The door opens and Vera comes in. She sits beside me and smiles.
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘I guess I feel scared.’
‘My best friend was ill in here. She had treatment. That’s why I nurse here.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘She’s fine now. She fought it. That’s what you have to do. Fight. Don’t give up. Ignore the other ladies. It’s how they cope, talking about their illnesses, but you’re too young for that.’
‘But there’s nothing to do.’
‘Well, get your mum to bring your school books in. There’s no reason why you can’t read when it’s quiet.’
‘Is there a library?’
‘No, but there is a chapel and it’s very quiet up there.’
She agrees to take me after lunch. I like her. She is a kind and motherly person with a smile always on her face. We sit next to each other in the chapel and talk.
‘My friend believes in God, too,’ Vera whispers. ‘She says that her faith has got her through.’
‘Is she a Catholic?’ I ask.
‘No, I don’t think so. But it doesn’t matter, does it? I must introduce you to Irene as well. She’s the staff nurse on the ward. She is also a Christian. Her faith is very strong.’
The chapel is beautiful and so peaceful. It is dark and cool. It seems a long way from the wards and is very quiet. I notice it is not Catholic. It doesn’t seem to make any difference except there aren’t any statues of Our Lady. A large tapestry picture of the Last Supper hangs on the wall with Jesus breaking bread. I try to work out which figure is Judas. He must be the one with the evil smile.
‘You must be cold and tired,’ interrupts Vera. ‘Let’s get you back.’
The doctor arrives. I call him Dr Tan-Shoes. He doesn’t tell me his name. He looks briefly in my direction and starts to read my notes. He doesn’t talk to me at all. Then he comes up and takes my arms without explanation. I pull them away.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Veins. I’m looking for veins.’ He continues his search and sighs. ‘Your veins are bad. That will be a problem.’
I begin to worry. What does he mean?
‘When does my chemotherapy start? Today?’
‘No. Next week.’ I am surprised and ask him why.
‘Tests. We need to do more tests.’ He is walking away as he says it. I feel really angry because he won’t explain things to me.
‘But I’ve had loads of tests.’
‘We need to repeat them.’
I sit there and simmer with anger. What a waste of time, I think, when I could be home.
The week is long and dull. The tests are repeated, exactly as before, only this time nobody comes to tell me the results. I find them out from my parents when they visit. I am grumpy and depressed the whole week. I lie on the bed and try to concentrate on reading, but it is difficult. The only breaks in the routine are mealtimes. I get to know the nurses and the physio. She brings a set of crutches and helps me use them. Her manner is also sharp and matter-of-fact.
‘We can’t have you in a wheelchair all the time. You’ll become weak and you won’t be able to manage an artificial leg.’
‘Well, how will I get around?’
‘On crutches. You’ve got arms.’ She makes me do exercises every day and soon I am worn out with her pummelling. In the end she takes away my wheelchair and leaves me with only the crutches. I hate them because I can’t hide the fact that I am minus a leg and I feel self-conscious and embarrassed.
By Thursday I am all packed up, ready to go home and determined I am not coming back. The chemotherapy will have to go and God will just have to do a miracle without it. I ask myself how I can possibly tell people about God here, where nothing happens.
I am lying on my bed in a bad mood when a nurse walks up to me. She is short and plump.
‘Hi, Mary. I’m Irene. Vera told me you’re a Christian, too.’ I sit up quickly. This seems better.
I tell her: ‘I’ve been waiting to meet you. I don’t know why God has brought me here. There is absolutely nothing I can do for Him here. I’ve decided not to come back next week.’
‘That’s a real shame because there are some books I think you will really enjoy about people who have been through difficult times. I was thinking they would help you.’
‘Well, I bet they haven’t been through anything as awful as this.’ I am really feeling sorry for myself now.
‘One is about a girl called Joni who breaks her neck but goes on to become a painter. And one is about Nicky Cruz, who is a drug addict and a gang member who becomes a preacher. Sounds pretty awful to me.’
‘I’m sick of people going on about God and how He can get me through. It’s just a cop-out.’
Irene looks at me and laughs. ‘Well, do you have any other option? You’re not doing so good on your own, are you?’
‘No, I’m not really,’ I have to admit. ‘I’ll give it one more try.’
So I went home for the weekend. I had a lovely time and the snowdrops had bloomed – Hellie took me up to the park to see them. Now I am back. My tests are finished and my chemotherapy starts tomorrow. Irene has brought in the books for me and I’m saving them for when my treatment starts.
Dr Pearson came to see me this morning. She explained about the chemotherapy. I asked her about my hair. She said it will all fall out in a few weeks. I’m praying it won’t. I asked Dr Pearson about being infertile and she looked at me as if I was crazy. She said: ‘One step at a time.’
But it is important to me. If God is going to heal me, and I live, I want to have children. That’s if anyone will ever love me. I guess that someone would have to be different and special to be able to love me now. I started to cry, and one of the ladies went to get Irene and she came and had a chat. She is a very gentle person. She said Jesus can help me through all the bad times and I will be very close to Him because of suffering like this. She said: ‘Think of Him as your best friend.’ She is really helping me to understand God.
As the day goes by I feel more and more frightened about starting the chemotherapy. Debbie is now having some and she keeps being very sick. The drugs go into the veins through a drip and I’m scared because drips hurt a lot. I don’t understand why Debbie is having more chemotherapy so long after her operation. The nurses won’t let me go and talk to her. They say she needs to rest. She looks very ill – thin and pale. I’m thinking maybe she has got secondaries or something and that scares me too.
Vera sees me looking worried and comes over. ‘How about having a lovely bath, getting your nightdress on ready for your drip later, and then I will take you up to the chapel?’
She helps me into my nightclothes and walks me up to the chapel. I am pretty good on my crutches now and when we get there she suggests I might like some time alone. I want to pray.
She leaves me alone in the cool silence. Nobody comes up here, ever. Once I saw the hospital chaplain and he said hello but, apart from that, only I come up here with my books and my Bible. I am reading the Psalms. Irene said they were good things to read in hard times. So I do as she told me and ask God to speak to me through His word and then I open the Bible at Psalm 6 and begin to read. I’m sure God will tell me something really important with my treatment starting tomorrow.
I read words that do not fit the picture: ‘O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger …’