When the Time Comes (ARC)

by Adele O'Neill

‘We’ve got this Jenny, whatever is thrown at you, I’ve got your back and I’ll phone the clinic on my way home and ask them if there is anything else you should do with your hand.’

  ‘I know you have.’ Jenny leaned towards her friend and rested her head on her shoulder for a moment. ‘I’m just terrified that I am going to wake up one day, and nothing will work and I’ll be left lying in my own waste waiting for someone to come and move me in the bed.’ She confessed.

  Other patients that she had met on her hospital visits, some of whom she had become friends with, had deteriorated more rapidly than she had and with the latest bout of spasms and changes she was beginning to feel more vulnerable that she had ever done before.

  ‘It won’t happen like that.’ Sarah tried her best to reassure her.

  ‘It could,’ Jenny paused. ‘They don’t call it the 1,000-day disease for no reason and by my calculations I’m already at day 940.’

  ‘Not all patients die within the first 1,000 days.’

  ‘More of them do, than survive so…’ She left the prospect hanging in the air. It was good to say it out loud to unburden some of the darkness that had been swirling around in her brain. ‘And I’m so worried that I’ll pass the point of no return.’

  ‘Jenny,’ Sarah waited for Jenny to look at her before she continued. ‘That will never happen, do you hear me, we will never let that happen to you, I promise. You are Captain Jennifer Buckley, fearless and sometimes feckless pilot extraordinaire.’ The feckless bit brought a quick smile to Jenny’s face. ‘You have been brilliant all throughout your life, and I promise you that whenever that time comes you will be brilliant then too.’

  It had been very early in the diagnosis when Jenny had first talked to Sarah about her feelings on ending her own life and dying at a time that she chose. She had explained how she hated the idea of lingering in a half-life while she was trapped in a body that no longer wanted to live and the mere thought of an existence that prevented her from hugging or speaking to her kids sent shivers down her spine. She had been clear and concise about what she would do when the time came and she had made no apologies for it. She had spoken to the children, even written a letter that she had given to Sarah for safekeeping and they understood what she wanted to do. And while she didn’t envisage ever becoming part of a campaign, she had whipped up a media storm by becoming involved in a televised debate and it was there that she told the audience about her plan. She was going to, when the time came, get her hands on a sedative called sodium pentobarbital by illegal means because when administered in high doses it would cause a quick and painless death. This of course had sent the legal team of RTÉ into a litigation frenzy, and she had merely countered by talking about having no other choice.

  ‘You will see this coming Jenny, it won’t just land suddenly upon you, take you by surprise. It won’t.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Jenny thought about it for a second. ‘You know, there’s something to be said for having a heart attack in your sleep, and waking up dead, if you know what I mean.’ The corners of her mouth curled a little at her turn of phrase. ‘Alive one day and dead the next. Not this insidious decrepit deterioration in slow motion that I’m sentenced to.’

  ‘There is, but if there is a silver lining with your diagnosis and I know that’s a very big if, at least this way you got to tell the children everything you ever wanted them to know.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, I’m just having a very shitty day.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sarah agreed. ‘That’s allowed.’ She wanted to say that it wasn’t always going to be this bad and that someday it would get better but that would have been a lie. ‘Everything’s just on top of you ta the moment.’ She said instead.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jenny dabbed her face dry and swallowed. ‘It’s the move, the stupid bed, my hand, the fact that I can’t transfer out of this wheelchair for fear that I’ll have wet myself without realising.’ She dabbed her wet face, her tears coming thick and fast.

  ‘Have you any other new symptoms?’ Sarah asked trying to sound casual. The hardships that Jenny was experiencing were only going to get worse.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘not as such,’ she stretched her hand when Sarah had finished with it and lifted her mug up with both her hands, the fear of spilling her coffee still a reality with the spasm not fully gone. ‘Not physical ones anyhow, but my heart is breaking in two for Abbie and Josh.’

  ‘They’ll be fine,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I’m not so sure, I’m terrified that Abbie will fall apart.’

