Part One Hundred And Twenty Two
When Jo came out of court at about three-thirty, she drove straight over to the hospital, all the time wondering if George was all right. She'd had to force herself to keep her mind on the job today, something that she hoped her client hadn't noticed. When she arrived at the hospital, and made her way up to the ward where George was, there seemed to be a feeling of activity that there hadn't been yesterday morning when she'd brought George in. Not seeing anyone at the desk, she followed the corridor to George's room, and found it to be the centre of attention from what was surely too many people. Three doctors plus the nurse of yesterday were clustered around George's bed, adjusting various pieces of equipment. On glancing up and seeing her stood in the doorway watching them, Zubin invited her in. "Jo," He said, gesturing her over. "You're just in time. We haven't long come out of theatre." As Jo moved over to the bed, the others looked up at her. "This is Ric Griffin," Zubin introduced. "Tricia Williams and," he slightly hesitated. "I believe you know Connie Beauchamp." As Jo's eyes met Connie's, she couldn't help but remember the roasting George had given this woman weeks before. "Yes," She said quietly, her eyes immediately going back to George. "How did it go?" "I'm afraid we had to remove her entire left breast," Ric told her regretfully. "Does she know?" Jo asked, trying to suppress her own feelings for the moment. "She hasn't fully woken up yet," Zubin explained. "So no, she doesn't, though she did always know that it was a distinct possibility. George has been given some pain relief, though this can be adjusted if necessary when she wakes up." After attaching George to the cardiac monitor and switching it on, so that the regular beeps now permeated the room, Connie moved towards the door. "Find me when the judge arrives," She said as she left. "We will," Ric called after her, and Jo realised that by the simple presence of Connie Beauchamp, there was something here that as yet, they weren't telling her. As Zubin connected George to yet another piece of equipment, he asked Jo, "Will the judge be joining us at some point soon?" "He's got to drive back from Warwick," Jo told him, realising that George had obviously been fairly frank as regards their relationship. "So he should be here some time after six." "Then perhaps it would be best to leave all the questions till he arrives." "Yes," Jo agreed, knowing that John was about to put everyone concerned well and truly through the third degree.
When everyone had gone, Jo moved round to the side of the bed where there was a chair, taking George's right hand in hers as she sat down. It was only now that she took in the quiet though regular beeps of the cardiac monitor, and saw the pads and leads attached to George's chest. She had a blood pressure cuff at the top of her right arm, that automatically inflated every fifteen minutes. She had needles in the back of both hands, one leading from a drip, and the other to a pump of some sort that Jo didn't recognise. George was lying on her back, with the sheets pulled up around her shoulders. But as Jo's gaze couldn't help being drawn downwards, she couldn't miss the mound of dressings and chest drain under the gown, which looked nothing like the normal, healthy breast on the other side. Now that she was alone, with a temporarily sleeping George, she could allow her own tears to surface. She made no sound as she cried, but the grief for what George had already gone through, and what she would undoubtedly go through in the coming months, tore at her insides like a red hot poker. She inwardly raged at the unfairness of it all, just as she had with her husband. All she could do, was to pray that George's disease wouldn't have the same outcome.
