Part One Hundred And Seventeen
On the Monday morning, Jo telephoned the office to ask her secretary to rearrange her first appointment, so that she could go to the hospital with George. "What on earth does one take, to prevent one from going completely insane?" George asked, as she tried to pack a bag with everything she might need. "The last time I spent any time in hospital, was when Charlie was born, and all I seem to remember was wanting to go to sleep and never wake up again." "You probably won't feel like doing very much," Jo told her reasonably, George's alluding to wanting to die worrying her. "When do you want me to tell John?" She asked, the prospect of having to do this weighing heavily on her. "I'm sorry that I'm asking you to do this," George said sincerely. "But I'm only just managing to deal with my own reactions as well as some of yours. I think that John's as well would be too much." "Is that why you decided to do something about it now?" Jo asked, the possibility only just occurring to her. "Because you knew what would probably happen, and because you knew he would be away, meaning therefore that you almost certainly wouldn't have to be the one to tell him?" "That's dreadfully insightful for this early in the day," George commented dryly, not entirely meeting Jo's gaze. "And I can assure you that I didn't consider all the salient facts quite so clinically, but yes, there is probably some truth in it. I think I knew, that the longer I tried to ignore it, the crosser John, you, and anyone else might be." Taking the underwear from George's hands and putting it in the bag they were packing, Jo put her arms round her. "Yes, I am furious with you for taking such a stupid, pointless risk," She said quietly but with no less feeling. "But that's only because it frightens the hell out of me that I might lose you. I certainly don't agree with what you did, but I do understand it, and so will John, once he calms down from the initial shock." As their lips met gently and lingeringly, George thought, not for the first time, just how lucky she was. "Will you tell him tomorrow?" She said into Jo's hair. "Tell him when there's no going back, because I know that if I see or speak to him before I go through with this, I more than likely won't do it." "You might not lose the entire breast, you know," Jo tried to persuade her. "Jo, I'm not stupid," George said wearily. "And neither are you. I think we both know just how different I'm going to be after this."
After throwing a couple of her more trashy novels into the bag, they got into Jo's car and drove to the hospital. "You said that Karen knows your surgeon," Jo said, wanting to find anything to break the tense silence that had risen between them. "Yes, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't just a professional relationship. She says he taught her everything she knows, and he is very nice." "Something you might have to explain," Jo said carefully, as they waited at the traffic lights. "Is precisely why you are as thin as you are at the moment." "I'm not that bad," George said unconvincingly. "George, have you looked in a mirror lately?" Jo said a little exasperatedly. "You are almost painfully thin, and definitely well below the weight you ought to be." "How can my weight have any bearing whatsoever on whether or not I lose my breast?" George demanded a little defensively. "They will want to weigh you, in order to decide how much anaesthetic to give you," Jo told her calmly. "Oh," George said resignedly. "I'd forgotten about that." They were silent for a little while longer, until George briefly rested a hand on Jo's as it lay on the gear stick. "I'm sorry," She said quietly. "I just feel as though everything's happening a bit too quickly, that's all." "I know," Jo said gently. Then she asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to tell John today? He'd come back from Warwick like a shot if he knew, and I think you could do with all the support you can get." "No, Jo, you mustn't," George insisted, the terrified vehemence in her voice stilling any further suggestion. "It frightens me quite enough already to consider just how unattractive I'm going to be after this, and just what effect that is going to have on John and my relationship with him. If I even speak to him before I have the operation, I know I won't go through with it, no matter what that might mean. So please, don't even think of telling him until there's no going back." "I do think you might give him a little more credit than that," Jo said a little stonily. "Oh, come on, darling," George said in slight disgust. "We both know just how fickle John can be with regards to female beauty or a distinct lack of it, so I don't want to hear how John would far rather me alive and ugly than dead and beautiful." "Just try listening to yourself for one minute," Jo said her anger rising. "And you'll realise how ridiculous you sound. John loves you, and he always will love you, no matter how you look." "You perhaps," George threw back bitterly. "But I don't think he'll be able to find much use for me after this."
