by Anne Baker
‘I’ve done it,’ she giggled. ‘I’ve burned my boats. Why should I let my family stop me doing what I want?’
‘You shouldn’t. You bend over backwards to do your best for them.’
‘You should have seen Marigold’s face! It was a picture.’
Rex had booked a table at a new nightclub in town called the Red Balloon. It was quite dark and had an intimate atmosphere. The music wasn’t loud, but it had a beat that throbbed and there was a small dance floor. He ordered a bottle of champagne. Everything was going their way at the moment; they were in high spirits and they had reason to celebrate.
The floor show started as their first course came to the table. The food was excellent and dancing began again as they finished their chocolate mousse. They took their time over everything and were quite late going home.
Rex knew that Helen was as happy and relaxed as he was. He kissed her as he closed the front door behind them, then hung their coats up downstairs and took her by the hand to lead her to his bedroom. She’d been here many times over the last months, but as she always wanted to be home by midnight, they never seemed to have enough time. He always drove her home afterwards, which meant he couldn’t relax with her in his arms. Tonight he was looking forward to that.
Helen was unbuttoning his shirt; she knew how to get him in the right mood. ‘It doesn’t matter what Marigold thinks,’ he whispered.
‘Or Chloe,’ she said, putting up her lips for a kiss. He pulled her into a close hug to push the image of Chloe out of his mind. Tonight he only had thoughts for Helen.
He slipped her blouse off her shoulders. ‘You’ve got a lovely figure, something to be proud of.’ He reached both arms round her to unclip her bra. She had a slim waist, a flat tummy, and she’d not put on much weight over the years.
He was running his fingers over her soft body, trying to give her the same joy she gave him. He stroked her nipple and felt her sensuous flesh beneath his fingers, heard her sigh of pleasure. He stopped abruptly. Something felt wrong.
‘What is it?’ she murmured in his ear.
He put his head down on her breast. Surely it couldn’t be? He needed to unwind, to think calmly about this. But Helen wouldn’t let him. She was nuzzling against him, showing him she didn’t want him to stop. He didn’t need a second invitation. In the heat of that moment he forgot everything else. Helen knew how to make love.
In the warm aftermath they lay together silent and still. It was ten minutes later when he felt again gently down the side of her right breast, this time with no trace of passion.
She lifted his head. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘I don’t know.’ He took her hand and with it covered the same area round her breast and under her arm. ‘Can you feel anything?’
She sat up with a jerk. ‘A lump? Is it a lump?’
He felt again carefully. ‘It feels lumpy, doesn’t it? But it might not be of any importance.’
He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he knew that had changed everything. She put her arms round his neck and pulled him close. ‘I’m frightened. It could be cancer. It’s quite a big lump. Why haven’t I felt it before? I never have.’
‘Don’t worry about it now. In the morning you must go to the doctor, see what he thinks.’
He knew she was shocked. He’d planned a night of indulgent bliss for them, but that lump had ruined his plans. He spent the rest of the night holding Helen in his arms, trying to stay her fears. Neither of them could sleep.
In the morning, she didn’t want to get out of bed. ‘I feel exhausted. I want to pull the blankets over my head and curl up here.’
‘I’ll run a bath for you while I shave,’ Rex said.
He went downstairs to make breakfast for them, but she hardly ate anything. Her face looked drained and paper white. All the life had gone out of her, and she seemed to have no energy. He was afraid that if he went to work, she’d just sit here and do nothing about it.
He rang the surgery and spoke to Dr Harris, telling him that Helen had found a lump in her breast and was very anxious.
‘Bring her in straight away,’ he was told. ‘I’ll see her before I start morning surgery.’
‘I’ll have her there in about fifteen minutes,’ he replied.
Helen was clinging to his hand with a grip that made him ache with sympathy. Fear was paralysing her; she didn’t want him to leave her side. When the receptionist sent her in, he went with her. Dr Harris examined her first sitting and then lying on his examination couch.