As she sat there, with the tears running silently down her cheeks, one of them landed on George's hand that she was gently cradling between her own. George had become gradually aware of Jo's presence, her touch being instantly recognisable. But when she felt the warmth of a tear landing on her skin, she tried to muster up the energy to speak. "Darling, don't cry," She said, her voice deep and husky from the anaesthetic. Instantly, Jo was roused out of her introspection. "I didn't know you were awake," She said, digging in her jacket pocket for a tissue to wipe her eyes. "Getting there," George replied sluggishly. "How do you feel?" Jo asked, wanting to put off George's inevitable question for as long as possible. "Sleepy," George replied, her brain gradually creeping towards the question she almost didn't want to ask. "How did it go?" Were the words she eventually came up with. Having pressed the call bell as soon as George had woken up, Jo was heartily relieved to see Tash coming into the room, as this meant that she, Jo, didn't have to answer that particular question. "I see you're awake," Tash said as she appeared. "How do you feel?" "As though I'd quite like the answer to my question," George replied, sounding not her usually determined self in her weakened state. "So, perhaps you can tell me how it went, as Jo appears to want to avoid doing that." "I'm afraid we had to remove your entire breast," Tash told her quietly, hating this part of her job where she was forced to impart very difficult pieces of bad news. George's eyes screwed up in anguish, as she hadn't entirely wanted to believe they would do this. "No," She said, the tears rising to her eyes, her exclamation pleading with Tash to be wrong. "I'm sorry," Tash replied, knowing that if the same had ever happened to her, she would be feeling the same sense of disbelief and betrayal. "Why?" George demanded weakly, unable to prevent the tears from sliding down her cheeks. "Why did you have to take it all?" Trying to sit up, she cried out as the movement pulled at her stitches. "George, you need to try to calm down," Tash said persuasively, though seeing that this was a pretty futile request. "We honestly didn't have any choice," She continued, gently putting her hands on George's shoulders to make her lie still. "That tumour you had inside you, had invaded your entire breast, which is why we removed it. Now, I need you to lie still, because you have a chest drain in situ to collect any fluid from the site of the wound." As she glanced at the monitor, Tash saw that George's heartbeat was again traversing its former erratic wavy line, almost certainly due to George's distress. Going swiftly to the door, she put her head out and called down the corridor for Zubin. When he came into the room, Tash simply gestured at the monitor, not needing to say anything. "George," He said, speaking directly to her. "Do you know where you are?" "Yes," She answered through her tears. "I'm in hell." "On some days in this place, I could agree with you," Zubin replied mildly. "Now, I need you to calm down, because your heart is beating a little out of time. Can you do that for me?" "Why, Zubin, why?" She asked him, wanting a frank and honest answer to this question. "Because in order to give you the best chance at survival," Zubin told her honestly. "It was the best course of action to be taken under the circumstances. I see that your oxygen saturation is a bit on the low side, so I want you to put on this mask, and just breathe nice and slowly." He had pulled down the oxygen mask and now lowered it over George's face. "Jo's right here," He added, trying to make her feel better. "And I'm going to keep checking up on you. Now, how's the pain?" "Fine," George mumbled from beneath the mask. "If it gets any worse, you just press this button," he told her, moving her left hand to show her where the control lay on top of the bedclothes. "And if it becomes unmanageable, just let me know."
As John drove onto the M40 late that afternoon, he felt a sense of relief that he had completed his lectures for the day. He had made his excuses, and they wouldn't be expecting him back for that session of lectures, meaning that he could concentrate on George and court. He knew that his mind had been elsewhere during that last lecture, but he just couldn't help it. Why in god's name hadn't she told him? Why had she kept something so terrifying, so horrific to herself, for god's sake? It hurt him with almost a physical pain that he hadn't investigated further, that he hadn't questioned her in greater detail about what she was keeping from him. But he supposed that all he could do now was to help her through it, and to be as supportive as possible.
When the call came from Jo at around five, he was cruising almost effortlessly down the motorway, his hands resting casually on the wheel. "Where are you?" Jo asked when he answered, leaving the phone on hands free as he was driving. "Cruising down the M40," He told her. "Look out for speed cameras," She told him affectionately, knowing of his tendency to drive far too fast when under stress. "How is she?" John asked, wanting to put this off no longer. "She woke up long enough to find out what they'd done, and now she's asleep again, which is probably the best thing in the circumstances. John, they had to take away her entire left breast." John was silent, just trying to process this latest piece of news. He'd known it might be possible, but to hear it spelt out in such stark terms, it almost made his brain freeze for a moment. His George, his beautiful, exquisitely proportioned George, she no longer had two breasts, because one of them had been invaded by the most corrosive of all diseases. "John?" Jo's voice broke in on his thoughts. "How did she take it?" He asked, trying to regain his equilibrium. "She was very upset, as you might imagine." John could hear in Jo's voice that she also had been crying. "Where are you?" He asked. "Outside, smoking," She said, and he could now hear the occasional sound of her taking a drag. "Why did she do it, Jo?" He suddenly asked. "Why did she keep something like this from me?" "Only George can answer that for you, John," Jo told him gently. "Oh, sure," John said disgustedly. "But you know though, don't you." "John, whether I do or I don't, really isn't the issue. George's actions aren't something I can fully explain to you, because that is something between the two of you, something that only the two of you should talk about." "I need to know," He said quietly, and she could no more deny him this than she could anything else at this moment. "All right," She conceded after a moment. "But you're not going to like it." "I'm listening," he encouraged, wondering what on earth she was about to tell him. "George, is terrified of how she is going to look with only one breast, as anyone would be in her situation. She is further terrified, that you will no-longer be able to find her in the least attractive, and that this will by extension have a very detrimental effect on your relationship with her." Jo had spoken in almost formal, legal terms, in an attempt to try and minimise the blow, but John was speechless. Never, not in a million years would he leave George just because her looks might change. If they remained together long enough, all their looks would change with age, not just hers. After a while, Jo asked, "Are you all right?" John laughed bitterly. "Oh, I'm fine. I've just discovered that one of the women I love, thinks me fickle enough to abandon her, just at the point when she needs me the most. Really gratifying that is, Jo, I can tell you. But after all, I did ask, so what else did I really expect?" "John, if I was in her position, I might very well feel the same," Jo threw back at him, her own nerves also at screaming point. "Oh, well done, Jo," He said as he overtook someone who was travelling at no more than the speed limit. "Shoot me with both barrels, why don't you." "John, this is neither the time nor the place," Jo said quietly, trying to calm them both down. "Perhaps not," He conceded. "But this conversation isn't over, not by any means."
