‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is love.’
‘That, in itself, is wonderful.’
‘I keep telling myself that. But . . .’
I wanted to say: I know all about that ‘but’. Instead I squeezed her shoulder and said:
‘Let’s get this behind you.’
I left the scan room as quietly and quickly as I could, moving into the technical booth. As I programed in the necessary data I felt the usual moment of tension that still accompanies the start of each of these procedures. The realization that, from the moment I shoot 80 milligrams of high-contrast iodine into Caroline’s veins, I will then have less than fifty seconds to start the scan. Begin the scan a few critical seconds ahead of the Venus phase – when all the veins are freshly enhanced with the iodine – and you will be scanning ahead of the contrast, which means you will not get the images that the radiologist needs to make a thorough and accurate diagnosis. Scan too late and the contrast might be too great.
Timing.
It really is everything.
I leaned in to the microphone on the control panel and flipped a switch.
‘Caroline?’
My voice boomed out on the speaker within the scan room. She shifted her gaze to the technical booth window, her eyes flooded with fear. I followed the script I always use when it is clear a patient is terrified.
‘Now I know this is all very spooky and strange. But I promise you that it will all be over in just a few minutes. OK?’
I hit the button that detonated the automatic injection system. As I did so a timer appeared on one of the screens. I turned my vision immediately to Caroline, her cheeks suddenly very red as the iodine contrast hit her bloodstream and raised her body temperature by two degrees. The scan program now kicked in, as the bed was mechanically raised upwards. Like almost every other patient Caroline shuddered. I grabbed the microphone:
‘Nothing to worry about, Caroline. Just please keep very still.’
To my immense relief she did absolutely as instructed. The bed reached a level position with the circular hoop. Twenty-eight seconds had elapsed. The bed began to shift backwards into the hoop. Thirty-six seconds when it halted, the hoop encircling her head. Forty-four seconds. Forty-six. My finger was on the scan button. I noticed it trembling. Forty-nine. And . . .
I hit the plunger. The scan had started. There was no accompanying noise. As always I shut my eyes, then opened them immediately as the first images appeared on the two screens in front of me, showing both mammary glands. Again I snapped my eyes shut, thinking about how her doctor would break the news to her if the growth was malignant.
But professionalism trumped fear. My eyes sprang open. And what I saw was . . .
A fibroadenoma. I’d seen so many of them over the years I could spot them immediately – and I’d yet to misjudge one. Without question, Caroline was harboring a fibroadenoma: a solid, round, rubbery lump that moves freely in the breast when pushed and is usually painless.
They are also benign. Always benign.
I now began to scrutinize the scan with care – my eye following every contour and hidden crevasse around the two mammary glands, like a cop scouring all corners of a crime scene, looking for some hidden piece of evidence that might change the forensic picture entirely. I searched the areolas, the nipples, the ducts, the lobules, the fat deposits, not to mention the adjoining ribs, the sternum and the surrounding muscles.
Nothing.
I went over the scan a third time, just to cover my tracks, making certain I hadn’t overlooked anything, simultaneously ensuring that the contrast was the correct level, while the imaging was of the standard that Dr Conrad required.
Nothing.
I sat back in my chair and found myself smiling. Good news. But news that I myself could not impart, though I would find Dr Conrad in a few minutes and hope that – after hearing about the patient’s pregnancy, her previous miscarriages, and her great understandable fears – she’d show the humanity I’d occasionally seen lurking behind the granitic exterior and speed through a diagnosis to Caroline’s doctor.
I peered out again at this anguished, frightened woman. My contemporary. And so much a fellow sufferer. In a moment I would reach for the microphone and tell her that the scan was over and compliment her on her bravery and brace myself for an onslaught of questions – What did you see? You’ve got to tell me, is it malignant? Is it benign? What did you see? – as soon as I walked back in to release her from the bier.
Were this my world – and it’s nobody’s world – what would I actually say, besides the fact that the lump is benign? What piece of counsel might I impart to her? Not wisdom – because one person’s wisdom is another person’s clichés. And as there are absolutely no answers to life’s larger conundrums, it might be something as simple and blunt as this:
Amidst all the fear, the doubt, the longing, the setbacks, the hope for something better, the sense that you have boxed yourself in . . .
Amidst all the infernal struggles you will always have with yourself, and the realization that everything is so profoundly temporal, there is what the screen in front of me tells me: That growth within you will not kill you.
And even if, from this moment on, you continue to block yourself, disappoint yourself, lock yourself into an existence you know you don’t want, the screen still says: All clear. There is a chance now. But if, in the end, you can’t convert that chance into change, there is still one great consolation . . . if you choose to see it:
You’re going to live.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted inwriting by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781409021469
Version 1.0
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Hutchinson 2013
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Copyright © Douglas Kennedy 2013
Douglas Kennedy has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s
imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
‘Going’ taken from The Complete Poems © Estate of Philip Larkin and reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd
Extract from ‘The Hollow Men’ taken from Collected Poems 1909–1962 © Estate of T.S Eliot and reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd
Every effort has been made to contact all other copyright holders for permission to reproduce text within this book. If notified, the publisher will be pleased to rectify any errors or omissions at the earliest opportunity.
Hutchinson
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780091795818
Five Days Page 34
