That Elusive Cure 3

I arrived early and sat in my car for ten minutes trying to calm my nerves. I didn’t really know why I was in such a state. Jimmy had noticed last night and questioned me during the adverts. I’d been biting my nails, something I only did in the days before scan results or important doctor appointments. I told him about my new friend Janie and how I was meeting her today. My stomach felt like it was full of fizzy bubbles, and I wasn’t sure why. He told me to stop being silly and go and enjoy myself. Then CSI came back on and we didn’t talk about it again.

Now I was here, waiting in the car park for the Wirral Way, watching the dog walkers and cyclists and joggers go by, smelling the fresh air and thinking I was an idiot for even pretending to myself that this woman knew of a cure. I should be home, curled up on my bed, the cats at my side, a mug of tea on the bedside cabinet and daytime telly on to dull my brain. I shouldn’t be out, even here, mere meters from the seaside, the trees full of birds and the scent of foxes close, because my stomach was beginning to turn and I didn’t know whether I could keep it under control. I’d taken two anti-sickness pills before I left home. I closed my eyes for a moment and willed them to work.

The car’s clock ticked over to two o’clock and I reluctantly got out. I was an idiot, a desperate idiot, hoping for a cure that wouldn’t exist. At least I could dream for the next hour. Hear of the mad woman’s miracle pill, maybe even buy a pack of whatever-it-is and give it a go, because I literally had nothing to lose. Jimmy said that if every supplement I take gives me another one percent chance of getting better that I should take it. Enough one percents, and maybe I could tip the balance in my favour and beat the beasts into submission.

“Bollocks,” I muttered under my breath as I locked the car. Whether I was swearing at myself, the disease, the woman with the false hope or my upset stomach, I wasn’t sure. Maybe all of it together. I zipped my coat up, earning a curious look from a walker as the weather was warm today, not that I felt it in the slightest. With my scarf snuggled around my neck and my hands stuffed in my pockets I would have looked more at home battling through a blizzard. Eyes to the ground so I couldn’t see people staring, I trudged up the road to the café.

“Hi Kathy, I got us a table over there.”

She was at the counter ordering. I glanced over to where a bag was on a table, then joined her in the queue.

“I was about to guess whether you are a tea or coffee person, or do you want something sweeter? They do a luxurious hot choc here. It’s a real treat.” She smiled at me, and touched my arm for a moment. “It’s good to see you. I’m so glad you decided to talk to me.”

My stomach did a flip at the idea of the hot chocolate. “I’ll have a tea please.” Despite everything, Janie was hard to dislike. She was a pretty lady with open honest features. Nothing about her said she was about to try and con me. The bubbles in my tummy seemed to expand. Even if all I got was some relief from what was now an almost continuous ache in my liver, well that would be enough for me. I daren’t even dream of a cure these days, it just wasn’t healthy to get my hopes up like that.

“I won’t mess about with any small talk. You want to know what cured me, don’t you?”

We’d sat at the table, a big pot of tea between us. Nerves got the better of me, and I sipped at my tea, burning my lips. “Well, if you put it like that…” I laughed, too loud, too forced. A cure. Remission. Normal people just couldn’t understand the holy grail of these words. “Jimmy, that’s my other half, he’ll let me buy pretty much any supplement that might work. He’s talked about paying for trials the NHS won’t fund here if it came down to it as well, but thank God we haven’t had to yet.”

“I know what you mean, my other half was the same way. Anything to give us more time together. Gill actually re-mortgaged the house to pay for a course of avastin, before they decided it helped with bowel cancer. It was nearly £30,000 for a course of that.”

“That’s insane and so unfair. We shouldn’t be put in that kind of a position.” I dared to try another sip of tea. “That’s what I’m on now. Avastin plus capecitabine. They’re saving the oxaliplatin for later as the tumours are starting to get resistant to that drug.”

“That’s the combo I was on. Had to deal with all kinds of nerve issues. But you don’t want to hear about that. You want to know about the cure.”

Here we go, I thought. Give it to me, tell me how much I have to spend for an ounce of false hope.

Janie held her tea cup with both hands, and stared at me. “You want to know about the machine.”