Always You

by Belle Brooks

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Note to the Reader

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Belle

  About the Author

  Always You

  ©2017 by Belle Brooks

  Published 2017

  ISBN 9780994634771

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Obie Books, Po Box 2302, Yeppoon QLD Australia 4703.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All rights are reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in past in any form. This edition is published in arrangement with Obie Books Q.L.D.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Obie Books

  Po Box 2302

  Yeppoon Qld 4701

  AUSTRALIA

  Cover design by Marisa at Cover Me Darling.

  Editing and Proofreading by Karen Harper and Emily A. Lawrence

  Formatting by Max Effect

  For:

  Natalya and Jakarra.

  I love you both more than all the stars freckling the night sky.

  Sisters for life xx

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  This book has been written using UK English and contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

  Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday, Australian vernacular.

  Sterile white walls encase a long hallway as I enter through glass doors that read Wellington Medical Centre. The smell of disinfectant mixed with latex causes a strange sense of doom to drop heavily into the pit of my stomach. Each step echoes loudly, the sound bouncing from left to right, causing me to automatically change my stride to that of a tip-toe.

  “Doctor Brown,” is muttered from my suddenly tense throat as I look down at the piece of pink paper now damp from my perspiring hands. “Suite Five B.”

  “Yes, Doctor Taylor. I’m doing it now.” I startle at the sweet-sounding voice of another, one which instantly removes the solitude of my journey in this unfamiliar place.

  “Hello, can I help you?” she asks, stepping out from behind me.

  Twisting slightly, I immediately notice her pressed pale blue shirt and navy skirt, quickly concluding this lady works here.

  “Umm. Yes. I’m May Connors and I’m looking for Doctor Brown’s rooms, Suite Five B.” My eyes dart back to the paper before rebounding to hers. The colour of ocean waves, heavy with sunlight, gleams brightly, offering me automatic comfort.

  “Hi, May, I’m Sister Fraya. How about I walk with you to Doctor Brown’s rooms? Would you like me to do so?”

  “Very much.” The corners of my lips tug upwards and I’m relieved I’m no longer alone.

  “Are you new to the centre?”

  “Yes, I am,” I reply as we walk in unison.

  “Well, you weren’t far from his suite. Only a few more doors and you would have found it all on your own.” Her smile fills with kindness when she stops to eye me.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, wrapping my hand around the metal door handle.

  “You’re welcome.”

  A sudden chill courses through my bones as I pull the heavy door open and stand a toe inside a professionally presented reception area. A tall counter is in my line of sight as the door nudges me forwards with its closing. Quickly, I shift my attention to a vase of brightly coloured flowers, but divert them again when I hear an unexpected cough.

  I’m not the only patient here. I hope it’s not going to take too long.

  “Hi, I’m May Connors. I’m here for my appointment at eleven a.m. with Dr. Brown.” My arms lie slumped across the countertop after I finally work up the courage to approach.

  “Yes, May,” the receptionist replies, staring deep into the computer screen before her. Long fingers click against a mouse cupped in her hand. “May, can you fill out these documents, please?” She stands, handing over a plastic clipboard with paper secured to it. Sliding a pair of glasses up onto her head that is covered in springy brown curls, she finally directs her attention to me.

  “Can I get a pen, please?”

  “Of course.” She smiles, with lips stained a dark pink.

  “Thanks.”

  The seat is well cushioned as I plonk into it. Placing my bag on the floor, I begin filling out the documents. Name, address, phone number, email address, and medical insurance details are the first questions I complete. Next is a list of boxes requiring a tick for any conditions of which I may have knowledge. I feel blessed when my pen never meets the paper. You healthy thing, you. Go, May.

  I’m concentrating so hard on the last part of the form, that at first I don’t hear them call my name. A tap on my shoulder gets my attention.

  “The doctor is ready for you,” the receptionist who supplied the forms says. She’s no longer behind her desk, but standing beside me. When did that happen?

  “Oh. Okay.” I’m rattled as I pass over the clipboard and her warm fingers brush mine. Her accidental touch seems to lessen some of the nerves flipping in the pit of my stomach, and although it was only for a moment, I kind of hope she will clasp my hand and shelter me. She doesn’t.

  “This way.”

  I follow the receptionist, watching the small slit at the back of her navy skirt open and close with each stride. It’s then the smell of latex and disinfectant I previously smelt is replaced with a subtle waft of rose smelling perfume. I find this smell relaxing.

  An outstretched hand greets me as I walk through yet another door.

  “Hello, May. I’m Doctor Brown…how are you feeling today?” He’s wearing a white coat over a salmon pink business shirt and around his neck dangles a stethoscope.

