“Yes, he lives here. We call him Terry,” he managed to form the words.
“I am afraid he collapsed in town and we are looking after him at the hospital,” came the efficient response.
“What’s happened?” asked James beginning to not believe what he heard, and yet wanting to know more.
“I can’t say much else at the movement, He is fine, resting, and we will just have to do some tests.”
“I will come and see him, straightaway,” James stated. He felt the shock of the news sweep over him. What could have happened? Why was he not able to speak to him? What did it mean, he was ‘resting’?
“That is a good idea. We are in the A and E Department. Can you bring a change of clothes?”
It took James half an hour to drive rather incautiously to the hospital. All the way he noticed that his hands were shaking. He knew it was the shock, and the anticipation of what he might find. When he reached the A and E department he found it deserted, like so many in small rural hospitals where only two nurses and a doctor are on duty. He rang the bell at the door. Everything was taking so long to happen. After a while a nurse came to let him in and soon he was ushered behind some curtains. There, at first unrecognised, was Terry lying stretched out on a trolly, in a hospital gown, looking tired and drained. Terry lifted his head with some difficulty, as James came towards him.
“Hello sweetheart,” said James, without a care for those who heard him. “What has happened to you?”
He bent down to kiss him, and Terry’s face showed a contradictory sense of relief and despair.
“James,” he said with a faltering stutter. “I don’t know what has happened, or why I am here. I can’t remember anything at all.”
“I think your friend has had a fit,” interjected the doctor, standing beside the bed. James had not even seen him. He went on. “Probably an epileptic fit that can come at any time to any of us. He was unconscious for several minutes, at least until the ambulance brought him in. We will do some tests, but it does mean that he can’t drive for a year.”
This news, which Terry heard for the first time, was probably the most devastating of all. He loved to drive, to set out from their house to visit friends and do odd jobs. It was a major part of his life and essential to their rural way of living.
“Don’t worry about that, we will sort it out somehow,” said James without any idea how, though he believed there was always a solution. He was more worried about the cause of the fit, but did not want to share that worry with Terry.
“I have rung your mother,” said James. “I think she ought to know. She said that if you were still in hospital tomorrow she would come up and see you. Actually she was quite civil with me,” he added though later thought that in the circumstances he wished he hadn’t.
“She always is,” said Terry. “Just give her time. Anyway we will be out of here in an hour or two,” he added.
Terry was escorted up to a ward soon afterwards and any prospect of getting home that night was quickly vanishing. A forceful but efficient ward sister explained he needed to stay in for observation because he had lost consciousness. James could come back in the morning and collect him if he liked. Three hours later, sustained with this hope but with considerable reluctance, James left Terry as he dozed off in his hospital bed. It was the strangest thing to do, to come home to an empty house, and an empty bed, to spend for the first time in months, a night apart, to be denied all the intimacies of their contact they had grown used to and depended upon. But James hoped and actually prayed that Terry would be well enough to come home the next morning; that unlike all the other areas of life, their health would not let them down and life could go on as they planned.
All through his restless night James had tried to work out what might be wrong with Terry. An epileptic fit was sort of alright because he knew of plenty of people who lived with this and with the correct drugs life went on as before. The cleaner’s husband was an epileptic and he lived normally, driving, operating machinery and working as a tree surgeon. Maybe, thought James, it was diabetes and he had fainted. Terry always had too much sugar in his coffee and tea and rejoiced in an astonishing sweet tooth. Plenty of people live with that condition. James was willing to go for any ailment that was not life-threatening, anything that would not take Terry away from him. It seemed so unlikely that a youthful forty-year-old could have anything too debilitating.
“I am afraid,” said the ward sister when James spoke to her on the telephone at the earliest opportunity the next morning, “he can’t leave today because he has had another fit. I shouldn’t tell you this but I used to work in neurology and it looks to me like a brain tumour. That is to give you the worse possibility, so anything else will seem like a bonus.” She had an interesting way of breaking the bad news, but James trusted her judgement, and was grateful for her directness and honesty.
Brain tumour sounded so serious, so unknown. It was a disease located not at the periphery but at the centre of the body. Everything could be affected by a brain tumour, every part of the person and most crucially the mind through which all of life’s experiences are moderated. James refused to think further about the possibilities; instead he was busy gathering together things to put in a leather bag: spare clothes, Ipod, toiletries, anything Terry would ask for. Once in the car he knew he had got to get to the hospital as soon as he could, and as he travelled he resented every yard and mile that lay between him and his love.
On arrival he was ushered in to see the ward sister. Just then he caught a glimpse of Terry’s mother waiting in the day room. As he waved to her he noticed that sitting beside her, like a gruesome delegation, were Terry’s sisters and, most surprising of all, Victor, who looked both bewildered and angry. ‘I wonder how he got to know,’ James thought. The ward sister told James that they had been able to do a scan and that there was something there in the brain. It could be a tumour or maybe, and hopefully, just some bleeding. James could not take in the information; to him it was so unreal. Surely there were other possibilities, all the things he had thought about over night, serious but not life threatening; things that that did not invade the brain in such a vicious and catastrophic way. He asked if he could see Terry, even though visiting hours were only in the afternoon. The ward sister said that she could make an exception today because he had only been admitted last night but normally he could only come in after 2pm.
On entering the ward, although it was small, James eyes scanned widely for the familiar face. Most of the patients were old men, wizened in life with sunken cheeks and the gaps of missing teeth. One of them was coughing up his lungs in a corner, part of his morning routine. Then on the end bed he saw Terry, not where James had left him, nor in the state of alertness he had achieved at least for a few minutes the evening before.
“Hello, sweetheart,” whispered James, a little conscious that the old men were watching and listening. He bent down to kiss him on the lips, for nothing could have prevented him from doing that, not even the looks of annoyance or distain. It was enough to be together.
“Are you not up yet?” asked James.
“I don’t think I can,” was Terry’s rather too serious answer. His speech was slurred. “I tried to stand earlier but I couldn’t carry my weight.”
“You are just tired, very tired,” said James more in hope than belief. He tried not to show his concern but his face was never good at holding back emotions to those who knew it well.
“I am not well you know,” said Terry. “I don’t feel right, I don’t feel right in my head. It is all dizzy.”
“I’ve brought you some things for today just in case you have to stay in for a bit. Actually, it is pretty good in here, isn’t it,” James said looking around trying to make something positive out of the circumstances. “Nice and clean, and warm.”
“But these old men,” whispered Terry, so quietly that James had to lean over to hear him, “they make noises all night. And I can’t sleep without you.” His voice was
beginning to stutter, almost as if he was struggling to speak. He stopped, plainly annoyed his mouth could not form the words he wanted.
“Well you shouldn’t have to be here much longer should you, once they have sorted you out.”
“I think it is serious,” stated Terry gravely. “The nurse has said it might be a brain tumour. I heard her talking on the phone, trying to get me transferred to the main hospital.”
“I don’t think anyone knows anything properly yet,” said James unable to hide the feelings in his face.
“Look at you, sweetheart, so brave and so kind.” began Terry.
“Oh please don’t say that, it sounds like you are going to say something far too sombre.”
“Well, James, it looks like I will have to find someone else for you after all.” Terry looked away as he said it, to hide the tears welling up in his eyes.
“Now you are just being silly, and if you weren’t lying down I would have to spank you!” It was James’ way of dismissing thoughts he could not even begin to entertain. “I forgot, your mother is here, and I have kept her waiting long enough.”
“Knowing Mumsie I am surprised that she hasn’t barged in already,” Terry said with a smile on his face, both proud of his mother’s devotion but also a little embarrassed at her determination and lack of graciousness.
“It is not just mother of course, and the family, but also Victor.”
“Oh,” said Terry, unable to give more of a response at first. “Well they will all want to see me, so let them in.” The sentence stumbled to a halt with a stutter.
James let go of Terry’s hand, and noticed how it fell limply to the bed as if the strength in it had gone. He patted Terry’s arm, gave him a knowing smile, and walked out of the ward to find mother and her entourage. They were still sitting in a line in the day room, eagerly watching the door as he came through.
“Can we go in now,” were her first words, without any form of greeting. “I think I should. I am his mother!”
“Have they told you what they say it might be,” asked James feeling that she ought to be informed.
“Yes, I got the nurses to tell me, but of course it is nonsense.” With this she pushed past him and was down the corridor, trailing her daughters. They had said nothing but just held a vacant expression. Victor hung back.
James turned to him and said, “You can go in I am sure. And there is no way I would stop you seeing him.” There was no response, perhaps because Victor did not know how to meet such disarming generosity.
James was left on his own in the day room. He sat down with a heavy sigh. He did not want to sit where they had been sitting. He did not want to linger there in case they came back. He just wanted to be with Terry, but that place was now a crowded place. James knew it would stay like that until he could get Terry home, back to where he belonged, to the intimate surroundings of their snug, their bedroom, and their life together. Now that Terry was ill he had become the property of the family, and probably the concern of countless well-wishers beyond. It was the sharing of Terry that James was going to find most difficult; he already felt that he was beginning to lose him, not through the illness but because of those who were going to smother him with attention, and claim him for their own.
