The Art of losing

Story of a young girl with cancer. Her last days and her sisters life afterwards.

 

The art of Losing

 

I frowned; the maths problem was not getting any easier. The jumbled numbers on the page still looked like a foreign language to me. My maths teacher said I just had to look for the information given and I would work it out. Well I was looking and I was still stuck, x certainly did not equal y and I was pretty sure neither of them wanted anything whatsoever to do with z. End of story. I sighed, resigned to the fact that no amount of staring at the page was going to make this any clearer.

“Maths?”

My sister walked over to the table where I was sitting, perching on the edge and peering at my crumpled piece of paper, defaced with frustrated crossings out and rubber marks. I groaned; I was not in the right mood to deal with my super brainy, super annoying sibling right now. She took this as an affirmative and started to work out the problem on the last scrap of undefiled paper. It took her a total of two minutes. My mood plummeted.

“See, if you substitute this in for y then you get a simple equation.”

Anna smiled at me like she’d just given me the best present in the world. I smiled tightly back, reminding myself that my terrible mood was nothing to do with her and took a deep breath.

“Thank you Anna, I get it now.”

I retrieved my now completed math problem gently and folded it away in my math book, making a mental note to ask Mr. Barten to explain it in class. Anna grinned.

“So, are you going to the dance on Saturday?”

I glanced up warily.

“Um, no Anna, I’m going to be in hospital that night.”

I assessed her reaction. Though she’s the elder sister I always felt that our roles were reversed, and since the diagnosis this had become especially prominent. She had taken it the worst of our family and hated any mention of my silent killer, so I avoided saying anything about it in front of her, trying to shield her from the pain of the inevitable. In a way that helped me. The fact that I’d been trying so hard to protect her meant that I’d found it easier to accept it myself. I watched as her eyes tightened and her lips pursed slightly, but I could see in her eyes that she was fighting hard to keep her expression under control.

“Oh,”

That was all she said before standing up and excusing herself politely from my presence and the truth that was hurting her so much. I sighed and turned back to my maths. I knew from experience that she would not want me to pursue her, that she needed a few moments to pull herself together without any help. Especially mine. So anyway, back to maths…

A few minutes later I slammed my book shut, Maths would have to wait. It’s not like I really needed to study anyway, it was just a normality, for which I was highly grateful for. Anything to make it seem to other people that I was just a regular kid. Anything to stop them worrying. I pulled off my slouchy beanie hat and ran my hand across my fluff-covered scalp. That was one of my main annoyances; whatever front I tried to put on, the bald head immediately under undermined it. It was like having a sign above my head saying:

“Treat me differently! I’ve got cancer!”

My hat helped a bit, but it was so itchy!! Still it covered up my overly large head and made me appear slightly less of a freak. I’d never truly appreciated my hair before. I mean what a wonderful creation! It kept my head warm, it covered up my ugly scalp, and it disguised the mutated shape of my head, not to mention it gave you a whole load of ways to express yourself; hair over shoulder - I’m feeling shy, twirling hair in fingers – I’m feeling flirtatious. So many possibilities that were no longer open to me. Some times I’d find myself reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear only to find it wasn’t there. It gave me a shock every time. I’d heard of phantom limbs but phantom hair?? Give me a break...

I frowned and put my hat back on, determined not to dwell on it anymore, then walked out to find myself something to eat.

 

The next few days past quickly and before I knew it it was time for the dance… and my check up. These check ups were not stressful affairs, just tedious. Hours of prodding and poking, queries and questions, endless trivia and the odd life saving injection of anti-rejection drugs to stop my body rejecting my new bone marrow (courtesy of mi padre).

This one was like every other and after a few hours I was on my way home. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad according to the doctor, I was still sitting on the fence. Some time soon I would go one way or another, either my body would reject my bone marrow or I would continue to live for the next few years until something else crept up on me. Streets flashed past my window as I sat there listening to my mother’s drivel. I was never in the best of moods straight after a check up. The constant assurances and the carefully edited diagnoses really took it out of me. And, on top of that, my arm hurt. The crease of my elbow had been under constant attack recently with needles and injections, and right now the dull throbbing was really irritating. I watched people walk by, happy people, sad people, normal people. Normal people with normal problems, like being late for dinner or forgetting to buy the cat food. Normal people who weren’t hurting their families with every breath they took. I averted my gaze and caught sight of my self in the car mirror, quickly rearranging my expression into a less bleak one in case my mother should turn around. The engine stopped. I sighed under my breath. I felt exhausted, more than usual, and couldn’t wait to get inside and flop on to the comfortable sofa in our front room. “Scrubs” would be on. I smiled at the thought and opened the car door, stretching as I got out, but my feet never touched concrete. My head swam. My stomach lurched. And the pavement rushed up to claim me.

