Chapter Twenty Five

After breaking her leg in a fall, time is beginning to run out for Aunt Jen

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Dolly was insistent on accompanying me to Aunt Jen's ward. This latest set back had shaken him as much as I. Despite his protests to the contrary I persuaded him otherwise, so he dropped me at the hospital's entrance and headed back to work. Though I was worried about Aunt Jen, I was also nervous about both of us losing our jobs. Although Dolly and I were among the lucky few, our job situation was still somewhat precarious. The library manager had not been at all amused by our untimely absence, nor by my appealing to Lyndsay Roth for permission to visit my great aunt in hospital.

On this occasion I did not need to traverse the longest corridor in the country, and turned left at the concourse to ride the lift up one floor. I was in the newly opened Eastern Wing where the osteology department was based. That's the study of bones to us laymen. I made my way to Brent Ward where I asked the whereabouts of Aunt Jen. The charge-nurse directed me to her room. He was a rather short man with a goatee and a squeaky voice, not at all like the other nursing staff I had met.

Jen was in the last bed on the right-hand side, a screen drawn all around her. Through a crack I could see a confident pair of hands handing what appeared to be a super-sized syringe. It was gradually filling up with fluid of a truly alarming hue, through a thin tube which seemed to disappear under the blanket. The doctors called the fluid ascites, I remembered. Not able to watch any longer I directed my gaze instead to the remainder of the ward.

There were eight beds in the room, all of the patients female. Some of them were sitting up , their plaster encased legs resting upon stools. One poor lady had several metal bolts protruding from one knee. I hoped she was not being treated by Doctor Viktor Frankenstein.

When all was finished, the nurse folded back the screen. Aunt Jen looked so small and fragile,as if a little more of her had ebbed away. She held out her hands when she saw me and smiled, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes the way it used to. I took her hands in mine, trying to impart some of my own energy into her frail body as she gradually she began to tell me what had happened the night before; much of it I already knew.

“I fell asleep” she told me. “When the doctor rang the doorbell I woke with a start and when I stood up , I went over. My legs went right out from under me and down I went. I heard the bone snap! Can you imagine that? The doctor phoned me; I still had hold of the phone so I was able to give him the key-box code. Then Daniel arrived, and he was marvellous. Came with me in the ambulance and stayed all night.” She squeezed my hand weakly. “Make it up with him. I know you're cross because he didn't tell you about the article. He thought I had.”

“You knew” I murmured.

“He asked if he could interview me. I thought it would be a good way for me to be involved in the fundraiser. I had no idea you didn't know. I'm so sorry Emily!”

The roller-coaster swerved suddenly and took another track. It felt as if a signal had changed and an amber light was blinking far ahead in the darkness. Things began to shift deep in my unconsciousness; maybe Daniel was not as guilty as I thought, but I had behaved like a b***h, believing all the negative thoughts being tossed about by my inner self.

According to psychologists, negativity, talking oneself out of a situation that cannot be dealt with, making excuses, are the way the subconscious mind protects us. We can, if we choose to , change those feelings of fear , of anxiety, of self-consciousness. Up until now I had been wallowing in misery, too weak to resist. It was time to pull up my stockings and face the future full on. Or maybe not.

Aunt Jen had always been intuitive; she could read me like a book. She was watching me closely now.

“Make it right!” Despite her terminal condition she still counselled me, was still my mentor.

“I will.”

“Promise m!”

I promised to do so as soon as I returned home.

As silence settled upon us Aunt Jen's consultant, Dr McKesson entered Brent Ward and on approaching the bed, drew the curtains once more. He was a giant of a man, with greying hair and kindly eyes. He began to speak in a soft Scottish burr.

“I have your test results, Mrs Beauchamp, and I'm pleased to tell you there is no evidence of the cancer having spread to your bones.”

Jen managed a weak smile, but we could both tell, from the tone of his voice, that bad news was coming. The doctor continued.

“We need to discuss how we proceed with your treatment from now on. The chemotherapy has helped to keep thing in check up till now, but it will not be effective in the long run. The ascites is getting worse again. The cancer is progressing to a stage where we can only give you palliative care.”

I recognised that phrase, 'palliative care', had read about it online, and knew that Jen was approaching the final stages of this devastating disease.

“We will do everything we can to make you comfortable as the cancer progresses,” Doctor McKesson told us voicing my deepest fear, that Aunt Jen was on the last bend of the road. From now on it would a down hill route.

“There are a couple of paths we can follow”, he explained. “You could come here as an out-patient to have the fluid drained, on a weekly basis to begin with. It will become more frequent as your condition worsens and I think would prove very tiring for you.”

“What is the alternative?” I tried to keep my voice calm, for Jen's sake, as well as my own, but it was a struggle. “What else do you suggest?”

“We can fit a permanent tube, which can be used to drain off the fluid whenever necessary. The district nurse can do that for you at home. However, though the procedure is simple, it is not without risk.” Doctor McKesson paused before explaining further. “Making an incision into the abdomen and inserting a tube exposes the cancer to the air with the result that it spreads faster. Despite the risk you would be more comfortable in the long term.”

Aunt Jen and I turned anguished eyes towards each other, and I could see how haunted and anxious she had become. And why not? The prognosis would not change, only the journey.

Doctor McKesson prepared to depart. “I'll leave you to talk it over. Any questions you have, just ask the sister to talk you through everything again.”

A little while later I felt I had reached rock bottom as I stood waiting for the long, long bus ride home. Dr McKesson's words rang in my mind like a cracked bell. Over and over, I kept remembering; fitting a permanent drain would expose the cancer to the air. It would spread and hasten the end of Jen's life. But what choice did she have? Surely comfort was a plus, even at the cost of a shorter life.

Now there was only one person I wanted, one person that I needed. I finally made up my mind to speak to Daniel and start rebuilding some bridges.