Part One Hundred And Thirty Four
On the Saturday morning, Tash came to check on George, just to make sure she was indeed ready to go home. "No offence," George said as Tash examined both her wound, from which the chest drain had been removed yesterday, and the records of her blood pressure and other obs. "But I can't wait to get out of this place." "I quite often feel the same," Tash said as she wrote in the file. "And I only work here. Now, we need you to come back on Wednesday morning to have the stitches taken out, which is when we will fit you with a false insert to put in your bra. Then we'll probably want to start the chemotherapy on the Friday of the following week, to give you the weekend to recover." "What will the chemo actually involve?" George asked, not liking the sound of any of this whatsoever. "Well, you'll come here, and be attached to a drip for a few hours, so yet more interminable boredom I'm afraid. The cocktail of drugs that we'll be giving you, may have several possible side effects. You will probably lose your appetite, which in view of your current weight, isn't something that any of us are particularly happy about. It may also make you extremely sick, either whilst you're having the treatment or in the days following it, and virtually every system your body has will be very much out of sync for the duration of the treatment. I'm talking about your menstrual cycle, your digestion, your sex drive, your moods, everything." "Is there really a positive side to having chemo?" George was forced to ask, inwardly quaking at all the changes this treatment might have on her. "Yes," Tash said without any hesitation. "If you don't have chemotherapy, to remove the remaining cancer cells from your body, you will die. If you want me to be brutally honest, I would give you about as long as next Christmas if you didn't have the chemo, and you would be very lucky if you managed to get that far." All the colour had drained from George's face, and Tash put out a hand to reassure her. "But we're not going to let that happen," She told George gently. "You did significantly reduce your chances of long-term survival by not coming forward as soon as you found the lump, but we will do everything within our power to keep you alive for as long as possible." "That was the stupidest thing I've ever done, wasn't it," George said dully, finally voicing what she was sure everyone had been thinking. "If it's any consolation," Tash said as she closed George's folder of records. "I nearly did exactly the same in your position. However, I was lucky, and it was only a benign cyst, but I left it for an entire month before seeking help, and I was hounded into doing that by a very good friend. I remember, I was looking after a patient with breast cancer at the time, and Kirstie kept accusing me of having double standards." "You really can't put a price on good friends, can you," George said with a soft smile, thinking of all that Kay and Karen between them had done for her. "No, you can't," Tash said a little regretfully, thinking of just how long it had been since she'd looked into Kirstie's beautiful face. "Now, the final thing that I must make absolutely clear to you," Tash continued, returning to her former firm professional voice. "Is that you must, and I repeat must, maintain a healthy diet, if you want any chance of coming through the chemotherapy successfully. You are already considerably underweight, though not as yet dangerously so, and you cannot allow it to get any worse. I do appreciate that this may be extremely difficult, as it appears to be your way of coping with particularly stressful areas of your life. Am I right?" "Of course you are," George said a little bitterly. "I will try to eat on a regular basis, but I'm making absolutely no promises." "That's as far as I'm going to get with that one, isn't it," Tash said, sounding a little defeated. "I'm afraid so," George agreed with her, privately relieved that she would at least have John and Jo to help her on this point.
Having not been permitted to take a shower before the chest drain was removed, George now thankfully scrubbed away all the feeling of having been confined to bed for several days. When Tricia appeared afterwards to re-dress the wound, and to show George what was needed in order for her to do this herself in the coming days, George automatically picked up the bra she had retrieved from her bag, then only to realise that she couldn't wear it. "That'll have to wait until Wednesday," Tricia told her gently, seeing the multitude of emotions that were crossing George's face. "I almost forgot that it no longer has anything to support on one side," George said bitterly, the reality of her situation hitting her with full force. "You'll get used to it," Tricia promised her, handing her the shirt that George had laid out on the bed. "I'll take your word for it," George said dismissively.
When John came to pick her up at about one o'clock, George was fully dressed and sitting in a chair in her room waiting for him. She had put on a jacket, fastening it to cover both her unsupported breast and the dressing covered space on her left side. As she stood up when he appeared, she automatically crossed her left arm over herself, to hide the obvious lack of flesh on her left side. "Are you ready to go home?" John asked when he saw her. "More than," She replied, clearly wanting to get back to familiar surroundings as soon as possible. "Jo's already there waiting for us," he told her, picking up her bag with his right hand, and tucking her right arm through his left. Tricia was on the phone when they passed the desk, so she simply waved to them, giving George a smile. Both George and John were quiet in the car, neither of them knowing quite what to say. There was still a lot of unanswered questions between them, and John found himself not really knowing how he should treat her. "You can relax, you know," She told him affectionately, laying a hand over his where it rested on the gear stick. "I'm sorry," He said a little sheepishly. "It's not often that I'm stuck for words, is it." "No, darling, it's not," She agreed with him.