  “Good, thank you.” Two up and down movements complete our handshake and I exhale sharply when the doctor offers me a seat by motioning his hand in its direction. “Thank you,” I say again.

  “Now, May, do you know why you’re here today?”

  His skin is aged and his hair greying. I infer Doctor Brown is in his early sixties due to the weathered creases around the corners of his eyes and lips. He has a caring face. I’m not sure if it’s because his eyes are a soft blue or if it’s his gentle sm
ile, but I can tell he cares for people and has a good bedside manner.

  “Well, yes,” I finally answer, snapping back from my observation. “My GP asked me to make an appointment with this clinic in regards to an issue I’ve been having.”

  “Correct, it’s exactly why you are here. Now Doctor Grause, your general practitioner, has sent over a referral. Did you receive a copy?” He stacks his hands on top of each other after laying them onto the desk.

  “Umm. No.” I shake my head. “But she said…sorry, Doctor Grause said you might be able to help me get rid of this dull pain and slight swelling I’ve been experiencing in the top of my right leg.”

  “Yes, May, this is my hope. Now, May, how long have you been having this pain?”

  “Umm.” I begin to do the maths. It wasn’t there when I got married a little over a year ago or on our honeymoon. It began a few months after we got home. “I think it’s been about six months. At first it would come and go, but now it seems to be more persistent, you know.”

  His eyelids close momentarily before they shoot open again.

  “I put heat packs on my leg when it becomes annoying. It helps some, but not much.”

  “I see.” He breathes. “Now, Doctor Grause had you undergo a few tests last week, in preparation for this appointment.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “I have been sent the results of those tests and today we are going to talk about what they were able to tell us.”

  “Oh, okay, good. I probably should have seen to the pain sooner, but you know aches and pains are a part of a busy life. Especially when you’ve been training for a half marathon.” I laugh uncomfortably while fiddling with the bottom of my flowery dress now sitting midway up my thigh. I’m not sure why I laugh. Maybe it’s because I kept putting off getting my pain seen to. Well, that is, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. Why am I suddenly fearful? Why did I have to come here?

  “You had an X-ray and a CAT scan amongst others. Is this correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Doctor Brown removes a film from a large white envelope and proceeds to hang it up against a small board before switching on a light. It’s now I realise how tall he is, maybe one hundred and ninety centimetres. The image of my X-ray has me focusing. It’s a picture of the long bone in the top of my leg.

  “May, can you see this white cobweb type colouration here?” He points to the image with a long plastic stick.

  “Yes. I can.”

  “Do you know what this bone in your leg is called?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s the femur.” He takes a pair of glasses from the top pocket of his shirt before slipping them on and then pushing them down to the tip of his nose, so he can look over the top of them.

  “Okay.” I square my shoulders, shifting into a better posture as Doctor Brown places another X-ray beside the one already there.

  “May, this is your femur on your left leg. Can you see the femur bone here?”

  “Yes. I can.”

  “Can you tell me what’s different about these two bones?” His eyebrows rise.

  “Well, yes, the other one doesn’t have a cobwebbed spot on it.”

  “Correct.”

  “So what do you think this might mean? What are you telling me?” My hands start to tremble. It’s a contagious trembling because it moves up my arms and down my torso.

  “May, I’m sorry, but you have some form of cancer. Right now, I’m not one hundred percent sure which one, but I’m leaning towards Ewing’s Sarcoma.”

  “Cancer. Ewing’s Sarcoma,” I repeat his words. “What’s Ewing’s Sarcoma?”

  “It’s a rare type of cancer.” He delivers this with such ease, he doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

  How can someone say such a thing without a torrent of emotion?

  “No, sorry, that can’t be right. I’m only twenty-three years old. I’m too young to have cancer. Old people get cancer. Sick people get cancer. I’m healthy. I didn’t have to tick a single box on your form, Doctor Brown.” I spew these words from my tongue like my life depends on it, like cancer is something you can negotiate away.

  “Cancer doesn’t discriminate, unfortunately. The type I think you might have is found mainly in children and young adults. It’s rare and highly malignant, but if found early enough it can be treated with a good outcome.”

  “Well, that’s good and all, but you see, I don’t think this is my problem. Aren’t you supposed to do biopsies and stuff to know for sure?” The trembling I’m experiencing moves down to my feet and no matter how hard I try, I’m unable to control them from shifting.

  “Yes, we do biopsies and we have one scheduled for you at the end of next week. It is the only way I can confirm my suspicions. Your blood test results have shown me you have extremely abnormal levels of red blood cells and white blood cells, which is concerning. May, we already know the diagnosis will be a form of cancer. We will be using the biopsy for grading your tumours and confirming the exact type. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  I nod slowly.