When John arrived at the hospital at around six-thirty, he followed the directions Jo had given him up to the ward where George was. He had seen Jo's car in the car park, and it somehow comforted him that she was obviously still here with George. When he introduced himself at the desk, Staff nurse Tricia Williams took him along to George's room, explaining that George would probably still be asleep. As they walked down the corridor, John said, "Please would you inform Mr. Griffin and Professor Khan that I would like to speak to them at their earliest convenience?" "Yes, of course," Tricia replied. "They're in theatre at the moment, but they shouldn't be too long." Opening the door of George's room, she showed John in and tactfully left them to it. When John saw the amount of equipment that George was hooked up to, his eyebrows soared. "It does look a bit daunting, doesn't it," Came Jo's soft acknowledgement, as she rose from the chair beside the bed and walked over to him. "Is she still asleep?" John asked quietly, unable to take his eyes off the figure in the bed who currently looked very different from the George he knew and loved. "Yes," Jo said as she put her arms round him. "Though now that you're here, I doubt she'll stay like that for long." John returned her embrace, needing to feel something familiar, something tangibly still his. She kissed him softly, seeing that he needed her gentle comfort, and wanting to make up for the brief argument they'd had earlier. When they finally parted, Jo asked, "Would you like me to go and find you a coffee?" "A cup of tea might be nice," He said, realising that she wanted to give him some time alone with George.
When Jo had gone, John moved over to sit in the vacated chair. It was only now that he began to examine everything he could immediately identify, the most prominent being the oxygen mask over her face. He listened to the regular beeps of the monitor, wondering just how they'd come to this, and not knowing what on earth he could do to help George through it. Taking her right hand in his, he was careful not to move the needle that was in the back of it, presumably feeding her some sort of fluid or antibiotic. He gently ran his thumb over her knuckles, wanting in some way to reassure her that he was here and that he loved her. When her words finally came, the voice didn't sound like hers, being deprived of all its usual confidence, and being slightly muffled by the oxygen mask. "What are you doing here?" She asked, with her eyes still shut from what he could see. "I'm here because I think you need me to be," He answered her quietly. "That and trying to find some answers." After a few moment's silence, when he thought she might have gone back to sleep, he asked, "How did you know it was me?" "I'd recognise that hand anywhere," She said, her voice sounding deeper, sluggish, and altogether different because of the anaesthetic. George found that she simply didn't know what to say to him. She almost felt as though she'd betrayed him in keeping this from him, but what else could she seriously have done? "I'm sorry," She said after another long pause, and he could hear the threat of tears in her voice. "Hey," He said quietly, reaching over to gently touch her cheek. "I might be absolutely furious with you tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, but not now." "I didn't know how to tell you," She tried to explain, the tears leaking out from under the mask. "Shh, I know," He said, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, gently removing the mask and wiping her eyes. "Don't cry, or you'll have me in trouble with the nurses." "I think they're used to it by now," George replied, giving him a watery smile.