  ‘Abbie is more capable than you give her credit for and Josh is strong enough to hold both of them together. And whatever it takes, I’ll be here by your side… and theirs.’ she reached forward and wiped away Jenny’s tears.

  ‘You see,’ Jenny smiled through teary eyes, ‘I knew there was a reason I sat beside you in Mr Collins class all those years ago.’

  ‘And I’ve always had your back.’ Sarah said. ‘Ever since that first day in school when you reached inside your Wombles lunch box and handed me a Calvita cheese triangle to stop me from crying for my mum.’

  ‘I know,’ Jenny smiled at the memory.

  ‘And I’ve got your back now and I’ve never steered you wrong.’ Sarah added.

  ‘Well?’ Jenny laughed as memories of dubious decisions and ill-selected adventures flashed across her eyes, memories that only she and Sarah had shared. A small knowing crept across Sarah’s face. They had been in each other’s lives since they were five years of age and a life without her in the future just seemed too hard to bear. Who would keep her in check, whose sentences would she finish when Jenny was gone? Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the front door open and the familiar thud of a schoolbag as it hit the bottom step.

  ‘Only me,’ Josh called as he climbed the stairs two steps at a time, ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ he added. Sarah waited until she heard his footsteps overhead before she continued, this time lowering her voice even more.

  ‘Can I just say one thing?’ she continued with a slight discomfort. She’d never forgive herself if she didn’t say it one last time and even though she didn’t want to upset Jenny any more than she already was she felt compelled to say it.

  ‘Go on,’ Jenny feigned annoyance.

  ‘You know I’ll do whatever you want and I know that Liam is moving back in this weekend because that’s what you want for the kids.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I just want to say, for the record, that it just doesn’t feel right, it sort of gives me the creeps.’ She searched for the most concise way to express what she thought. Two years ago, when Jenny and Liam’s marriage had first begun to fall apart, Jenny had confided in her. She had told Sarah about how tense things had been between them and that they hadn’t been intimate in months. So, when Sarah heard about him moving out a couple of months later to be with another woman, it had been clear to her that Liam Buckley was as selfish as they came. It hadn’t mattered to him to try and repair his marriage then and it didn’t sit comfortably with her that now, all of a sudden, he was interested in his family again. ‘This guy really let you down, Jenny. Had no interest in you guys before, but is now prepared to leave his girlfriend so he can move back in? I know you want what’s best for the kids but,’ she hesitated, ‘I’m not sure that he does. There, I’ve said my piece.’

  ‘Look, give it time,’ Jenny answered.

  ‘Maybe,’ Sarah said, ‘but I’m still not convinced and I don’t think that I could ever trust the man again after what he did to you.’

  ‘That’s okay, but I do need you to behave, okay?’

  ‘Well, if Liam Buckley so much as looks at you crooked, I’ll finish him, okay?’

  ‘I’d expect nothing less.’ Jenny smiled at Sarah’s exaggeration. ‘But this is for the best,’ Jenny said without any evidence of doubt. ‘I promise you…Liam is their dad and that’s who they are going to need when…’ Jenny left the words hovering in the air between th
em, unable to finish the sentence. ‘Josh needs this, Abbie needs it too.’

  ‘I know,’ Sarah answered quietly.

  ‘I hope so,’ Jenny answered. The complex threads of all of their lives had begun to unravel two years ago and no matter what Jenny did to try and hold it together, the fabric became frayed and delicate, the stitches undone and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  ‘Right ladies,’ the delivery guy appeared at the kitchen door, ‘the bed’s all together, the mattress is on top and all you have to do is sign,’ he handed a clipboard to Jenny and watched as she scrawled her name across the line. While she was writing he took another look at her face. Jenny handed him back the clipboard when she was done. ‘Was that you on the telly about a month ago?’ He asked.

  ‘It was,’ Jenny’s cheeks reddened.

  ‘I was thinking I recognised you, I thought you were brilliant and you really put them gobshite politicians in their place.’ He said.

  ‘Thanks,’ Jenny dipped her eyes.

