I watch him leave the room and, as he does so, he turns and winks at me. Later my mum and dad return with even better news.
‘How would you like to come home for the weekend?’
‘What?’
‘Mr Peach has said you can spend the weekend at home if you like,’ says Mum.
‘But how will I manage?’ I ask.
‘Well, you get round here in your chair, so it should be okay at home. Dad or Martin can carry you upstairs.’
‘Yes,’ adds Dad. ‘Martin and Franny could both come home for the weekend. We can all be together again.’
‘Yes! Oh please! I would love to come home!’
‘That’s sorted then.’ Mum is determined. ‘We will have a wonderful time.’
The day has turned round since my dawn conversation with Steve. Now I am able to see some kind of future, even if it is very uncertain. I feel so excited about going home.
Later I go to see the Ward Six boys and tell them the news about my tests being clear. They are pleased for me and delighted to hear of my shortened stay at Christie’s but there is an atmosphere of gloom.
‘We’ll miss you, kid!’ says Barry, and I tell them I will miss them too. We have a laugh and Peter pours out some more vodka. After a while I am left alone with Barry. ‘Come and see me when you get back!’ he jokes and I promise I will, although I don’t know if I will ever see him again. I do know that, even though the chemotherapy drugs could cure me, they are so poisonous they might also kill me – that’s if the Limpet doesn’t get me first. But I try not to think about that because I don’t want to spoil this night. We hold hands and listen to his music. It is the first night I have been allowed to stay here so late but the nurses make an exception. By the time I get back to Ward Eight all the other patients are tucked up and sleeping.
Friday arrives too quickly. I am so looking forward to spending time at home and seeing my family again but I will miss my new friends and I am a little scared of leaving the familiar territory of the hospital. I have so many hurdles to face.
Mr Peach comes to see me early.
‘Right, Little Lady, I need to see your stump. Then I need to take the stitches out of your wound.’
‘I hate that word “stump”, Mr Peach, don’t you?’
‘Mmm, yes, I do.’
‘It sounds so ugly and final,’ I explain. It conjures up pictures of bleeding soldiers I remember from my history books, or scenes from torture chambers.
‘Well, what do you want to call it, then?’ Mr Peach asks.
I think for a moment.
‘Let’s call it my Little Leg!’
‘Okay then, much better,’ he agrees ‘A Little Leg for a Little Lady.’
‘Do you want to see your Little Leg now?’ he asks, for I have still not had the courage to look at it without the bandages on. He pauses. ‘You have to at some time, you know.’
I look at him and nod, for I know I will be strong enough while he is here. He finishes unwinding the layers and layers of bandages and slowly removes the dressings to view his stitching.
‘Ready?’ he asks and takes my hand. I look at my Little Leg. I expected it to be ugly and horrible, but it isn’t. I had pictured it as bloody and bruised but it is pink and soft and healed. Quite cute, really. My new body is not ugly, just different.
‘It’s very neat,’ I say to him.
‘Thank you. I tried my best. Why don’t I leave you here for a few minutes while I go and get some stuff to take out your stitches?’
He leaves me alone with my new body and disappears. I look curiously at myself. I am changed but not mutilated. I feel sadness but no longer hatred for my own body. Maybe I am not as ugly as I assumed.
I scream as Mr Peach takes the stitches out. ‘Make as much noise as you like!’ he says, so I do. When he is finished he looks at me with a serious face.
‘You must be very careful, Mary,’ he says kindly. ‘Your Little Leg is very delicate still. Don’t knock it, under any circumstances.’
‘What would happen if I did?’
‘Well, the wound is healed but not very strong. First, it would hurt a lot, but it could also open up the wound and that would be a disaster. So just be careful – no tearing around on crutches when you get to Christie’s.’
‘I will be very, very careful,’ I promise him.
I am tired after my ordeal and sleep for a long time. Before I know it, my family is gathering to take me home. Hellie arrives first.
‘We have so many surprises planned for the weekend,’ she tells me. ‘I’ve brought you some clothes.’ She hands them to me and I am delighted. They are, as all her clothes are, incredibly well-chosen. I select an outfit. I get to the bottom of the bag and pull out a new shoe.
‘Hellie, you only put one shoe in,’ I say, unthinkingly. She reaches over and gives me a playful hug.
‘Silly! You only need one now – until you get your new leg.’ Now I know why Mum sent Hellie early; she never makes a big deal out of it. I stare at her, wondering how I feel, and then I decide it has a funny side and I laugh. She laughs, too.
‘How can you forget you have only one leg, Mary?’
Hellie helps me pack. We fill several large bags with cards and presents. The cards have covered most of the walls for the last few weeks and there are literally hundreds. Mum and Dad return with presents for the nurses and Dr Jimmy. For the first time in three weeks I don outdoor clothes. Hellie helps me dress my leg with a stocking and my lonely shoe. There are so many new things to face.
‘Are you okay, Sis?’
‘Just thinking.’
‘What about? Your leg?’ I nod and sigh. ‘Look at it this way – you only have to buy half as many stockings!’ she jokes and we both fall about laughing. Dr Jimmy comes into the room.
‘What’s all the noise in here?’ He pretends to be cross at us. ‘I’ve come to say goodbye and thank you for the chocolates.’
‘That’s okay, Jimmy. Thanks for looking after me.’
Mr Peach rushes in. ‘You be good at Christie’s, now,’ he tells me, ‘and I’ll see you when you get back, by which time I hope we can sort you out with an artificial leg.’
‘Fantastic! I can’t wait!’
‘I’m very proud of you, Little Lady. You have been remarkably brave. I won’t forget the things you’ve taught me.’
‘Me? Taught you?’
‘Well, I know now that some words are difficult for my patients. That’s a useful lesson for me.’
I bask in his compliments and I am determined that, if I get through my treatment, I will pass my exams so I can come back and tell him. We give each other a big hug and I feel a sense of loss as he leaves.
‘Ready?’ asks Hellie when she has done my make-up and hair for me.
‘You bet. Let’s get out of here.’
I reach for my blanket but Hellie snatches it away.
‘No, you’re not having that. You don’t need it. It makes you look like a granny. You are beautiful as you are.’
‘People will stare at me, though,’ I complain.
‘Then I will stare back. That’s before I run them over with the wheelchair!’
‘I