 

 

Whispered conversations. Beeping. Sobbing. Somewhere in my mind I acknowledged what a strange dream I was having. No light. Blackness. Blindness. I struggled to wake. It scared me this dream, this nothingness. Heavy breathing. Pressure on my hand. Contorted faces. My mother crying. White, endless white. Focusing. My mothers face, concern tightening her eyes. Wake, please wake.

Somewhere in the midst of this madness I heard a groan. A groan that came from… me.

I was awake and it was all real. The beeping next to me quickened as I realized I was in a hospital bed, with tubes all over my body and a breathing assister down my throat. I choked trying to get it out. Panic, total panic. Anxious whispers. Foreign people. Please, no sleep. I didn’t want to sleep anymore.

 

 

The next time I woke I was more lucid. My mother sat by my side looking tired and anxious. Her hair was greasy and her pretty eyes disguised behind black bags. But she still smiled, relief, anxiety, kindness and grief all in that one small expression. I struggled with my vocal chords for a moment, wincing at the dryness of my mouth.

“Hello.”

I croaked, surprised by the roughness of my own voice. I cleared my throat and winced again. Ow. My mum’s smile widened and her relief became more prominent. The sides of her eyes wrinkling slightly and her cheeks dimpling. My mother had lost most of her natural beauty in having Anna and me, the rest had been lost since my diagnosis. I hated the fact that I had done that to her. But when she smiled I could still see the remnants of the carefree summer bride who had married my wayward father 20 years ago.

“Hello hunni… how you feeling?”

Her voice was awash with fatigue and I felt immediately guilty for putting her through this. I made a so-so face and bit my lip.

“What happened?”

I watched as my mother’s eyes tightened and her eyebrows pulled together and knew it wasn’t good news. My mother looked down to gather her thoughts then looked up again, the grief prominent in her hazel eyes.

“Hunni… you fainted on the pavement. Apparently you body has started rejecting your bone marrow.”

Her eyes searched my face and I worked hard to keep my expression under control. So I had fallen… the wrong side, leaving the fence and the safe green pasture beyond far far behind. I mentally skimmed through my research. If I had rejected my bone marrow then it was highly likely that there was nothing the doctors could do. Oh there were more treatments I could try, sure. But the likelihood of any of them being successful was small and dwindling every moment. I bit my lip, then remembered my mother and regained my poker face. A knock on the door interrupted my reverie and I watched a young doctor’s careful entry taking in the sad, slightly embarrassed expression that darkened his face. It was bad news. The doctor looked down at his clipboard not meeting my eyes, nor my mother’s. It was very bad news. He cleared his throat self consciously.

“How bad is it?” I croaked. I was tired, I had no patience for hesitance.

He looked up at me then and his eyes were cautious as if measuring how much I could handle.

“Well, you’ve rejected the bone marrow and I’m afraid that the deteriation of your body is so sever that there is not much more we can do.”

My mother put her head in her hands and the doctor looked away uncomfortably at his feet until my mother looked up.

“Why did you not detect this before?! It was straight after her check up!”

Her strangled voice was one of suppressed rage and I cringed against my pillows, I knew the strength of my mother’s wrath and I felt a surge of pity for the poor young doctor as his eyes widened and his cheeks went slightly red.

“W-w-well it wasn’t obvious, there must have b-b-been something we missed.”

My mother was not placated and I closed my eyes warily as she started up again, my mother was a peaceful person and barely ever raised her voice. But when she went, she really went. I knew this could go on for a long time and I was in no mood to listen to the stuttered apologies of this doctor for something that he couldn’t change.

“Mum.” I croaked; she was shouting something about negligence and the amazing lawyer that we didn’t actually have and didn’t hear my frog like attempt at a calming voice.

I drew in a breath; this was probably going to hurt.

“MUM!”

It hurt.

But it had the desired effect. My mum looked at me and the fire gradually went out in her eyes as she took in my pained expression which I quickly rearranged. She didn’t miss it though and as she turned to the doctor again I allowed my poker face to crumble as I appreciated the true force of the burn in my throat.

“Why don’t you do something useful for a change? The least you can do is get my daughter a drink of water.”