Turning into the car park of the hospital, Jo scattered gravel as she pulled into a space, switching off the engine and taking hold of George's shoulders. "I don't ever want to hear such defeatist talk from you again. Is that clear?" She said, slightly shaking George's shoulders. "John wouldn't listen to it, and neither will I. Whatever it takes, and no matter how much heartache all three of us have to go through to achieve it, we will get you through this. Apart from John and my children, you are the most precious, beautiful thing in my life, and that isn't going to change, no matter how you look." "I'm sorry," George said a little timidly, the tears having risen to her eyes. "I don't want to argue with you, not today," Jo told her, pulling her tightly against her. "But keep talking like that and I will." They kissed gently and lingeringly, both of them wanting to put aside the harsh words they'd uttered only moments before. "Come on," Jo said eventually, detaching herself from George's soft embrace. "We'd better go in."
They walked through the plush reception area up to the department where George had been yesterday, though now she was here to stay for a few days, unable to leave as she had done before. George could feel her pulse racing, her breath quickening as the fear rose in her. "You'll be all right," Jo told her, giving her hand a squeeze. "Let's hope so," George said dully, as they approached the desk. Tricia showed them to George's room, which apart from the hospital bed, looked far more comfortable than anything the NHS could provide. George found herself thanking every god possible that she'd taken out private medical insurance, as she knew that privacy was something she would desperately need over the coming days. Tricia gave her a plain hospital gown to change into, whilst Jo unpacked the few belongings she'd brought with her. "Why Jilly Cooper?" Jo asked, holding up one of George's favourite novels. "I thought I might need something that would make me smile," George told her, removing her clothes and slipping into the white cover-all she'd been given. "Not very flattering, is it," She said in disgust, taking a look in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. "I don't think it's supposed to be," Jo replied, thinking that the shapeless, white gown made George look even thinner than normal. Glancing at her watch, Jo saw that the time was approaching for her first appointment. "You need to go, don't you," George said, observing the glance. "Yes, I'm afraid so," Jo said regretfully. "I don't want to leave you, though." "I'll be all right," George assured her. "They're just going to be doing lots of weird and wonderful tests on me for most of the day." Moving forward, Jo took George in her arms, holding her almost skeletal frame as close to her as possible. "I'll come and see you later," She promised, gently kissing her. "I'll look forward to it," George told her gently, kissing her back. They were standing like this when Tricia reappeared, carrying a tray of various scary-looking implements. "Shall I come back?" She asked, popping her head round the door. "No, I was just leaving," Jo said, gently detaching herself from George and looking a little flustered. George smirked at her. "Please don't blush, darling, it makes you look utterly enchanting." "Really," Jo said disbelievingly. "Now, promise me to behave, and do everything they ask of you without protest." "Jo, this is me you're talking to, not John, you know." "Yes, which is precisely why I'm saying it."
When Jo had gone, Tricia said, "Right, I need to take a few vital statistics, and fill in a few forms." After filling in no end of admissions forms, Tricia took her blood pressure, temperature and pulse, and told her that Ric would be doing his rounds very shortly. "He'll probably find plenty of other things for me to do, but that's all for now."
When she'd gone, George couldn't help but think how quiet it was, which she supposed was a welcome realisation when it came down to it. But when Ric appeared along with Tash and someone George didn't recognise, she definitely appreciated the distraction. "Mrs. Channing," Ric began. "This is Tash Bandara, my registrar whom you met on Thursday, and Carlos Fishola, our resident plastic surgeon." "Please, call me George," She replied with a smile. "I hear Mrs. Channing all day in court." "George then," Ric continued. "We need to examine you. Is that all right?" As she lay on the bed, and the three of them clustered around her, she fixed her eyes on the ceiling, trying to think of anything but what they were doing to her. "Have you considered having reconstruction?" Carlos asked her, his rich, American drawl sliding over her skin. "I only found out last week that I'd probably be having my breast removed," She explained to him. "So no, it's not something I've really thought about." "It's not a decision you need to make now by any means," Carlos assured her. "And because we don't yet know how extensive your tumour is, I wouldn't recommend trying to reconstruct at the point of tomorrow's surgery. What I would like to do some time today, however, is to take some photographs of you, that can be used if you do decide to have reconstruction at a later date." "Be my guest," George said dryly, thinking that John would have liked to do this for him. Calling Tricia into the room, Ric began giving her a list of the various tests he wanted George to have. "Let's start with a full CT and MRI scan, to rule out any further tumours of any description. Take blood and urine for kidney function, U's and E's, Glucose levels, Protein levels, and full blood count." Then, looking back at George, he asked, "Any possibility that you could have any type of infection?" "I doubt it," She said a little unsure of what he wanted. "Though it depends what you mean." "I mean anything from a minor cold to a sexually transmitted disease." At the mention of the latter, George couldn't help but blush. Then, as she remembered John's infidelity of a few weeks before, she knew that she had to be honest with him. "John, my