DAY 38
Visit a sick person
“How is she?”
George just shook his head. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night; when Polly collapsed they’d sent everyone home from the concert, saying she needed to rest, but Annie hadn’t slept, either, for worry, and had taken the first bus back in the morning.
She looked at the giant stuffed bear she’d brought, feeling stupid. She’d tried to avoid the “get well soon” stuff, as surely Polly was not going to get well at all. “Have they said anything?”
“Not a word. Dr. Max is avoiding me. And Mum and Dad...” He sighed deeply. “They’re driving me completely mad. Come in, will you? They might stop if you’re there.”
Annie followed him into the private room, registering that Polly lay there—that frail body disappearing beneath sheets and hospital gown—hooked up to the machines. Heart monitor. Breathing mask. IV. Annie had been in the hospital enough times to know that the more tubes you had, the worse things were for you.
Valerie and Roger sat either side of her, arguing in stiff quiet voices. “I told you we shouldn’t let her gad about the place. She’s sick, Valerie!”
“It’s what she wanted. And she was so well.”
“She wasn’t well at all! Why can’t you just face things? Polly’s dying, George is...how he is, and—”
“He’s just confused, Roger! He doesn’t know what he wants! And you’re one to talk. I was so ashamed last night—having to call a taxi to get here because you weren’t fit to drive and—”
“Annie’s here,” George said loudly.
They both stuck on fake smiles. “Oh, how nice. Come in, dear.”
Annie stood in the door. “I don’t want to intrude. I just needed to see how she was.”
Valerie’s eyes were bright were tears, her voice strained. “She had some kind of crash last night, but we don’t know if it’s...if it’s temporary or not. We’re still hopeful, of course! She’s probably just tired.” Roger tutted.
The door opened and Dr. Max came in, brisk and rumpled. Had he been home at all? Annie doubted it. “Hi, everyone.” His eyes flicked over her, and the teddy bear she was holding.
“I’ll go,” she said hastily. “Give you some privacy.” After last night, she didn’t know what to say to him.
George grabbed her arm, squeezing subtly. “I think Polly would want you here, Annie.”
Reluctantly, she stayed. Dr. Max cleared his throat, arranging X-ray films on the wall holder. “Right. This is a scan of her lungs. You see that white bit?”
Annie knew by now what white bits meant. They meant not good. They meant oh, shit. They meant Polly was getting worse.
“A tumor,” George said in a small voice.
“Aye. A secondary, on the lung. It explains the breathlessness and back pain she’s been trying to hide for weeks now.” He glanced at Annie and she felt a stab of guilt, thinking of Polly up that ladder.
Valerie’s voice was wobbly. “Can we...is there anything...?”
“Radiotherapy should shrink it. Reduce the pain a bit, let her breathe. But it’ll take its toll. She’s so weak.”
In the spaces between the words, in the silence of the four of them—five if you counted Polly, out of it on the bed—Annie understood what he was saying. It had started. The beginning of the end. She had to do something—move, speak. “I...” Everyone turned to look at her. She fumbled the teddy into Dr. Max’s arms. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She pushed the door open and ran out into the corridor. This place. Full of death and terrible news and just endless bad things, going on and on. When would there be good news? When would something normal happen to her, like falling in love or going on holiday or taking up Zumba?
“Annie, wait!” She turned to see Dr. Max padding after her, with his long loping stride. He was still holding the teddy in his hands, as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
“I can’t be there, I can’t, it’s not fair, she’s so young and so alive and it’s not fair. Dr. Max, why can’t you do something? Why can’t you fix her?” She swallowed down hysterical tears. “I’m sorry. Shit. I’m sorry.”
Gently, he said, “Okay, only dogs can hear you now.”
“I’m s-sorry.”
“Look, I wish I could do something. I’ve thrown everything I have at this bastard tumor. Chemo. Radio. Surgery. Drugs. And it just keeps coming back. I’ve done everything.”
“I know you have. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said that. And I’m sorry...” She wanted to say she was sorry about last night, but was she? She felt so confused.
“Och, everyone says it at some point. But we’re not magic, Annie. We’re just people.”
She wiped a hand over her face. “This...this is it, isn’t it?”
“Not quite.” His voice was kind. “But...yes. It’s the start of it.”
“Oh.”
“It was always terminal, Annie. There was no cure. Maybe in a few years, if trials go well, we might have something more to throw at cases like this. But there was never any chance for Polly.”
It was happening. It was happening. Polly was going to die. “Will she...is this all, then?”
“Have a bit of hope, Annie. Just a wee tiny bit. We might get her out for one last hurrah. You’ll see.” He hesitated for a moment, and she wanted to throw herself into his arms. She was desperate for someone to hold her, hug her close. Who else was there? Even her own mother didn’t know who she was.
But he hesitated, and so did she, and then he said, “I better go.”
So she leaned against the wall and cried. For Polly, for herself, for Jacob and her mum, but mostly because hope, when you let it take root in you, was such a hardy little bugger.