Read Online A Day in the Death of Dorothea Cassidy by Ann Cleeves - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ann Cleeves
Tags: UK
Ads: Link
were short-staffed. Everyone else seemed to take the waiting in their stride, even to enjoy the opportunity to compare the hours of travelling and side effects, while they drank the dreadful WRVS tea. Emily hated it.
From the large waiting room with its pitiful attempts at homeliness – flower-patterned wallpaper, curtains, easy chairs – she was summoned eventually to a bench in the corridor. Here at least there was something to look at. She could see into the control room where radiographers in white uniforms were working the x-ray machines. One of the most complicated pieces of machinery had a brass plaque attached to it, saying that it had been bought by the Chester-Le-Street Ladies Circle. Why didn’t they mind their own business, Emily sometimes thought bitterly, the ladies of Chester-Le-Street? If it weren’t for their generosity perhaps I wouldn’t have to put up with this nonsense. Then she would be called in by one of the radiographers who had the professional cheerfulness of a nursery nurse.
‘Mrs Bowman,’ she would say. ‘ Strip to the waist, please.’
As if I don’t know that I have to take my clothes off, she thought, after a month of this. But she would go in meekly and suffer the indignity of being positioned on the table – sometimes by a man – and the lonely strangeness of the x-ray treatment itself which lasted only a matter of minutes.
Then there was always the wait for the ambulance to take her home.
A young woman doctor had broken the news to her that she had cancer. She had been very gentle, very sympathetic.
‘Sit down, Mrs Bowman,’ she had said. ‘Don’t hold in your feelings. Cry if you want to. It’s bound to be a shock.’
But Mrs Bowman had not felt like crying. The first sensation had been of exhilaration. This is it then, she had thought. It’s all over but I’ve had a good life. She had one son, but for years he had lived in New Zealand. No one would miss her. She had never been one for taking risks and this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. There was something dramatic about being incurably ill and she had expected a sudden change in her condition, then the final adventure of death. She had not expected the fuss, the tedium and the discomfort of this treatment. It seemed to her a complete waste of time. Even the young doctor had the decency to admit that it had little chance of succeeding. Yet there seemed no way of stopping the process. Emily felt powerless in front of their misguided humanity, their determination to do all they could to save her.
Stop! she wanted to say as she lay on the table and the machine above her head clicked and buzzed. Leave me alone. Really. I’ve had a good life and I’m ready to go now.
But she was so worn down by the waiting and the WRVS tea that when she finally got to the treatment room she did not have the courage or the energy to say anything.
She must have fallen asleep in her chair by the window and she woke quite suddenly, shivering, knowing that she had had a bad dream but was unable to remember it. The sun was full on her face and very hot. The skin on her shoulder was burning.
‘Let the air to your body,’ the radiographers would say. ‘ Take your clothes off for at least an hour every day.’
Emily Bowman breathed deeply, still disturbed by the dream, then pursed her lips. If they thought she would sit naked in her flat where any of the other residents might come in and see her they were very much mistaken. Yet she could feel the sun irritating her burnt skin and knew she would have to move. Besides, by now her bladder was full and she needed to go to the bathroom. It was one of her nightmares that she would be forced to ask the ambulance driver to stop on the way to the hospital. She stood up slowly and walked with difficulty to the bathroom. She was on her way back to the chair when Annie Ramsay burst into the room.
‘This is my flat,’ Emily snapped. ‘I’d be grateful if you had
From the large waiting room with its pitiful attempts at homeliness – flower-patterned wallpaper, curtains, easy chairs – she was summoned eventually to a bench in the corridor. Here at least there was something to look at. She could see into the control room where radiographers in white uniforms were working the x-ray machines. One of the most complicated pieces of machinery had a brass plaque attached to it, saying that it had been bought by the Chester-Le-Street Ladies Circle. Why didn’t they mind their own business, Emily sometimes thought bitterly, the ladies of Chester-Le-Street? If it weren’t for their generosity perhaps I wouldn’t have to put up with this nonsense. Then she would be called in by one of the radiographers who had the professional cheerfulness of a nursery nurse.
‘Mrs Bowman,’ she would say. ‘ Strip to the waist, please.’
As if I don’t know that I have to take my clothes off, she thought, after a month of this. But she would go in meekly and suffer the indignity of being positioned on the table – sometimes by a man – and the lonely strangeness of the x-ray treatment itself which lasted only a matter of minutes.
Then there was always the wait for the ambulance to take her home.
A young woman doctor had broken the news to her that she had cancer. She had been very gentle, very sympathetic.
‘Sit down, Mrs Bowman,’ she had said. ‘Don’t hold in your feelings. Cry if you want to. It’s bound to be a shock.’
But Mrs Bowman had not felt like crying. The first sensation had been of exhilaration. This is it then, she had thought. It’s all over but I’ve had a good life. She had one son, but for years he had lived in New Zealand. No one would miss her. She had never been one for taking risks and this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. There was something dramatic about being incurably ill and she had expected a sudden change in her condition, then the final adventure of death. She had not expected the fuss, the tedium and the discomfort of this treatment. It seemed to her a complete waste of time. Even the young doctor had the decency to admit that it had little chance of succeeding. Yet there seemed no way of stopping the process. Emily felt powerless in front of their misguided humanity, their determination to do all they could to save her.
Stop! she wanted to say as she lay on the table and the machine above her head clicked and buzzed. Leave me alone. Really. I’ve had a good life and I’m ready to go now.
But she was so worn down by the waiting and the WRVS tea that when she finally got to the treatment room she did not have the courage or the energy to say anything.
She must have fallen asleep in her chair by the window and she woke quite suddenly, shivering, knowing that she had had a bad dream but was unable to remember it. The sun was full on her face and very hot. The skin on her shoulder was burning.
‘Let the air to your body,’ the radiographers would say. ‘ Take your clothes off for at least an hour every day.’
Emily Bowman breathed deeply, still disturbed by the dream, then pursed her lips. If they thought she would sit naked in her flat where any of the other residents might come in and see her they were very much mistaken. Yet she could feel the sun irritating her burnt skin and knew she would have to move. Besides, by now her bladder was full and she needed to go to the bathroom. It was one of her nightmares that she would be forced to ask the ambulance driver to stop on the way to the hospital. She stood up slowly and walked with difficulty to the bathroom. She was on her way back to the chair when Annie Ramsay burst into the room.
‘This is my flat,’ Emily snapped. ‘I’d be grateful if you had
Similar Books
