That Elusive Cure 16

The next few days passed in a blur. Jimmy apologised so many times I had to tell him I’d hit him if he said sorry one more time. He talked about how I should have been able to tell him about the pod from the beginning, about how he’d forced all those quack and not so quack remedies on me without any thought of what I wanted. I could only take so much. Of course I wanted the same as him. I wanted to live. And not this hazy chemo existence. A normal life with normal struggles, a chance to go grey and wrinkly, time given so I could see any grandchildren Cass might produce.

We’d seen her, she’d come over Monday night with that tattooed boyfriend of hers and all I could think was how obvious it was how much Cass and Jack loved each other, how tenderly he took care of her. Then the darkness descended as I wondered if they’d ever get married and would it be before I died.

I sighed, a long sigh that seemed to go on forever and wished the sadness in me would hitch a ride and go away forever.

Summer had finally come and I was outside on the hammock. The docs said I wasn’t supposed to get too much sun when on chemo. The meds make your skin hypersensitive or something. I long ago stopped listening. How many things can you have taken from you before you rebel? Apparently sunbathing was my tipping point. So here I was, lying down on the hammock in a little t-shirt and my leggings pulled up to expose my legs.

My book had dropped to the grass. I had too much on my mind to concentrate on a story. Sal had called. She needed me to go around. I was avoiding just a little bit longer. I needed to be alone, try and find peace in the rays of sun. I was due my third session in the machine tomorrow. Jimmy wanted to come with me and see what happened from start to finish. I felt vaguely crowded by his request and didn’t know why.

It was all bollocks. I was in one of those moods. Expect nothing, hope for nothing and then you can’t be disappointed when it all goes wrong. I didn’t want Jimmy there because I didn’t want him finding the tell on the pod and informing me afterwards about how it really was all fake and that I was as sick as ever.

Bollocks. Why couldn’t normal be the path laid out for me? Or if cancer had to be part of my life plan then make it be found early on. Not when it’s sent out seeds and the docs don’t stand a chance.

Bollocks. I wasn’t going to miraculously start to relax. Time for the depressed to help the clinically depressed. That should be fun. Sal and I could score points off each other, see who had the bigger tale of woe. Drink tea and eat cakes that I wasn’t supposed to, reminding each other that Jimmy couldn’t know. Passing time as tomorrow was taking forever to come.

Janie had messaged me on Facebook this morning. Asked if I was beginning to notice a difference. I hadn’t replied yet, but the fact was when Cass had shown up last night, first thing she did was tell me how well I looked. She’d been so taken by my change in appearance that she’d put on the hall light and turned me this way and that. Told me that my eyes didn’t have that sick, slightly yellow look about them. How the spots the chemo caused had almost gone, and that if she didn’t know better, she’d never have guessed I had cancer.

Bollocks. Who was I kidding. Someone with a sick sense of humour had got that pod off EBay. It was probably a Star Trek prop and they’d set up a tape to play and a motor to close and open the lid. I should look for the hidden cameras in the church. Give them the finger and bash up their ‘machine’.

And yet, despite everything that made more sense than a piece of machinery that had fallen through time to be found by a cancer-stricken person, I couldn’t wait to go back for my next session.

Enough stupid thinking. It got me nowhere but more depressed. I rolled off the hammock and made my way to Sal’s house.