lover, did manage to give me Chlamydia last year, so yes, I suppose anything's possible." "Then can you add a cervical swab to the list," Ric told Tricia. "Because we need to eliminate any possibility of an infection before surgery. Now, right on time, is our anaesthetist," He added, glancing up as the door opened. "Professor Khan," George said in total shock, staring at him from where she still lay under the sheets. "Ms Channing," He replied, equally astounded to see her. "Do you two know each other?" Ric asked in surprise. "I should say so," Zubin said with a slight smile. "Ms Channing rather successfully defended my honour in court not so long ago." "I see," Ric said resignedly. "This is a complication I hadn't foreseen. Would you like me to try and find someone else?" He asked George. "Certainly not," She told him firmly. "I trust Professor Khan's judgment implicitly, and it would be nice to be dealing with someone I already know." "In that case, I'll leave you to it," Ric said, relieved that he wasn't going to have this extra hassle.
When everyone but Tricia had gone, Zubin laid his own stack of forms down on the table. "I was more than a little surprised to find you here," He said, wanting to put her at her ease but not really knowing how. "A case of denial and stupidity," George told him bleakly. Glancing at her file, Zubin took in the details of why she was there, as well as the length of time it was estimated that she had known of her lump. "Did you know about this during the trial?" He asked, finally looking back at her. "Yes," She admitted sheepishly. "Then why for god's sake didn't you ever say anything?" He demanded exasperatedly. "Even before then you could have done. Me, Tom, even Kay, we would all have given you whatever help and advice we could." "Zubin, please don't do this," George almost begged him. "I'm sorry," He said, realising that he'd probably been going a bit too far. As he read through the questions on the anaesthetic form, he wondered just why she had left it so long before coming forward. When he got to, "Do you take the pill?" She answered him in the affirmative. "I'd like you to stop taking it, right now, though in view of the tumour you already have, I suspect Ric would be telling you the same at some point. The contraceptive pill can lead to a higher risk of blood clots, which is something we want to avoid when performing major surgery. This may put you out of sync for a while, but that can't be helped. Now, do you smoke?" "You know I do," George said with a slightly sardonic smile. "Roughly how many a day?" "Five?" She suggested hopefully. "And after lunch?" Zubin replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. "Oh, all right, probably the same again." "Now for the part most people hate. I need to weigh you." Keeping her face as blank as possible, though Zubin noticed that her eyes kept flitting between him, Tricia, and the scales Tricia had brought in with her, George got out of bed, and moved to stand on them. "Gown off, please," Zubin told her. "I need your exact body weight." At her slight hesitation, he added, "You won't have anything I haven't seen before." Nonchalantly removing the gown, as though stripping off in front of an audience was something she did every day, George stood on the scales and held her breath. The scales stood at six stone two. "Ms Channing, do you have a problem with food?" "If you're going to ask me questions like that, you may as well go back to calling me George," She told him evasively, as she stepped off the scales and Tricia handed her the gown. "Tricia, can you leave us for a moment, please?" Without a word, Tricia left the room, taking the scales with her to put them away. "I would like you to answer my question," Zubin encouraged her quietly, sitting in the chair beside her bed as she got under the covers again. "Yes, I do have what you might call a problem with food," She told him reluctantly. "And no, it's not a recent issue. I've been doing it on and off since I was fifteen. The more stress I'm under, the less I eat." "Are John and Jo aware of this?" He asked, having become aware of their relationship at some point during the trial. "Of course they are," She told him with a smile. "I'm not that successful an actor." "You're not going to like it," He told her regretfully. "But I want to feed you up a bit before you have surgery tomorrow. I'm going to put you on a nutritive drip, but you must try to eat something today. I will be telling Tricia that I want you to get some food inside you, and I'll warn you now, she won't be taking no for an answer. You are seriously undernourished, and if it wasn't so urgent, I would be recommending that we wait at least a month before operating to allow you to get your strength up, but that isn't an option." "You think me even more stupid than ever now, don't you?" She said, feeling almost unbearably small. "I'm not going to pour scorn on any addiction, George, because I know that it's never as simple as that. Have you ever talked to anyone about it?" "Not to anyone professional, no, and I have absolutely no intention of doing so," She replied firmly. Zubin began to look thoughtful. "We'll see," He said, having an idea though he wasn't sure how much she would agree to it. When he left the room a little while later, he said to Tricia, "Ms Channing needs to be on a nutritive drip until tomorrow, and you need to try to persuade her to eat something. She is a periodic anorexic, so you won't find it an easy task. In view of her decreased size, I would also like her to have an ECG some time today, just to make sure her heart really is up to having surgery." "I wonder what started her with the not eating?" Tricia said speculatively. "She says she's been doing it since the age of fifteen, so it could be anything. Try and talk to her, you never know what you might find out. Don't tell her this, but I'm going to speak to Tom, and see if he'll talk to her about it. He knows her as well as I do, so she might talk to him, and let's face it, Tom knows far more about addictions than you or I do."
