That Elusive Cure 2

I pulled the piece of paper out of my purse and stared at it for what felt like the millionth time. When I met her last Thursday, I’d had a doctor’s appointment before the chemo session. Dr Hayes didn’t have good news for me. Six new tumours had appeared in my liver and one another in my left lung. The beasties were over running me. How much longer could I hold out?

The medicine seemed to take hours to go in, my arm burning as the chemo coursed up my vein. I need to get a PICC line, but it seems like giving in somehow, so I haven’t got one yet. If it continues to hurt this much I’ll have to give in. For two hours I fought tears at each pump of the IV. Whether it was purely because of the medicine or also because of the bad news, I didn’t know. But through the pain, mental and physical, the idea of a cure, the possibility of being free of hospitals, appointments, needles, medicines with cytotoxic warnings, pills, pills and more pills, tests, scans, surgeries, radio therapies, and the best part of six-hundred days of feeling sick, tired, exhausted and fighting side effects that got worse with each session, well let’s just say Janie’s words became more and more appealing.

On Tuesday I took the piece of paper from the pin board where I’d put it last week. Janie’s number called out to me. What if she did know of a cure – or even something that simply helped? Gave me a few more months on this earth? Jimmy was taking things harder each week as my health deteriorated. Maybe we could take the plunge and get married, before the end came and took me.

I traced my finger over the numbers and then before I could change my mind, got my mobile and plugged in the number. I wasn’t brave enough to phone, I opted for a text message. I wrote and erased five different versions. In the end I decided to keep it short and simple.

We met at Clatterbridge last week. I’d like to know more about the cure you mentioned.

For ten minutes I held the phone in my hand, expecting, waiting for a quick reply. But then the gut rolling began, one of those side effects I mentioned, and I had to sojourn to the bathroom. I spent the evening checking the phone. I’m not even sure what was on the telly, I wasn’t watching. Jimmy asked me what was so important and I told him I’d met someone at Clatterbridge. A survivor. He said the friendship would be good for me. Give me hope. He had no idea.

By Wednesday lunchtime I’d all but given up on Janie. Then as I threw one of my mother’s handy meals in the oven the phone pinged. A message. I almost dropped the dish in my effort to get to the phone.

It was Janie. We should meet up for coffee. There’s a nice little café down in Thurstaton, near the Wirral Walk. When are you free?

When was I free? When was I not free? I hadn’t worked in over a year. Got too hard with the exhaustion and chemo sickness. The only marks on my calendar were for doctor appointments, and the rest of this week was blank. Sometimes I tried to meet up with friends for lunch on one of the few days where I didn’t feel like complete shit. That wouldn’t be until next week and I couldn’t wait that long. I’d take my anti-sickness pills with me and stay away from anything that was too sweet.

Free for the rest of the week. Could do tomorrow, I think it’s going to be dry.

That was also important. Rain drops were cold and burned my skin on contact. That’s another of my side effects. Can’t cope with anything cold: water, surfaces, room temperatures. Made winter very hard on me. I wouldn’t want to walk far trying to hide from the weather.

Tomorrow is good for me. See you at 2.

The reply came quickly and a fluttering of nerves filled my tummy. Stop being stupid, I told myself. She’d have nothing real to offer me, just like every other cure I’d found.

I sat at the table with my lunch and dreamed about being me again.