  ‘And the missus thought so too, I reckon I’d do the same if it were me, or her for that matter.’ Jenny didn’t know how to respond. ‘Anyway, I’ll let myself out, you girls stay where you are.’ Sarah smiled at Jenny while they waited to hear the front door close behind him before they continued.

  ‘You’re famous,’ Sarah said, delighted that the delivery guy had had provided a perfect segue for what she wanted to talk to Jenny about next.

  It had been Sarah who had arranged for Jenny to participate in the Current Issues televised debate at the RTÉ studios on euthanasia and even though her contribution had been as an audience member as opposed to an expert on the panel they had formed, she had made the most impact, particularly when she spoke so frankly about what her plan to end her own life entailed. She had been articulate, concise and clear and in the aftermath was attracting a lot of media interest in her story. ‘Speaking of your magnificent TV debut last week, you know my friend Miriam?’ Sarah said and Jenny smirked at the nonchalant name-drop of the national TV station presenter’s household name.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, she emailed me today to say that their research team would like to do more around the issue and if they were to develop a show would you be interested in being on the panel this time?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes and she also said that the P.R. department are getting a lot of requests seeking information about you how to get in touch with you so I told her that they could pass on my details as your solicitor and as soon as I did that, there was an email sitting in my inbox looking for you.’

  ‘For what? From who?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘They want to do an interview with you, a lifestyle piece,’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘The Sunday Independent,’ Sarah said.

  ‘They do?’

  ‘They thought it’d be a lovely touch because of the lifestyle piece they did on you back in 2007 when you were working for Aer Lingus.’ Jenny had had the last article mounted and framed and talked about it being a legacy for her kids to have when she was gone, Sarah knew how proud she was of it, she squinted and held her breath unsure if Jenny would agree.

  ‘That was a completely different thing,’ Jenny answered.

  ‘Which is exactly the point,’ Sarah had expected this to be her response and had a counter argument ready to go. ‘Last time you were an accomplished pilot flying for our national airline, this time you are still that accomplished pilot who has had to forfeit your occupation because of the illness, it’d be a way to get your voice heard.’

  ‘Really?’ Jenny wasn’t convinced. ‘I don’t want people’s sympathy.’

  ‘How could someone sympathise with someone as bad ass as you. You flew planes, for fuck’s sake.’ She said.

  ‘Yes, and I guarantee you the journalist will make some inane reference like from the aluminium of two wings to the aluminium of two wheels.’ Jenny shook her head.

  ‘That’s actually quite good,’ Sarah laughed.

  ‘It’s cringeworthy,’ Jenny grinned in response. ‘I’ll want to see the article before its published, okay?

  ‘So, you’ll do it? Perfect. I’ll let him know.’

  ‘I will but I want to think about the TV one. Don’t commit me to that just yet.’

  ‘Okay.’ Sarah took out her phone and set about emailing the journalist back before Jenny had a chance to change her mind. She’d talk her into the TV appearance another time. ‘And I might suggest to him that Saturday would be a good day, with the move going on.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling that you’ve already thought this through?’ Jenny asked, she stared at her friend trying to understand what her motivation for urgency was. ‘Actually,’ she noticed a slight smile form on Sarah’s lips, ‘do you already know this guy?’ she shook her head. ‘Tell me the truth, is this journalist one of your Sue Hefner conquests?’ she laughed. The in-joke between them had first started in their formative adult years when Jenny, joking about her best friend’s abundant sex life, had substituted the name Sue for Hugh. The comparison between her best friend’s attitude to sex to that of the Playboy magnate was too funny to pass up.

  ‘First of all,’ Sarah feigned offence, ‘Sue has long since grown up and is a little more selective about who she lets into the Playboy mansion.’ The deliberate insinuation made Jenny laugh out loud.

  ‘Secondly, no, as of yet, Sue has not met said journalist, but I have Googled him and let me just say, that should the occasion arise, Sue would approve.’ She winked her eye.

  ‘Would she now,’ Jenny grinned. In all their years together, even though she knew Sarah craved the type of attention being like Sue brought, she had worried from time to time about whether she was lonely or not.

  ‘And thirdly, when have I ever, not thought anything through.’ Sarah giggled.

