. I was polishing it off and licking my fingers when Sophie walked in carrying a plastic Tupperware dish.
“Finger licking good, eh?” I grinned.
“As always!”
She handed me the Tupperware. “For you while you’re with your mother.”
“Oh no!” I felt my eyes moisten. “I really can’t…”
“Yes, you can!” she insisted. “Goodness knows when you’ll get a chance to eat next…”
I took off the lid and saw two rows of cupcakes: three chocolate fudge and three red velvet. And on each one was piped two words in icing: ‘Be Strong’.
That tipped me over the edge. The tears I had been holding back for days suddenly appeared on my cheeks, and found myself hugging her. I let her go and we stood in silence for a moment.
“Well,” she said, “Consider it advance payment.”
I replaced the lid and glanced at her puzzled by her comment, trying to tidy up my face as I did.
“You’re supposed to be finding me a doctor, remember! A fit doctor that won’t bore me to death or get on my nerves. If he dresses well too, that’s a bonus.”
We both started giggling. But behind the laughter I realised for the first time that there was in fact rather a nice doctor at the hospital; even though, back then, I’d only met him once.
Chapter 5
Rips and Tears
The results of the scan arrived finally. My mother had something called ‘Compartment Syndrome’. Her pain was being caused by a build-up of pressure in her calf muscle, which was also decreasing the blood flow and damaging her nerves. The doctors thought it had been triggered by a blood clot, which meant she would now need surgery. The procedure had the rather scary name of Fasciotomy, which meant both releasing the pressure and removing the dead tissue which had built up in her leg.
Of course, the call to say she was going into surgery came just before I went into a Directors Meeting to present my figures alongside Greg. But I left it early so I could be there when she came out of surgery. On the way to the hospital, I texted the boss to say I probably wouldn’t be in for a whole two days. The aftermath of the Fasciotomy sounded serious. Emma’s reply was too succinct for me to read anything into it: “It’s important to be with your mother.” I didn’t have the energy to wonder if there was any hidden meaning; and trying to second guess her could drive me mad.
Sitting by my mother’s bed, I watched the small see-through container that was draining the liquid from her calf. Blood and other matter kept dripping into the plastic container through a transparent tube. Still, I coped – in spite of it being blood. My own flesh and blood, as it were. I even managed a sip of water, realising it was the first time I’d ingested anything in the sight of blood. I seemed to be adapting, even if my mind was still trying to catch up. There was no way I could eat anything yet, with the disinfectant smell pervading my stomach. I knew my limits. I walked in to find the curtain drawn around Lesley’s bed. I also heard the unmistakable sound of chocolate wrappings being rustled. My mother looked at me. “I think she’s having a feast in there. The curtain has been closed for about forty minutes.” It was then that two doctors and a nurse walked into the ward. They walked straight to Lesley’s curtain and went inside. The doctor spoke first. “Your blood sugars are consistently very high and we didn’t initially know why.” There seemed to be a pause for dramatic effect. “You can’t keep eating chocolates, candy and cakes when you’re a diabetic.”
“I’ve only had a few,” I heard Lesley pipe up. “I haven’t had any cakes today.” She said it as if she should be given a prize. I grinned at my mother, who was rolling her eyes. “Most of her visitors bring her cakes,” the doctor spoke again. “Let’s take the box of chocolates away… the fudge and the toffee.”
“Let me just have two toffees for later.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud.
“Lesley, with your condition, you need to exert some self-control. No more sweet-anything.”
“Doctor, I am really trying.”
I would have paid good money to see the look on the Doctor’s face right then. “Yes. Please try harder.”