Please Don't Cry

by Jane Plume

  ‘It just makes it official that she is a princess,’ explained Gina. They also gave her a lovely bracelet and a delicate little cross charm, and from that day forward, for all Anni-Mae’s birthdays and at Christmas, Gina and Shaun would buy another charm as one of her presents. At Christmas, she got a little silver present, at Easter a tiny silver egg, and on her first birthday a miniature pair of shoes, as she was just starting to walk. There was always so much thought behind each and every one.

  Anni-Mae has seen the bracelet and she knows how special it is, but I am keeping it safely tucked away until her 18th birthday. It would break my heart if anything happened to it.

  • • •

  Nine months after the christening, I had to go into hospital for a minor procedure. I had not been well since I’d had Anni-Mae and suffered with a lot of ‘ladies’ problems’, which caused stomach pains and anaemia, and left me feeling tired and run-down. Gina was constantly nagging at me, ‘Go to the doctors! I’ll take you.’ In fact, she eventually phoned the surgery to make the appointment for me and said, ‘Right you’re going to the doctor’s on Thursday at two.’

  To be honest, I was relieved when the gynaecologist offered to perform a minor procedure, which had a good chance of solving my problems. I was booked in for 7 February 2007 and the day before, as we parted company, Gina wished me luck and told me to ring her as soon as I was home. The operation was a routine and simple one and although I had been informed – as with any operation – that there were risks, the expectation was that I would be out around lunchtime, as I would only be under anaesthetic for around twenty minutes.

  I arrived at the hospital around 7.30 a.m. and was being wheeled to theatre by eight o’clock – one of the perks of having private health insurance through my job. Gina texted me while I was on the way to the hospital to say she was thinking about me and I replied light-heartedly, ‘I’ll be fine, speak to you soon.’

  But it turned out that wasn’t the case at all. I vaguely remember waking up in recovery and noticing the clock on the wall said 4.10 p.m. ‘The clock has stopped,’ I said gruffly to the nurse.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ soothed the nurse. ‘Don’t worry about that. Go back to sleep.’

  But I looked again and said, ‘Your clock is broken though.’

  I tried so hard to keep my eyes open and I was in far more pain than I had expected, but I must have drifted back to sleep as the next time I opened my eyes I was back in my room on the ward. Everything seemed hazy and almost in slow motion. I was aware of Kev by my side and the intense pain I was in, but I was only semi-conscious.

  Suddenly Gina was at the foot of my bed. I honestly don’t know if she had just arrived or if she had been in the room all along. She put her hand on my foot and, sobbing, said, ‘What have they done to you?’

  I was frightened. What did she mean? Why was I in so much pain? She sat down on the other side of the bed to Kev and gently took my hand. I was aware of tears coursing down my cheeks but I wasn’t really sure why I was crying. Then Kev said, ‘We need to tell you something. Things didn’t go as planned in theatre and they had to do an emergency hysterectomy.’

  I felt crushed. Now I knew why there were so many machines, and fluid and blood drips. It explained the pain and the grogginess. I later learned that the clock in recovery hadn’t broken: I had been in theatre all day.

  I find it hard to describe the loss I felt when I learned of the hysterectomy. Yes, I already had three wonderful children, but I was only 34 – and the decision as to whether or not my family was complete had been taken away from me. I was devastated. But there was more to come.

  Sometime later, I don’t know whether it was minutes or hours, I was still struggling with the pain and Gina rang the bell for the nurse. The nurse took my hand and told me she would be back shortly with some painkillers, then she turned to Kev and Gina and asked in a hushed voice, ‘Have you told her?’

  ‘Yes,’ they replied, together.

  ‘What, everything?’ she asked, and they slowly shook their heads.

  ‘You need to tell her soon, before she finds out for herself,’ she said sadly, then she quietly left the room leaving us alone.

  ‘What, what is it?’ I asked.

  Kev looked at his feet, Gina’s tears began to flow again.

