The Girl Who Cried Wolf(50)
‘So, Anna.’ I try to read the consultant’s face but he stays neutral as always. ‘Thank you for undergoing more tests for me earlier. I trust they weren’t too unbearable?’ I hope to God he is not remembering my peek-a-boo bra.
‘They were fine,’ I mutter, hardly remembering the physical exam another doctor in neurology had carried out that morning. A nurse had taken blood and urine samples and I had been waiting for three hours for him to take off his glasses and tell me once again that I have cancer.
‘I have your results here …’ He begins slowly, but I cannot take any more.
‘I’ll save you the bother, Mr Raj, as this cannot be a part of your job you are particularly fond of.’ I say ‘job’ in a derisory manner just to be sure he knew how much I thought his chosen vocation sucked. ‘My brain tumour has returned with a vengeance, this time it is not possible to operate and instead of kindly allowing me to die with an ounce of dignity the first time round you have successfully prolonged my suffering and pain a further four months.’
I smile with satisfaction as Mr Raj does remove his glasses as predicted.
‘No, Miss Winters. Your cancer has not returned.’ He smiles in a friendly manner that I happen to find quite smug. ‘You’re pregnant.’
That wipes the smirk off my face.
***
I have never ever thought about having children. To me that is something for thirty-year-olds when they have exhausted every excuse not to. I look around at the stunned faces. Michael looks shocked but delighted; Mr Raj still looks a little smug like he has got one over on me, and Izzy and my mother look like they can barely contain themselves. I can tell they are beyond relieved that my cancer has not returned. Mother looks very anxious but somehow happy at the same time. As I watch them looking back at me expectantly, I wonder why it is that I do not feel the same. I sense a foreboding dark cloud returning.
Chapter Fourteen:
Little Seed
We spend the next hour with The Mad Hatter as he tells me I would appear to be around three weeks pregnant, which to me means I became pregnant on Boxing Day.
Michael cannot stop smiling and my mother and Izzy keep telling me I am delighted into shock. Mr Raj looks at me dubiously and goes on to tell me that it is usually better to wait between six months to a number of years before conceiving a child after cancer treatment.
My spirits lift as I hold on to the possibility he is telling me I should not continue with the pregnancy.
‘What do you mean? Is it dangerous to get pregnant after chemo?’
‘Weill, Miss Winters we will need to refer you to an obstetrician, but eggs damaged by chemotherapy are thought not to have left the body until six months after treatment cessation.’
Michael looks worried as I continue my enthusiastic line of interrogation. ‘So my eggs are still damaged, right? This baby could end up looking like a Chernobyl trout with three heads and webbed feet?’
‘Anna, no! My goodness, you do get carried away with yourself at times!’ Mr Raj gives a rare laugh and turns to Michael, hoping for a more reasonable response.
‘Your baby stands every chance to be happy and healthy, but seeing as you have both been ill I think it should be wise to refer you immediately for a check-up. I shall confer with your obstetrician regarding past and present medications. In the meantime, Anna, I am pleased to see you have gained a little weight.’
Despite the bombshell he has happily dropped on my wrought nerves, I am surprised that he has taken this opportunity to insult me. I pull myself up and suck my tummy in a little.
‘Do you think I’m fat now, doctor? How very kind of you. Wait till you see me in nine months’ time, then you can really have a pop at me.’
I leave them to arrange my next appointment as I storm out of the stifling office and along to the car ahead of them.
As I hasten down each corridor I feel more and more doomed. The mutant embryo inside me will grow bigger every day, and instead of never stepping a foot inside a hospital again, which I had been so determined to do, I would now be expected to attend further testing, ante-natal classes, and God only knows what else.
I didn’t have time to consider that I had been convinced my cancer was returning, and that perhaps this should have been a welcome reprieve from the thunderous black cloud. I step outside and find a bench outside the main entrance, taking in great gulps of air. A man is standing next to me in blue pyjamas, trying to smoke a cigarette while manoeuvring around his drip stand.
‘Can I have one, please?’ He turns to face me and I have to stop myself from recoiling in horror as I see that his skin is quite yellow and he has a Frankenstein scar of his own zigzagging across his throat. He eyes my own jagged wound and nods approvingly, handing me a cigarette and lighting it for me.
We smoke in companionable silence, two rebels disregarding Doctor’s orders: Frankenstein’s monster and his bride.
I feel a moment of grim calmness until I hear Lillian’s piercing screech as she sees the offending Silk Cut.
‘Anna!’ she hisses at me, swiping it from between my fingers then throwing it to her left as though it were an undisposed bomb. ‘What are doing, you stupid girl? You’re carrying a baby; if you smoke so do they!’
She looks so horrified that even my partner in crime gives me a disapproving look before shuffling away from the drama.