Before Jo could return with a cup of tea for him, Tricia put her head round the door. "Mr. Justice Deed, Mr. Griffin and Professor Khan can see you now." Then, glancing over at George, she said, "And that mask is supposed to be kept on." "Please will you give us a minute, Tricia?" George asked, making no comment on the fact that she would put the mask back on just as soon as John had left. Backing out of the room, Tricia waited for him. "I'd quite like you to give me a cuddle," She told him tiredly. "But I think it would hurt too much." Gently cupping her face between his hands, he carefully leaned over and kissed her, their lips gently entwining, and George taking an enormous amount of comfort at having him so close. "I love you," he told her when their lips finally parted. "I love you too," She said, not wanting him to ever leave her again.
When he walked out of the room, Tricia led him towards the ward office, where Jo was waiting for him with Professor Khan, whom he recognised, and Ric Griffin whom he didn't. As Ric moved forward to introduce himself, Tricia tactfully left, closing the door behind her. As Jo and John took seats opposite them, both Ric and Zubin could see that the man before them was clearly tired, highly concerned, and not in the mood for pointless platitudes. "When I examined Ms Channing last Thursday," Ric began. "I found a tumour in a significant state of growth and progression, by giving her a physical examination, along with a mammogram and a fine needle biopsy. She claims to have found this tumour around Christmas time, though I would hazard a guess that she unknowingly had it much longer than this. The only course of action open to me, was to admit her as quickly as possible, and to remove the tumour via a modified radical mastectomy. This not only involved the removal of the tumour itself, but also the entirety of the tissue of her left breast, plus the lymphnodes from under her arm. We sent the tumour and the lymphnodes to the lab for further investigation, which told us that all of the breast tissue was infected. I can honestly say that if I had been able to do anything differently, I would have done, but the removal of her entire breast was unavoidable." As John tried to assymilate all these facts in his mind, the door opened, admitting a third member of the medical profession into their midst. Looking over at her, John was momentarily stunned. "Mrs. Beauchamp," He eventually said as she moved to sit down near them. "Mr. Justice Deed," She replied, her eyes meeting his for the first time since they had been caught in post-coital afterglow in his chambers. "You're timing is impeccable, Connie," Ric told her, trying to defuse the undercurrent of recognition he could feel between her and the judge. "To further help you understand what happened during Ms Channing's surgery," Ric continued. "It might help you to know that Professor Khan here was our anaesthetist this afternoon." "Whilst Mr. Griffin was removing the remaining breast tissue," Zubin explained. "Ms Channing began suffering from an irregular heartbeat, which is why I asked for the assistance of Mrs. Beauchamp." "She was suffering from what we call minor arrhythmias," Connie said, taking over. "Which basically means that the heart is beating out of time." "Why would this happen?" John asked, finding his voice for the first time during this very difficult conversation. "There could be a number of reasons," Connie said, trying to soften the blow that she knew was coming. "A General anaesthetic can sometimes affect people in this way, and Ms Channing is a smoker, an added factor that certainly wouldn't have helped." "I sense there's more," John persisted, wanting to get to the truth as quickly as possible. "How aware are you of her leaning towards Anorexia?" Connie asked quietly, immediately seeing that this was no surprise to either John or Jo. "I am as aware of that as it is possible to be," John replied darkly. "As is Jo." "The heart ordinarily requires a regular supply of protein in order to function properly," Connie explained. "And the fact that Ms Channing has not been getting a sufficient supply of any nutrient, but most importantly that of protein, could far too easily account for her arrhythmia both in theatre and after she woke up this afternoon. Had time been an option in her case, I know that both myself and Professor Khan would have recommended a course of re-feeding her before attempting such major surgery, in order to minimise this possibility." "Where does all this leave her now?" John asked, his worry for George only increasing instead of subsiding in the face of their explanations. "Ms Channing will stay with us for the next few days," Ric told them. "To allow her to partially recover from the surgery. I estimate that she will be ready to go home some time over the weekend, and I have recommended to her that she take at least the next week off work to regain her strength for the battle ahead. What you both need to understand, is that surgery doesn't mean that the cancer is gone. Ms Channing will require a course of chemotherapy, and depending on how well she responds to it, possibly a course of radiotherapy after that. I want to give her about a fortnight before starting this, as she will need all the strength she can muster to get through it. Chemotherapy is a difficult, stressful, and highly emotional form of post-operative treatment, and she will therefore need all the support she can get." After taking a few minutes' silence to process all this information, John asked, "What, erm, what do we do to help her now?" "Tell her that you love her," Ric said perfectly seriously. "Try to ensure that she maintains a healthy diet, which in view of her eating disorder may not be an easy task, and if she feels she wants it, try to accompany her to any future appointments. This is especially important during the chemotherapy, as it will knock her emotionally and hormonally for six. Whether she does want you to be there with her through that, only she can say. Some do and some don't. Other than that, the only thing any of us can suggest, is to try not to take any emotional outbursts that may be aimed at either one of you, too much to heart. She will have a lot of anger and a lot of fear locked up inside her, and that does need to come out." "What about her pain?" Jo asked, finally able to get a word in. "I have put her on a pump for Patient controlled Analgesia," Zubin explained. "She cannot accidentally overdose with it, as it will only allow her a certain amount of pain relief every hour. This will be reviewed every few hours, along with everything else." "I want to monitor her heartbeat for the next day or so," Connie put in. "But after that, and if there is no change in the stable rhythm she has at the moment, that particular piece of equipment can be removed."