  ‘Okay then,’ Jenny paused, she knew Sarah had already made up her mind. ‘But,’ her eyes flickered around the kitchen were extra boxes that were destined for the front room had begun to accumulate. They landed on a box with ‘incontinence pads’ emblazoned on the front. ‘But I draw the line at it being a warts-and-all exposé, okay?

  ‘Perfect.’ Sarah answered, ‘definitely no warts.’

  3.

  2 Days Before Jenny Died

  Concentrate on what your body is telling you. Listen to your body, tune in, it will tell you what to do…

  ‘My body is telling me that enough is enough and get up off this smelly mat and get some breakfast.’ Louise was in her usual spot at the back of the class when she whispered breathlessly, her heart quickened by the strain. Without opening her eyes she could sense a grin spreading across the face of her sister who was equally strained on another smelly mat just to the left of her. Since they had started the yoga class a few weeks ago they had giggled most of their way through the impossible poses, much to Marti, the yogi master’s frustration.

  Make the movement long, fluid, like a serpent moving in the lake…

  ‘Snake in a lake? Jesus, not exactly zen-inducing thoughts there, Marti,’ Alex murmured, her slender back stiffening and the same image of slimy eels squirming around their feet flashed across both hers and her sister’s deep brown eyes. They had probably only been twelve when it had happened and Alex still shuddered when she thought about it.

  ‘Arklow harbour?’ Louise grinned, checking that she was thinking the same thing.

  ‘Yes,’ Alex whispered, shuddering at the memory. Canoeing with their dad when they were younger had been a regular weekend activity and depending on tides, flow and the expected dynamics and strengths of eddy formations, the Avoca River was a favourite destination of theirs. The starting point, The Meeting of the Waters immortalised in the song by Thomas Moore was where their mum would drop them with their canoes, then she’d head into the seaside town of Arklow and by the time they’d paddled downstream and finished at the harbour, their mum would have a picnic ready, or if they
were really lucky, chips and burgers bought from the local chipper. The only let-down of each and every one of their experiences were the eels that swarmed around their feet as they dragged their canoes from the water into the shore. ‘I still have nightmares about it,’ she whispered to her sister trying not to smile.

  ‘Now after all those exertions let’s give the body a chance to regroup, reset itself by maintaining the balance between relaxation and meditation…’

  ‘Oh thank God, the corpse,’ Louise said cheekily, she knew Marti preferred each of the poses to be referred to by their proper name, he had scolded her every time she had said it before.

  ‘You mean Shavasana, Mama.’

  ‘I do,’ Louise lowered herself flat on her mat, spread her legs just as wide as her hips, faced her palms upwards with her arms outstretched and closed her eyes. This was her favourite part. It also meant that the class was just about over and within ten minutes, she and Alex would be flopping into the sumptuous chairs, hopefully by the windows of the Quays Café and ordering brunch. Marti’s voice wafted around the room and with her eyes closed she hadn’t realised he had padded across the wooden floor and was standing next to her. He startled her when he spoke.

  ‘Mama,’ Louise opened her eyes in response, raising her left hand to her chest with the fright. ‘Sorry Mama,’ Marti whispered now realising he had disrupted her relaxation and continued. ‘Your Vata seems out of balance today, you fatigue?’ When Louise had first told him she was pregnant to make sure that there weren’t any potential contraindications, Marti had adapted all the poses that needed to be adapted and had told her which ones to avoid. Especially the ones that required her tensing her pelvis and standing on her head, neither of which, she had joked at the time, she would have done anyway.

  ‘My Vata?’ Louise whispered back, catching Alex grinning behind him.

  ‘Yes,’ Marti squatted down beside her with his legs wide open just in front of her head and swept his long hair from his face. She was grateful he had cycling shorts on underneath his baggy shorts and that all his man parts were held tightly inside. She could see Alex mouth something behind him and she didn’t trust herself to look, Alex would make her laugh for sure. ‘I told you this my lady.’ Marti’s voice was calm but his flaring nostrils betrayed his inner frustration. Louise forced herself to take him seriously. ‘You know this, Mama.’