Terry’s condition did not improve and within four days the diagnosis of a brain tumour was confirmed. The ward sister had managed to get him a side-room away from the coughing old men. It was as if she wanted to spoil Terry because he was a special patient. He thought it was because he was a charming young man. He did not realise what made him special was the nature of his illness, a notoriety no one would want to claim. It was on the afternoon of the fourth day when the ward sister insisted the consultant, only young and just used to the everyday cases of a casualty ward, should tell Terry the gravity of the situation. A time was arranged when both James and mother, with her daughters, could be there. They stood around Terry’s bed, James holding one hand and mother the other. The consultant came into the room accompanied by a junior colleague for support. Without much formality or introduction he stated plainly Terry had a brain tumour deep inside his skull. It was beginning to press down on certain parts of the brain and this was impeding his functions. This is why he could not walk well, and why his speech was beginning to slur. He was to be transferred to the main hospital whenever they could find a bed, and they would do a biopsy and be able to confirm the type of cancer and what the treatment could be. The word cancer seemed to slip out without being noticed. The consultant spoke almost as if he was reading a script, and perhaps he had been given the words by a neurology specialist at the main hospital. He looked visibly relieved once he had spoken and was eager to get away. After all, there was little more he could say, for he was well out of his depth. All he added, as he was leaving the room, was that the department at the main hospital was very good, and of all the places to go in the country it was amongst the best. It was perhaps an attempt to sweeten the devastating news.
Terry sat there in his bed visibly stunned. He had talked of the likelihood of cancer over the past four days but always in his own mind thought that it might not be true. There were so many other possibilities. Perhaps even now they may have got it wrong. But none of those standing around the bed could offer any abiding comfort. His face screwed up as he burst into tears and turned to bury his head in to the chest of James. Mother kept hold of his hand on the other side determined never to let go.
For a while it seemed as though time stood still, with the only sound the quiet sobbing of Terry. The bustle of the ward beyond the door, and the world outside the window, were strangely distant and irrelevant.
“Come on, my little pup,” mother said breaking the silence. “They will sort you out and find a cure, I am sure. The thing is not to give up. We can fight this together, me, and your sisters. You know we never give up.”
Terry lifted his head and turned to face her.
“You are so good, Mumsie,” whispered Terry. “You are so so good.”
Deeply satisfied with that response she pulled his head into her chest and let him snuggle her, much like he might have done almost forty years before. It was her instinct to protect him, to shield him from all dangers, to gather him under her wing. She pulled so hard that Terry rolled to her side of the bed, and he had to let go of James’ hand. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Her son, her precious son was not going to die, he was going to live and she would do all she could to make him well.
She sniffed and the tears seemed to disappear. She looked across the bed to James. Fortified by having her son so closely pressed to her chest, her eyes dropped to the hand with which James had held Terry a moment before.
“What I need,” she said to James with a quiver in her voice, not so much with fear but with anger, “is that ring. It belonged to my father and I cannot stand the fact that you are wearing it. I want it because it brings good luck, and Terry really needs it now, not you, so please, please can we have it back?”
James was unprepared for this and quite unable to know how to respond. Terry had given him the ring as a sign of love and commitment, and had asked him never to take it off. He was not even sure that he could get it off as it had so tightly fitted over his knuckle.
“Yes, we can get another,” he said almost without thinking. He cursed himself for being so compliant, for not standing up for the symbolism of what the ring meant, not demanding some recognition of his love for Terry. “I can go to the jewellers in town, and get another, just give me a day or two.”
Mumsie said no more, she had said enough. She knew that James would have to give the ring back, and in so doing she could begin to unlock the spell he had on her son. One sister looked on in amazement, totally bemused that her mother could be so blatant, or indeed failing to understand how a ring could be so important either to the one who wore it or the one who wanted it back. Another sister was gently sobbing in the corner, for she had only just begun to realise the implications of what the consultant had sai
d. It was her place to support her mother, to show her affection for her brother, and most of all give full licence to her own indulgent emotions.
James felt an overwhelming desire to leave the room. He could no longer stay in the presence of the family, in front of the one who had so attacked him, or those who had simply let it happen. He reached over to pat Terry on the arm and say how he would be back later. He turned to the door of the room, opened it and walked with increasing speed to the ward entrance. The full heaviness of his heart began to lighten with ever step, the suffocating air of the ward thinned out by the fresher and cooler air of the corridor. He needed to get out, out of the hospital, out into the open, and there to breathe deeply.
Over the few next days, James was still coming to terms with the diagnosis. Nothing could be confirmed until Terry was taken to the main hospital, and that depended on the availability of a bed. James came to sit with Terry for every minute the visiting hours allowed. Some of the time he shared this with Mumsie who sat defensively on the other side of the bed. They should have been able to support one another, but the man who quite literally lay between them was both the focus and the cause of their mutual distrust.
Terry’s medical notes were on a clip board at the end of his bed, and James liked to peruse these to see how he was progressing. Apart from providing the clean clothes and reports from home it was about the only thing he could do. In any case it helped to occupy the passing hours. Blood pressure constant, temperature variable, drugs regularly administered. On the fifth day James was reading the notes and saw the patient’s details had been altered. James’ name and number as ‘first contact’ had been crossed through with a red pen and written in capital letters above was the name and number of mother. He put the clip board back, pretending not to notice, but feeling as if he had been relegated and deeply wounded. He wondered if Terry knew or indeed had requested such a change in the record, but this was something he could not ask him. Maybe he feared what the real answer would be, but any stress was likely to make Terry’s condition worse, and could possibly bring on a fit.
Gay Before God: An Awakening Love Forbidden by the Church Page 14