  ‘Am I going to die?’ was all I could say. I really thought that was what they needed to tell me, either that or that they had found some sort of tumour when they opened me up in theatre.

  Both Kev and Gina responded immediately, ‘Of course not, don’t be silly.’

  ‘Then what?’ I asked between tears. As gently as they could, they explained that during the panic in theatre my bowel had been damaged and part of it had been removed. As I tried to comprehend what they were telling me, Kev quietly told me that I now had a colostomy bag. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, I had gone to theatre expecting to be home a couple of hours later, and now I no longer had a womb and, from now on, would have to go to the toilet through a bag attached to my stomach. Despite being fuggy from the operation, the impact of the news was overwhelming and I instantly broke down in tears. I was angry, frightened, ashamed, in pain and consumed with self-pity.

  In actual fact, I was lucky to be alive.

  The original procedure was an endometrial ablation, which involves putting a balloon into your womb and filling it with hot fluid to scald the lining and stop the bleeding, but for some reason my uterus had split down the back so I was haemorrhaging and they needed to do a hysterectomy to save me. At the same time the scalding hot balloon had fallen through onto my bowel, causing devastating damage to the tissue.

  But I found out the details later. For now, this night, all I could do was close my eyes and cry myself to sleep.

  The following few days passed in a blur. I was usually such a strong independent woman and now I had to rely on either a nurse or Gina to wash me and wait for dressings or my colostomy bag to be changed. Eventually they were able to reduce the drugs and I could get out of bed with help, and the catheter and drips were taken away but I found it so hard to accept the colostomy bag. I wouldn’t look at it for days. Through patient coaxing, my specialist stoma nurse, Stella, eventually persuaded me not only to look at the colostomy, but to care for it and change the bags myself.

  Gina came to see me every day and on one occasion I complained that I couldn’t wait to wash my hair. I have naturally curly hair that I straighten daily, otherwise it is just a frizz ball, so after about a week of lying in bed and not washing it, it was in a terrible state.

  ‘Wash it then,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t,’ I replied, with tears in my eyes.

  ‘Yes you can, we will do it together,’ she smiled. That’s just what we did, or rather Gina did. She washed my hair, as I sat on a chair in front of the sink in the bathroom. I was still in so much pain that I could hardly lean forward, but Gina didn’t mind, she gently emptied small cups of water over my head to wet my hair and rinse out the shampoo; it didn’t matter that I was getting soaked, I had clean dry clothes in my locker, but Gina was getting wetter than me. I was aware of how gentle she was being with me, as though I was so fragile I would break. With my hair now washed and clean she dried it for me and then straightened it. It must have taken two or three hours as she had to keep stopping to let me have a breather, but she didn’t complain, not once. I felt so much better, but the tears came again.

  ‘I just want to go home,’ I sobbed.

  ‘I know,’ she soothed. ‘You can soon.’

  I was missing my children more than words could say. Anni-Mae was still only a baby and couldn’t come in to see me, though Marco and Millie had been to visit. I tried so hard to put on a brave face for them, but they both knew me too well and could see straight through me. I wanted more than anything to pull them close and cuddle them, but I was in too much pain, which upset me even further.

  On one of the visits, Marco asked why I couldn’t just come home.
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  ‘I want to so much but I can’t, not just yet, mate,’ I tried to reassure him.

  ‘But why not?’ he insisted.

  I knew they needed to know what had happened as the recovery was going to be slow so I tried to explain as simply as possible that I had had an operation that meant I couldn’t have any more babies and that because I had been so poorly the rest of my tummy was poorly too. I tried to paste on a big smile for them so they wouldn’t worry, but they were both too bright to be fooled.

  At long last, I was told I could go home. I had been in hospital for nearly three weeks and I was ecstatic! But my difficulties weren’t over yet. As it happened, Kev was due to start a new job on the Monday after I came out of hospital and for six weeks he would be away on a residential training course Mondays to Fridays. I would be left alone. My family, Kev’s parents Ann and Stuart, and all my friends were amazing, so I had plenty of support – but it was still very hard. I couldn’t drive, I couldn’t do any housework and, worst of all, Anni-Mae was just 16 months old and I couldn’t even lift her up. I couldn’t put her in the bath, let alone bend over to wash her.