The doctor started to stutter something about nurses and it not being his job but one look into my mothers burning eyes stopped him dead.

“Of c-c-course, right away. S-sorry… yes… water.”

I watched with pained amusement as he practically ran out the room, returning a few minutes later with a shaking plastic cup of water. I smiled at him warmly as he handed it to me and he smiled tentatively back then glanced quickly at my mother and back to me apologetically before excusing himself and exiting the room. My mother waited for him to leave before turning to me and stroking the back of my hand. She didn’t look me in the eyes and I could see from her down turned head that she didn’t want me to see her expression. I stroked the top of her head noticing with a sudden rush of emotion the grease in her hair, she must not have left my side in days.

“How long was I out?” I asked tentatively. She didn’t look up.

“About six days.”

Her voice held no emotion, no hope and it made me flinch just hearing it. So I didn’t ask anymore questions. We sat in silence, holding hands, taking comfort in each others touch. I didn’t realize I was falling asleep until I felt the gentle touch of my mothers hands slipping out of mine and the covers being tucked around me, and, though I tried to rouse myself, by then it was too late.

In the next week I got weaker and weaker, I lost the ability walk and soon after the ability to sit up by my self. I knew I was dieing. Though nobody said the word. It was obvious. Friends and family came by day by day, just to say hello, though I knew they were saying goodbye. I asked to be taken home, I wanted to die in my own bed, and, for once, no one argued with me. I was put in a wheel chair and driven home, I didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed, not even when my dad carried me up the stairs and my mum changed me. I tried to tell her I loved her I couldn’t remember how to speak. Every thing kept on getting quieter and more blurred. Fading into the distance like some forgotten river.

 

Whispers, weeping speech but no words.

 

Playing with Anna on my 5^th birthday. Why me? Memories I don’t remember. What had I ever done? Light, darkness. Blurring, always blurred. . I want to live. Crying. I didn’t want my family to see me like this. Letting go. It doesn’t matter. I won’t hurt them any more. Whispers, weeping, a sweet smell I don’t recall. Silence, darkness.

 

Light.

 

 

 

 

 

The last box was packed. As I surveyed the scene my eyes welled and I frowned at myself for my weakness. I couldn’t help it, my sister’s life, tight, compressed, stuffed into boxes. All to be taken to charity or locked in the loft to mould and go stale. I picked up her favorite hat and put it to my face; breathing in my sister’s faded scent. It was the only item I had allowed myself to keep, I had my memories, and I certainly didn’t need a prompt for them. Also it would hurt my mother whose mood was tragically fragile, she hadn’t wanted to pack up Beth’s room, determined to act like nothing had happened. So for months my sister’s room was left as it was on her last day, untidy and gathering dust as if she had just gone on a holiday and was expected back soon. I think that’s what my mum convinced her self, she even started talking about “When Beth gets home…”. My dad was worried but he wasn’t much help, constantly out with “the lads”, fishing, drinking, watching games, drinking, endless activities to keep him out the house. He was dealing with it in his own way and I suppose I couldn’t blame him for that, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t angry with him. Leaving mum to deal with it on her own! Leaving me to deal with it on my own! I shook my head and looked around again. My parents would hate me for this but it was time we all moved on. The doorbell rang and I quailed. Oh god. They were back. Oh, well. Here it goes. I walked to the door and steeled my self, before opening it to the dead pan face of my mother who nodded at me and walked up stairs to sit in Beth’s room as she did so frequently. I waited, sitting on the bottom of the stairs, head in hands and eyes closed. I didn’t have to wait long. A gasp. A silence.

“ANNA!!!”

I stayed frozen on the stairs.

“ANNA! WHAT THE HECK HAVE YOU DONE?!”

The word heck wasn’t actually used. I walked up the stairs and found my mother glaring at me with a look that could turn Hitler into a blubbering baby. First time she’d looked me in the eye in months. I cringed. What was the saying? Face the music and dance? Well I didn’t feel like dancing… running seemed a good idea. Hiding also had its merits. To my great surprise I stayed where I was and remained statue-like while my mother raged…and kept raging. Eventually the tirade ceased and I looked up from my shoes into my mothers face, now streaked with angry tears. I felt terrible but I was sure I’d done the right thing.

“Well?” My mother asked after a moments silence, “What have you got to say for your self?”

I opened my mouth but said nothing. My mother folded her arms and waited.

“I…Well…It’s, It’s time we moved on.”

I tried to make my voice commanding but it came out more of a tired squeak. I decided to carry on anyway.