When Tricia returned to George's room to take the necessary samples and swabs, she found George staring out of the window at the dreary day outside. "So, by the sounds of it, you've got two partners on the go," Tricia said, immediately grabbing George's attention, which had been what she'd wanted. "Yes, I suppose I have in a manner of speaking," she said with a broad smile. "Though it's not quite as forbidden as you might think." "That's what my daughter always says," Tricia replied ruefully. "No, really," George insisted, as Tricia prepared to take some blood from her arm. "Jo, John and I are involved in what you might call a three-way relationship. It's highly bizarre, but it honestly does work." "Oh, well, each to their own," Tricia said philosophically. "And the more support you can have at a time like this, the better." "John doesn't know yet." "Why?" Tricia asked in surprise, having thought that anyone would tell their nearest and dearest something like this as soon as possible. "He's away, teaching at a judge's seminar in Warwick," George explained. "He's going to be furious with me when he finds out how long I left it before doing something about it, and let's face it, he's hardly still going to find me remotely desirable after it's done, is he." "You don't know that," Tricia told her gently, briefly laying a hand on her shoulder. "But I do understand where you're coming from." "Do you?" George asked, a little surprised that Tricia hadn't tried to convince her otherwise. "I've been involved, on and off, with Carlos for the last couple of years. You know, the plastic surgeon you met this morning. When I had to have my breast removed, not long after I'd started seeing him, I didn't think he'd want to be anywhere near me afterwards, him being in a job where making people look as perfect as possible was his bread and butter. But he did. It took him a while to convince me, but he managed it in the end." "You've had this too?" George asked, incredibly grateful for Tricia's words of experience. "Yes, which is why I think Ric asked me to look after you. Now, I'm under very strict orders to get you to eat something today. Professor Khan thinks you are very undernourished, and he wants to feed you up a bit before the operation. So, I'm going to put you on a drip, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to allow you to get away with not eating." "I did eat yesterday," George tried to tell her, hoping this might make a difference. "And am I supposed to believe that?" Tricia asked, clearly unconvinced. "Ask Jo, she cooked it," George insisted. "Well, that was yesterday, and I am not going to ignore the wishes of a consultant." "You're not going to give up, are you," George said resignedly. "No," Tricia told her gently but firmly, making George realise that she'd finally met someone who could match her in determination.
Later that morning, Zubin strolled into the break room to find Tom reading the paper and drinking a hasty cup of coffee. "Guess who's become a patient of this place as of this morning?" He said without preamble. "Judging by your tone, I'll assume it's someone I know," Tom replied amiably. "Someone we both know," Zubin told him. "George Channing." "What's she in for?" Tom asked in astonishment. "Breast cancer," Zubin said regretfully. "Oh no, poor girl," Tom replied in genuine sympathy. "That isn't her only problem," Zubin filled in. "She is seriously underweight, and is being fairly open about her periodic anorexia." "And because I know more about addictions than you do from personal experience, you want me to talk to her," Tom finished for him. "Would you?" Zubin asked. "You might just be able to get somewhere with her." "Sure, leave it with me," Tom replied, folding up the paper in preparation for returning to theatre. "I'll go and see her this afternoon."