‘Is it cancer?’ she asked. Rex heard the catch in her voice.
‘Not necessarily,’ the doctor replied, pushing his grey hair back from his greyish face, ‘but we must have it investigated.’
‘What will that entail?’ Helen’s eyes were wide pools of horror.
‘I’ll make an appointment for you to see a specialist. He’ll want to examine you and probably to send a sliver from your lump to the laboratory; that will give us a diagnosis. Until we have that, we can’t be sure. As I said, it might not be cancer. Many lumps I see turn out to be benign. You can get dressed now, Mrs Redwood, and don’t worry.’
Dr Harris withdrew to his desk. Rex drew the curtains round Helen and followed him.
‘She can’t help but worry,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Could she see the specialist as soon as possible?’
‘Yes, of course,’ the doctor agreed, ‘but it might take a week or so.’
‘Would she get an earlier appointment if she went as a private patient?’ Rex knew that waiting to find out would be hell for them all, and worse by far for Helen.
‘Does she have insurance?’
‘No, but I’ll be happy to pay for it.’
‘Right.’ The doctor dropped his voice even further. ‘But I have to say, it may not be necessary for you to do that. The need for urgency in this case will be recognised. She’ll be seen as soon as possible.’
Rex’s heart lurched and his voice was a whisper. ‘What are you saying?’
The doctor was full of concern. ‘I’m sorry, but I think you should be prepared for the worst.’
Rex had been holding his breath. Now he let it come out in an agonised gasp. ‘I still want her to be seen privately,’ he said.
As they walked out to his van, Helen said, ‘What were you and Dr Harris talking about?’
Rex told her that he’d asked that she be treated privately. ‘It might cut down the time you have to wait. We’ll all be worried until we know.’
‘You’re very kind, Rex.’
He drove her back to Newburn Cottage. She’d left her car outside his front door and she needed to pick up her overnight bag. He knew she was having a little weep in the passenger seat of his van, but when they arrived she gave him a wry smile and seemed to have her tears under control.
‘Cup of coffee?’ he suggested, but she shook her head.
‘You’ll want to get off to work.’
‘Are you all right to drive?’
‘Of course,’ she said, but she was covering her face with her hands. ‘Thanks for coming with me.’ She reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Thanks for everything.’
It seemed to Rex that after that, for Helen everything careered on at breakneck speed.
Helen knew that Chloe would have gone to work by this time. Marigold met her in the hall with Zac on her shoulder. Her attitude was aggressive; she looked as though she was spoiling for a fight. ‘Where’ve you been?’ she demanded. ‘You stayed out all night.’
Helen couldn’t cope with her anger. In a low, defeated voice she said, ‘I found a lump in my breast. I’m worried.’
‘You’ve got to go to the doctor.’
‘Rex took me this morning.’
Marigold’s shocked face stared back at her. ‘Is it serious?’
‘I’m afraid it might be, but I’ll know better when I’ve seen a consultant.’
‘Oh, Helen! How awful for you.’ Zac was dumped on the carpet and Marigold’s arms went
round her. ‘What terrible troubles we all have.’
Helen wasn’t going to whine in the way Marigold always did. ‘It might be a benign lump, we don’t know yet.’ She put on a brave face, but inside she was already bracing herself to face the worst.
Time hung heavily. Marigold could talk of nothing else, but she was full of sympathy. Chloe wept in her mother’s arms when she came home and heard the news. Helen felt buoyed up by their affection.
The telephone rang. Chloe answered it, but it was for Helen. She thought it might be Rex to ask how she was. It was the secretary of a consultant offering her an appointment with him.
‘Nine thirty the day after tomorrow? Can you make it that early?’
Helen thought she’d have no difficulty with that. She knew Rex would take her and that he’d ask her to spend the night before at Newburn Cottage with him.
When they saw the consultant he asked if Rex was her husband.
‘As good as,’ she said, smiling at Rex. ‘My partner.’
The consultant, a rotund fellow with ruddy cheeks, looked grave as he examined her.