  Although aged just twelve and ten themselves, Marco and Millie really came into their own, and stepped up to the mark as big brother and sister. They made me drinks whenever I wanted one – and sometimes when I didn’t – nag at me about having something to eat and they played with Anni-Mae, cuddled her if she was crying and even changed dirty nappies. My brother Mick would come daily to take the older two to school and drop Anni-Mae at nursery for me, then collect them all and bring them home again in the afternoon. Everyone rallied round helping with cleaning, shopping, all the day-to-day things that needed to be done.

  And as usual, Gina was amazing. She would come over most days after work, even though she had her own family and Ashton was only 20 months old. Sometimes it was a flying visit so that she could see for herself that I was okay, other times she would bring over a casserole for us all to have for dinner and she would bathe Anni-Mae, put her to bed and ensure Marco and Millie didn’t want for a thing. I really don’t know how I would have got through that time without Gina and my other special friends – Hayley, Julie, Moira and Emma – as well as my wonderful family.

  After a few weeks, I started to recover and could go back to looking after my family myself, and get back to work, so Gina and I slipped back into our normal routine of meeting occasionally for lunch and spending weekends together doing stuff with the kids, and often with Kev and Shaun too.

  However, for various reasons my relationship with Kev was starting to show cracks. I confided in Gina about everything in my life and this was no exception. She was very supportive when I told her my worries and reassured me she would always be there for me, no matter what happened.

  In July, it was decided that the surgeon would attempt to reverse my colostomy. I thought I would be hugely relieved but it was a really tough decision for me. Naturally, I desperately wanted to get rid of this horrible bag, which was constantly attached to my side, dictating what I could do and what I could eat but, as a result of the last operation, I was terrified of what would happen once they had put me to sleep. I tried to get them to do it with a local or epidural but it couldn’t be done, so I decided I had to face the fear and go for it anyway.

  On the day of the operation, Gina came over to our house at about 6.30 in the morning, and double-checked my bag for the hospital as well as the clothes I had packed for Marco and Millie who were staying with my friend Moira. Anni-Mae was going to stay with Kev’s parents. As Gina fussed around me she was constantly reassuring me, ‘It will be fine, you will have your life back,’ but I couldn’t hide my fear from her any more than I could hide it from myself.

  At the hospital, Gina sat in my room with me as we waited for the doctors to come – a rare occasion when Gina seemed lost for words – but her being there meant everything to me. She held my hand and promised that she would be there when I woke up, and then walked down the corridor with me as they took me to theatre. Back on the ward I awoke to be told everything had gone perfectly. And sure enough there was Gina sat by my bed, with Kev. Again the tears flowed, but this time it was relief.

  Later that year, Kev and I decided to go our separate ways. It was sad, but for the best and luckily it was amicable. I found a house to rent and Gina and Shaun spent all day helping me move.

  ‘We will soon have it feeling like home,’ she grinned, and she was right. Our lives continued as normal only now I was a single mum again – but I never felt alone. Gina made sure of that.

  Shortly afterwards I found a house to buy. I was elated. I could make this house a lovely home for me and the kids for as long as I wanted. Again, Gina and Shaun helped me every step of the way. I even went back to view the house a couple of extra times before I finally bought it so that Gina could cast her eye over it. I wanted her approval and her help to get it the way I wanted it.

  In April 2008, we moved in. It was perfect. Marco and Millie argued playfully about who was having which room but we all soon felt at home in the new house. Gina helped me choose colour schemes and accompanied me on the many shopping trips needed for the curtains, carpets and all the other essentials. Shaun would come round to do all the ‘men’s jobs’, as he put it. He joked that there was a law against Gina and I being allowed to use power tools so he, along with my brothers, hung curtain rails and pictures, and put up shelves whenever I needed them to.