At about three o'clock, George was sitting up in bed, attached to a drip and trying to make some notes for a case that she would now have to pass onto somebody else. She hadn't slept particularly well the night before, and now felt tired, in need of nicotine and thoroughly out of sorts. When the door opened, however, she was heartily grateful for the distraction. "Can I come in?" Tom said, popping his head round the door. "Tom, yes of course," George said with a smile. ""I would kill for a cigarette, so talking to you might help me think of something else." Tom laughed as he came into the room and closed the door. "You don't change, do you," He said, sitting down in the chair beside her bed. "Not yet, no," George replied a little bleakly. "But I suppose there's time." "Zubin told me you were here," He said, thinking this as good a place as any to start. "Yes, I wondered how long it would take the grapevine to spring into action," George told him dryly. "He wasn't very pleased with me." "Zubin is rarely pleased with anyone," Tom said without a flicker. "He's never so happy as when he's criticising something or someone. May I?" He asked, gesturing to the file of notes that was on the table at the end of her bed. "Be my guest," George replied ruefully. "Everyone else has." Quickly flicking through the notes in the file, Tom took in just how long she had known of the lump in her breast. "It says here that you've known about this since Christmas," He said in astonishment. "Tom, please," George said a little tightly. "I've had lectures from just about everyone, so I really don't need another one from you. I am very well aware of just how stupid it was, and that I only have myself to blame." ""That isn't what I was going to say," Tom told her firmly. "But yes, I do wish you'd said something." "I, we, needed to concentrate on Barbara and getting her free," George said quietly. "It wasn't the right time to start thinking about something like this." "Tumours rarely appear at the most convenient times. Ric once operated on me, you know." "Did he?" George asked, briefly thinking that having colleagues who could save one's life was definitely an added bonus of working in the medical profession. "Yes, for a ruptured ulcer. That was the day my cover was well and truly blown. Judging by the state of my liver, Ric used process of elimination to work out that I'd been drinking on duty. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry before or since. He could have reported me for it, but he didn't. Instead, he chose to do a deal with me, to make me sort myself out, or my career would have been over. The point is, you couldn't find a better surgeon for something like this than Ric Griffin. He really is the best in his field, but don't tell him I said that." "That's nice to know," George said, feeling all her insecurities rising inexorably to the surface. "Tom, is it slightly ridiculous to be so, terrified?" She asked, hesitating over the correct adjective. "No, of course not," He assured her. "It's perfectly natural, though what certainly won't help you, is your little habit of not eating." "Oh, so that's why Zubin told you I was here," George said dejectedly. "He wanted you to try and convince me that the only way to deal with an addiction is to confront it head on. Well, I've got news for Professor Kahn," She added a little acidly. "I confronted that little gem of my personality a very long time ago. It's not something I do on a regular basis, therefore I refuse to believe that it is doing me any serious harm. If John and Jo can cope with me occasionally doing it, then why can't anybody else?" "George, you're preaching to the converted," Tom told her quietly, hearing the rising note of hysteria in her voice. "I'm sorry," She said, feeling thoroughly stupid and incredibly small. "I'm just sick and tired of having to constantly justify myself, that's all." "That really winds you up, doesn't it," Tom said in complete sympathy. "Yes," George said sounding utterly exasperated, inwardly cursing the tears that rose unbidden to her eyes. "How long have you been doing it?" "On and off since I was fifteen. John was less than amused when he found out, though that wasn't until after our daughter was born." "Did you have postnatal depression?" "Postnatal disinterest more like," George said disgustedly. "But that's not a story you need to hear."
When Tom left her a little while later, promising that he would come and see her again whilst she was there, George turned over, buried her face in the pillow and cried. She knew now that Jo had been right, and that John should have been told. She badly wanted him here, to put his arms round her, and tell her that everything was going to be all right. But he wasn't here, he was in Warwick, blissfully unaware of where she was or what was happening to her. He was going to be so cross with her, she knew that, not just for keeping quiet this long, but for not telling him when she could have done. As she silently cried herself into an exhausted sleep, she wondered if she would ever again feel the sincere comfort of his embrace.