“We, we’ve become separated, as, as a family I mean. I mean you’re always in here and you barely ever speak. Dad’s always out and never talks to either of us and me… well I’ve never felt so alone in my whole life, I’ve just been forgotten...”

As I spoke the words I realized how true they were. I did feel forgotten, I sent myself to school in the morning, I cooked my own meals I even signed my own report cards. I was completely independent of my family, and I hated it. As I realized this I felt a sudden need to get out of the room, out of the house, away from here.

“S-s-sorry.” I garbled, before running down the stairs and out into the garden grabbing my bike as I went. I cycled down the road the wind drying my tears as they ran down my cheeks, I found myself traveling down a familiar road, I knew where it lead and it was exactly where I needed to be. I stopped out side the worn wooden gate and got off my bike, leaning it against the crumbling wall. I didn’t bother to chain it up; anyone who thought my decades old bike was worth stealing clearly needed help, and as I walked down the familiar worn mud path I smiled to my self, my old, worn bike, forgotten and unappreciated, just like someone else I knew. The path ended and I lay down on the carefully manicured grass, my head next to the familiar cold stone of my sister’s grave. I often came down to the grave yard and lay like this, it made me feel close to her. Like we were just lying in some grass land somewhere, as we did in the summers, in the old days. Head to head, just chatting, just relaxing, just living. I stopped my self before the tears started again. They were always just behind my eyes nowadays. Like water behind a dam. A dam that often broke. A crack appeared and a singular tear ran down my cheek. I wiped it away with a finger and glared at the treacherous drip of moisture, squishing it between my thumb and forefinger till it was just a sheen on my fingertips which I then rubbed on the ground, pushing myself up into sitting position. The graveyard was peaceful, quiet apart from the odd call of a bird and the rustling of the trees. It was the only place I felt relaxed anymore, which held a certain irony which I didn’t find remotely funny. Home was the graveyard now and I had no idea how to reverse that. I put my head in my hands.

“Oh, Beth. You’re so lucky you’re not here.” I groaned through my fingers. “Though you’d probably know exactly what to do wouldn’t you? You were always so good with Mum and Dad. They adored you. Whilst I, I just can’t do anything right any more. I just want to go home.” My voice broke, and I swiped my hand angrily across my cheek which felt stiff with salt. Crying wouldn’t do any good right now, crying was pathetic, crying was the last thing I needed to do. I sighed then stiffened as a creak of the old gate announced the arrival of another person. I knew who it was. The only person who would venture down here at this time of day.

“Anna?” My mother called. “Anna, hunni…”

I didn’t look up. I tried to tell my self it was because I was angry with her. But the truth was that I was ashamed. I stayed stock still as my mum advanced along the garden path.

A rustle as she sat down next to me. I kept my eyes on the ground.

            “Anna,” My mother began again, her voice was kind with none of her earlier rebuke, “Anna, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you felt like that, I didn’t realize anything. I’m so sorry”

Her voice broke on the last word and I looked up shocked to see that she was crying. My resolve crumbled.

“Oh mum!”

I threw my arms around my mum and, as she pulled me into her lap, I felt truly loved for the first time in months. It was a wonderful feeling, I hadn’t realized how much I had missed it till this moment. Sitting there under the trees next to my sister’s grave it almost seemed like we were a family again, Mum, Beth and I, I could almost feel Beth’s fragile arms around me. Hugging me and mum together, not wanting us to be apart. I smiled and snuggled closer to my mother, I didn’t want us to be apart either.

After sitting there for sometime my mum gently suggested that it was time to go home, and as we walked down the worn path I looked back at my sister’s grave and read the familiar words once again.

 

Here lies Beth Ashwood, beloved sister and friend, may she rest in peace with the angels.

Author's Note

PLEASE IGNORE GRAMMAR! will proof read it when i have time! :D

Reviews

[Jasmine]

dude is this the one from GCSE coursework?!?! if it is i dont wanna read it...i'll probably cry :'( lol love you x x x (but it's great..i would know)

[Dillon Cotter]

Just starting to read this, it's kinda sad someone dealing with cancer. Knowing soon they will be gone, i can totally understand everything in this story so far. I love how you put the feelings and emotions in this. So far i like this!

-Will

[deeps]

who's to tell who's normal people and sad people and happy people,
Deep inside we are all created equal, people like to judge,
Such a sad world today.

I like this, you express yourself well.
I feel for the Cancer. I know those feelings well.
I hate to hear anyone who has that. Very well written.