‘I want you to come into hospital in two days’ time and I’ll operate the following day,’ he said. ‘I want you to sign a form giving me permission to make a small incision just here.’ Cold fingers circled round her lump. ‘I’ll take some sample slides and send them straight up to the laboratory for immediate diagnosis.
‘You’ll have a light anaesthetic for this, then if the lump turns out to be benign, you’ll wake up in bed half an hour later and that will be that. If on the other hand the lump is invasive, you’ll be given a deeper anaesthetic and I’ll have to remove it.’
Helen felt she was hardly taking in what it entailed. ‘A mastectomy?’ she faltered. ‘Is that what you call it?’
‘Yes, it means taking away part of your breast.’
It was what she’d expected, but her mouth had gone dry. ‘How much?’
‘I’m afraid that depends on what I find. I won’t take more than I have to, but cancer spreads, and if that’s what it turns out to be, I’ll need to take out every bit I can. I may also have to cut into your axilla, up here under your arm, to remove some of your lymph glands. It can spread up there too.’
Helen was appalled. She could hardly get the words out. ‘Then I won’t know when I’m being taken down to theatre whether I’ll wake up whole or without my breast?’ She had both hands on it, pressing it flat.
‘Yes, I’m sorry, but this way you’ll have less anaesthetic and there’ll be less delay. It’s the best way for you.’
Helen was stunned. Rex was feeling for her hand. ‘If the news is bad,’ he whispered, ‘the sooner it’s done the better.’
‘Yes.’ She’d wanted it done quickly, but this had turned into a nightmare rush.
Rex found the hours of waiting unbelievably long and he knew the others did too. They all worried. Chloe said, ‘Think how much worse it must be for Mum.’
He tried to take Helen for a walk, but her energy had suddenly gone. He suggested taking her out for a restaurant dinner, but she didn’t want to go. Marigold said she was eating very little. Helen just wanted to lie on a lounger in her summerhouse, and fortunately the weather was fine enough for that.
On the morning of the operation, Rex insisted that Chloe go to work as usual and he took Helen to the hospital.
‘I’m praying he isn’t going to take off all my breast,’ she said as he was about to leave her. ‘I won’t feel a whole woman; you’ll not want to sleep with me if he does.’
‘I will,’ Rex assured her. ‘Don’t you worry about that. It won’t make the slightest difference to the way I feel about you. I love you, Helen.’
But he couldn’t keep his mind on his work that day. He went home at lunchtime and stayed there. The consultant had said he’d telephone him when he’d finished operating. It was four o’clock when the call came.
‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you,’ he said, ‘it was cancer, and more advanced than I’d expected. I’ve performed a radical mastectomy.’ Rex felt rooted to the spot, unable to say anything.
‘I’m afraid she’ll need a course of radiation later, to make sure there’s no further spread.’
‘How is she?’
‘Not fully round from the anaesthetic as yet, but the operation went as expected; she stood it well.’
‘Can I come in and see her tonight?’
‘Of course, if you wish, but she’s had a lot of anaesthetic. She’ll probably be drifting in and out of consciousness and won’t be able to pay much attention to you. I’d advise you to leave visiting until tomorrow.’
‘She will get better, won’t she?’
There was a telling pause. ‘I hope so. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t enjoy life again, but she’ll need to take it easy for a time.’
Rex shuddered. This was horrific, far worse than he’d anticipated when he’d first felt Helen’s lump. He rang Chloe at work to tell her, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt. Then he rang Marigold. He knew he’d destroyed their hopes. He threw himself down on his sofa in despair, but he was on his feet again a few minutes later. He felt like a caged lion. He went out to work in somebody else’s garden and stayed cutting hedges until the light went and he could no longer see what he was doing.
It didn’t get any better. The following day when Rex arrived to see her, Helen’s face looked grey against her pillows. She seemed sluggish, inert and in pain. When Rex went in the day after that, he could see she’d been crying. She wept again when he tried to comfort her; she was upset to find just how radical her mastectomy had been. Her recovery was slow.