  “Good. Essentially, we will use the biopsy for confirmation of what I’ve just explained.”

  I shake my head. This isn’t right. “How could you know? I’m sorry. I think you’re just making assumptions at this point. None of this makes any sense.” I try to stand, but my body doesn’t comply with my mind’s direction to do so, and I remain seated.

  “May, the CAT scan combined with the bone scan you had, show us this isn’t the only location of tumours in your body. This causes me even greater concern.”

  My jaw draws slack and my mouth gapes open.

  “You also have a tumour in your knee on your right leg and another in your left arm on the humerus bone, the bone in your upper arm. I am hoping—”

  “No! Doctor Brown, you’re wrong. Again, I’m sorry, but you must have mixed my tests up with someone else’s. You see, I don’t have any pain in my knee or in my arm. I’d appreciate it if you could get my films and we can talk about this at another time. This is a mistake.” My words shake like a volcano threatening to erupt from the pressure of lava determined to spew from its opening.

  His head tilts and his eyes narrow with what I assume is pity now reflected in them. “I’m sorry, May, you have cancer. Your blood tests and other imagery you’ve had tell us so. These are your films, see.” He uses the long stick to point to my name that’s alight in the top corner.

  “No.” My voice is almost inaudible.

  I’m not sure what he says next. I can see his lips moving and his face changing between an array of differing expressions. But there is no sound apart from a loud thrumming in my ears. My heart.

  “Do you understand what I just said, May?” His voice is suddenly loud.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “May, I need you to come back again tomorrow at the same time. I’d like you to bring someone with you.”

  “Huh.”

  “At eleven a.m. tomorrow, you need to come back to the clinic. This time can someone accompany you?”

  “Okay,” I mouth.

  There is no breeze when my stiletto hits the footpath. The air is stale and lifeless. Like me.

  I slip each foot out of my shoes and hang them from my fingertips. The path is hot against the flesh of my soles. I’m not sure why I do it—it could be because the path is far too hot for my skin to bear, or it could be because this is a natural act for me, but I run. I run flat out. Running has always alleviated my tension—it’s probably why I started training for this stupid half marathon in the first place. The pounding of my feet against tar usually supplies contentment in my life, but right now I feel numb…there’s no contentment…no nothing. Maybe if I run far away enough then I won’t have cancer anymore.

  Darting in front of a car, I inhale harshly as I wave my apologies before entering a children’s playground on the opposite corner to the medical centre. The green grass instantly cushions my hot feet. I stare at its brilliant coloura
tion when my head drops and my hands grasp my knees.

  “It’s okay, May. Breathe, May,” I tell myself, trying to slow each breath from its current erratic state.

  Without warning the grass slowly fades to a haunting grey. I flick my head upwards and my body follows suit. The swings bearing the weight of small children I saw before crossing over suddenly morph into aged tombstones. This once beautiful playground becomes visually ugly—it becomes an eerie cemetery with every step I try to take to escape the sudden changes. My lungs seize, causing me to cough hard, then I gasp. I try to inhale air, but it’s not entering my body like it should. A stampeding herd pummels my chest buckling my torso over, folding me in half once more.

  “Breathe, May,” I whisper, right before my legs give way. I fall heavily upon my knees as salty water flows steadily from my disbelieving eyes. Finally, I draw a needy mouthful of air only to release it again in an injured howl.

  Please don’t take my life.

  Entering through the front door of our three-bedroom and completely outdated apartment, my body grows weary. I can’t tell Will about this, not yet. I’m sure they’ve made a gigantic mistake. It must be. My bag lands heavily on a table near the entry and my shoes land even heavier against the cream-coloured tiles. The smell of BBQ’ing meat wafts from the back porch, making my stomach rumble before the sweet voice of my husband singing brings a smile to my face, something I haven’t been able to do the entire afternoon.

  “Babe, is that you?” he calls out mid chorus.

  “Yeah, Will, it is. Just going to have a quick shower, okay?”

  “Okay, dinner isn’t too far away.”

  “Love you.” I speak louder than the music as I undo the clasp to my bra before entering the bedroom and grabbing some sweatpants and one of Will’s faded T-shirts.

  The shower screen coats in steam as the water washes away a discovery I can only compare to a living nightmare. Tomorrow I know they are going to tell me they stuffed up big time and then they are going to have to apologise for scaring the absolute crap out of me. That’s what will happen…it has to. Who will have egg on their faces then, hey?

  Foam streaks a line down my right leg over my skin. Underneath there’s a bone causing my pain. A bone filled with disease, a bone that is useless. It’s funny how one minute I’m convinced they’re so wrong and the next I find myself identifying with the reasoning of this ache. How long will I subconsciously jump from one belief to another?