  • • •

  One day in December, as I looked forward to the first Christmas in our new home, I made plans to go Christmas shopping with my friend Kaz. I got up and dressed as usual but I felt quite ill, with an agonising headache. I managed to take the kids to school and Anni-Mae to nursery, but when I got back home I climbed into bed again.

  My phone ringing brought me round. I hadn’t even been aware that I had fallen asleep.

  ‘Where are you, you’re late,’ came Kaz’s voice.

  I went to answer her but I could barely lift my head off the pillow and the light from my phone screen was agony. My voice sounded muffled as I tried to talk to her.

  ‘Jane? Jane?’ Kaz said, sounding alarmed. And then, ‘I’m on my way.’

  Sure enough, Kaz arrived five minutes later. She took one look at me and immediately rang for an ambulance, then called my brother Mick and Gina. By the time the paramedics had rushed me to the hospital, Gina was already there. I vaguely remember the doctors doing a CT scan and a lumber puncture, then I was wired up to monitors and drips and drifting in and out of consciousness. For five days I was pretty much unconscious and extremely ill as doctors treated me for viral meningitis.

  I don’t remember much from those few days. On one occasion all my veins had shut down and the doctors were struggling to insert some drips, but with no success. I can recall Mick getting upset and Gina stood by the bed crying, and I have a hazy memory of her saying, ‘Just leave her alone now. Leave her alone.’ She must have thought they were hurting me.

  The first real memory I have once I started to recover is Gina feeding me rice pudding. Even though I was on the mend I couldn’t eat because I felt so ill. I hadn’t eaten in over a week, but I had a craving for rice pudding. Gina ran to the shop, bought a tin of rice pudding, then took it to the hospital kitchen and got them to heat it up, and she spoon fed me.

  During my stay in hospital my friends and family once more rallied round to help, picking up the kids from school, making sure they were looked after and providing a constant stream of visitors, when I was strong enough to see them. When I came home, Gina was there to look after me and Marco, and Millie mucked in to help.

  My being ill was hard on everyone, but one good thing did come out of it. It made me realise once and for all that Gina was the best mate a girl could ask for. I have never been more grateful to her – nor more aware of just how lucky I was to call her my best friend.

  CHAPTER 4

  A LOVE RENEWED

  As the New Year dawned, Gina and I put our
best foot forward and determined to make this our best year yet, putting all the health troubles of the previous twelve months behind us. We grabbed family and girly time together whenever we could, which as we had five children between us wasn’t as often as we’d like, but it didn’t matter. Life was good and I was happy.

  Life was never dull with our two families and the five children continued to be close. Lewis and Marco could spend hours talking about the latest Xbox games and then challenging each other to onscreen duels. Anni-Mae and Ashton would squabble as toddlers do, but then we would often catch them holding hands while watching a favourite show on TV. And the difference in gender didn’t matter to them at all. Anni-Mae would happily play with cars and trucks, just as Ashton would happily play with dolls. He was and still is fascinated by her long hair and he would sit and brush it for ages while they watched a film. Millie always fitted in anywhere, with the boys on the Xbox or with the little ones playing their games, but she was happiest sat in the middle of Gina and me. She was always grown up for her age and liked being one of the girls.

  I missed Marco, Millie and Anni-Mae so much on the weekends they were with their dads, but spending time with Gina, Shaun and the two boys in their home filled the void a little. The constant hustle and bustle, the laughter and banter ringing through the house, warmed my heart. Lewis and Ashton treated me as one of the family and it was a pleasure chasing them through the house with their parents or playing games with them, hearing their little voices yelling out as we all had fun together.

  Gina and I could spend all day in each other’s pockets and then still spend hours on the phone in the evening. It had become a bit of a standing joke. We would time the phone call as it was free for an hour, so at 59 minutes we would end the call and then one of us would ring the other one back so it was free for a further hour.

  We’d been known to sit on the phone to each other watching EastEnders and saying, ‘I can’t believe he’s just done that!’