They were taking it in turns to visit her, so that she’d not have too many hours alone in her private room. To start with they didn’t stay long, as she tired easily. Rex went in most mornings before he started work, taking flowers for her, until one day she smiled, thanked him and pointed out that her room was like a florist’s shop already.
In the afternoons, Joan went in herself or looked after the children so that Marigold could go. Chloe visited in the evenings after she came home from work. They found the staff kind and efficient.
Rex discovered that he knew Sister Carey, the sister in charge. He’d barely recognised her to start with, having only seen her wearing jeans and sweaters before. She was approaching middle age, unmarried and very down to earth. She lived at home with her elderly parents; theirs was one of the many gardens he looked after regularly.
He was glad to find her ready to pass the time of day with him and report on Helen’s progress. She gave him a better understanding of Helen’s condition.
‘She’s going to need long-term care, possibly for years, and she’ll need a lot of treatment after this. I wouldn’t continue paying privately for her,’ Sister Carey advised Rex. ‘It could turn out to be very expensive indeed, and she’ll get exactly the same treatment on the NHS.’
‘She’d lose her private room.’
‘Yes, but being with other patients often helps them recover. They don’t have so much time to dwell on their own problems. Some find a private room lonely. Anyway, I know you work hard to earn your money.’
‘I wanted her to be seen quickly, to have the best possible chance.’
‘That was important.’
‘And to have the best attention.’
‘She’ll have that, and you could spend your money taking Mrs Redwood away for a good holiday when she’s feeling better. She’d like that, wouldn’t she?’
Rex decided that Sister Carey was very sensible, but what she’d said made him feel worse. She’d spoken as though she expected Helen to be ill for years. The doctors had made no mention of a complete and rapid recovery either.
He told Chloe something of what Sister Carey had said about private care. She was very troubled about her mother. ‘You’ve been a tower of strength, Rex. Helping to get Mum seen and her treatment started quickly. Thank you.’
Two weeks later, they went together to fe
tch Helen home, but she was only to have three weeks to convalesce after the operation, and then she was to start a course of chemotherapy.
‘I’m dreading it,’ Chloe said. ‘It’ll make all her hair fall out, won’t it?’
‘Your mother’s facing up to it,’ Rex said. ‘Being very brave about it. We don’t talk about the side effects.’
Once she started on chemotherapy, Helen said, ‘It’s making me feel really ill. I think the treatment is worse than the disease itself.’
‘I know it is,’ Rex comforted. ‘I can see how it affects you, but the doctors say it’ll give you the best chance of complete recovery.’
He took her in his arms and she clung to him like a limpet. ‘Once the course is over, you’ll find you begin to feel better.’
He patted her back and stroked her hair. Helen had lovely hair; it was thick, strong and curly. He’d never forget the look of total horror on her face when she combed it and clumps of it started coming away in her hands.
‘They told me this would happen,’ she sobbed, very distressed. ‘That the chemotherapy would make my hair fall out.’
‘It’ll grow back,’ Rex consoled her. ‘The doctors say it will.’
‘I know, but they don’t say when,’ she groaned. ‘It’s going to take ages. I thought I was prepared for it, but it’s going to make me completely bald. I’m going to look awful.’
‘You’ll still have a pretty face,’ he assured her. But they both knew that wasn’t entirely true; her complexion was now a greyish yellow. She looked really ill.
‘I feel a travesty of myself, losing my hair as well as one breast.’
‘I still love what’s left.’ He kissed her cheek.
‘It’s a very cruel disease.’
‘It’s ghastly for you, but you’ll get over this part.’ He tried to smile. ‘Things will get better. I’ll be able to take you out for meals again. We’ll go away on holiday somewhere nice. You’ll enjoy life again, you’ll see.’
Helen seemed happiest on a lounger in the garden if the weather was sunny; if not, she liked to be in the summerhouse. Rex spent a lot of time working in her garden, often stopping to chat to her.