When the little meeting dispersed, John said to Jo that he needed some fresh air. Jo said that she would go and sit with George, and he walked down the stairs and out towards the car park. After pacing about for a while, trying to put everything he had just been told into some sort of order, he sat down on one of the benches, wondering just where he was supposed to go from here. As the other two went over other patient files with Tricia, who was due to hand over to the night staff in a couple of hours, Connie walked thoughtfully along to the break room, half planning on making herself a mug of coffee. But as she passed the window, something outside caught her eye. As she stopped and looked, she could see John, sitting on one of the benches, not remotely acknowledging the late February chill. Her mind made up, Connie did make herself a mug of coffee, making a second for the thoughtful man outside as she did so. Hoping that nobody would see her with two mugs of coffee and start asking questions, Connie walked carefully down the stairs and out through a side door. John didn't seem to take any notice of her approach, not looking up until she stood before him. "I thought you could probably do with something warm out here," She said, handing him the mug of steaming liquid. "Thank you," he said, taking it from her. Sitting down next to him, Connie took a grateful swig from her own mug, grimacing at the taste of instant coffee, when she usually preferred Espresso. "Do you know something," John said after tasting his own scalding brew. "I only found out about all this today." "Good god," Connie said in total shock. "She really did keep it quiet, didn't she." Putting her mug down on the bench between them, Connie dug in her jacket pocket for her lighter and cigarettes, receiving a raised eyebrow from John when she lit up. After taking a fortifying drag, Connie took the plunge. "There's something you ought to know," She began. "Though I'll admit that it's probably more to give myself peace of mind than anything else." "You're not going to tell me that you knew about this too?" He said, it being no more than a throwaway comment. But looking fully into Connie's face, he saw that he'd hit the nail right on the head. "Yes," She said regretfully. "I found her examining it through her clothes, just before our little tryst in chambers." "Then why in god's name didn't you tell me?" He forcefully demanded of her. "John, I didn't even know you were friends with her, never mind that you were sleeping with her," Connie tried to justify herself. "And after being caught in flagrant like the prize whore I obviously was, didn't feel quite like the right time to say, 'oh, by the way, your lover is more than likely incubating breast cancer.'" After a thoughtful silence, John said, "A prize whore isn't how I would have described you." "Well, it's how I felt," Connie said disgustedly. "Mainly because I did know what she was hiding from you. I asked her, the next day, after she'd made such fine mincemeat of me in court if you knew, and she said no. I'd already screwed up her self-esteem quite enough already, so I wasn't about to also go and break a professional confidence." As Connie smoked and John drank his coffee, they were both submerged in their thoughts. But when John broke the silence, Connie's gaze again focussed on him. "How do I help her through this?" he asked, and she could see the pain and bewilderment shining out of his eyes. "Ric got that one absolutely right," She told him quietly. "The most important thing you can do, is to keep on assuring her that you love her, which I can see without a doubt that you do. Something she did say to me, after cross-examining me in court, was that the thought of what they might eventually have to do to her, was what terrified her most. So, now that the unthinkable has happened to her, she really is going to need both you and Jo, every step of the way. Now, what I suggest you do for tonight, is to go home, get some rest, and come back tomorrow when she will be more awake, and perhaps a little more ready to talk." As Connie flicked away her cigarette end and got to her feet, John saw Jo coming out of the main entrance and walking towards him. Knowing only too well of the conversation he was now going to have to have with her, John knew that rest was the last thing he would get this evening.