When they arrived back at George's house, Jo let them in. She and John had come over on the Saturday morning, to do any necessary cleaning and to put fresh sheets on George's bed. They wanted her not to have to worry about a thing, and to be able to simply relax. George couldn't suppress her feeling of oddness as she entered her own house, a sense of unreality that she couldn't begin to shake. This must be some terrible nightmare, a frightening dream from which she could not awake. When they'd moved into the hall and the door was closed behind them, shutting out the rest of an unforgiving world, Jo took George into her soft and gentle embrace, her face resting against George's hair. "It's good to have you home," Jo told her, softly kissing her cheek. "It's good to be home," George replied, perhaps a little uncertainly, as she now had none of the hospital procedures to hide behind. As they both simultaneously put an arm out to John, he tentatively moved into their embrace, returning it as his hitherto buried feelings threatened to overwhelm him. They stood there in perfect silence for a time, all three of them taking comfort from being so close to the others, all of them knowing that this was the beginning of the tortuous days to come.
When they eventually parted, George looked between them with her familiar knowing gaze. "Are you two all right?" She asked suspiciously. "You're both doing your utmost to hide it, but it feels as though you've been fighting." "That didn't take you long," John told her dryly. "You must be getting better." "It's not important," Jo said quietly. "Not now." Thinking that she might just be able to put her finger on the source of their argument, George accepted Jo's reassurances. "You look exhausted," Jo continued, though thinking that utterly washed out was perhaps a more accurate description. "I am," George agreed with her. "All I've done is rest for the past few days, yet all I want to do now is go to sleep." "Then that is precisely what you should do," John said firmly, picking up her bag from the floor and moving towards the stairs. "Would you like a cup of tea?" Jo asked as George made to follow him. "That would be wonderful, darling, thank you," George replied with a tired smile. "Because if there's one thing hospital can't make, it's real tea." When George and John reached her bedroom, George smiled at the vase of beautifully scented white roses on the dressing table. Seeing her smile, John said, "I thought they might cheer you up." "They do," George assured him. "Though I can't help wondering which one of us is paler, me or the roses." "All you need for the time being," John said, laying his hands on her shoulders and scrutinising her face. "Is rest, and nourishment." This last word was uttered as he fixed her with his familiar, implacable frown. "Yes, thank you," She said in slight exasperation. "I did receive quite a similar lecture this very morning." "I'm glad to hear it," John observed with a wry smile. He helped her unpack the few things she'd taken to hospital, but when she hesitated before undressing, John took the initiative. "Would you prefer that I left you to it?" He asked, seeing her uncertainty. "Yes," She said with more than a little relief. "I'm sorry, I just, don't want you to see me, not yet." "It's all right," He assured her, gently touching her cheek. "I'll be downstairs." Once she had the bedroom to herself, George exchanged her clothes for a plain cotton nighty, and slid gratefully under the soft, thick duvet.
When Jo appeared with a mug of tea, George sat up to take it from her. After taking a grateful swig, she said, "So, come on then, what have you two been arguing about?" sitting down on the edge of the bed, Jo simply said, "He told me about Connie." "Oh," Was all George seemed able to say. She was pretty sure that she knew why John had told Jo about Connie, but that didn't prevent her from wishing he hadn't. "I wish you could have told me," Jo added quietly. "On top of everything else, you shouldn't have had to deal with that on your own." "And I think we both know," George replied carefully. "That at the time, telling you about his dalliance with Connie might just have been catastrophic. You were putting every ounce of willpower you had into fighting for Barbara, and you'd have gone for John's jugular even more than I did." "I don't know how to feel about it," Jo admitted, feeling more than a little ridiculous. "It's stupid," She continued. "Because I know he's done this a thousand times before, and probably will again." "Jo," George interrupted her. "Try not to dwell on it. I punished Connie for it in court, and I made John feel unbearably guilty. The best thing we can both do, is to try and forget about it. As you said downstairs, it isn't important, not in the slightest."
At around eight that evening, John went upstairs to see if George wanted anything to eat. She had remained asleep all afternoon, and he had to gently wake her even now. "What time is it?" She asked, her bleary eyes staring up at him. When he told her, she yawned in surprise. "I wondered if you might be hungry," John said as he perched on the side of the bed. "No, sorry," She said, her soft hand slipping into his. "Food is the last thing I want to contemplate. I will tomorrow, I promise." "I'll take your word for it," John replied dryly, remembering all the other times that she had broken her promise to eat. Pulling herself into a sitting position with a wince of pain, she leaned thankfully against him as his arms went around her. "Is that what you wanted?" He asked, his chin resting on top of her head. The duvet had slid down around her waist, and John could feel just how different it now was to hold her. There was only one breast nestling against his chest, not two, and he did his best not to draw attention to it. "I'm sorry that I'm consigning you both to the spare room," She said into his shoulder, and he could hear the slight smile in her voice. "I don't think you did that to me during the whole time we were married," He said thoughtfully. "No, I didn't, did I," She replied, memories of her own rising unbidden to the surface. "I think that, no matter how scorching the preceding row, I still wanted my man in my bed." "And do you still?" He asked her perfectly seriously. "Yes, of course I do," She said, looking up into his face. "Just as soon as I feel a bit more like the woman I used to be." When his lips gently descended on hers, she clung to him almost desperately, the fear that he might leave her one day soon, all but overwhelming her.