‘He has, he’s–he’s told us the news–you know–what you have told him. Thank you for seeing us so quickly.’
Somewhere outside, along the street, acar alarm was shrieking.
The consultant looked at Caitlin again for a moment, watching her send a text and then put the phone back in her bag.
‘We have to act quickly,’ he said.
‘I don’t really understand exactly what has changed,’ Caitlin said. ‘Can you sort of explain it to me in simple terms? Sort of, like, idiot language?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll do my best. As you know, for the past six years you’ve been suffering from primary sclerosing cholangitis, Caitlin. Originally you had the milder–if you can call it that–juvenile form, but recently and very swiftly it has turned into the advanced adult form. We’ve tried to keep it under control with a mixture of drugs and surgery for the past six years, in the hope that your liver might cure itself–but that only happens very rarely, and I’m afraid in your case it has not. Your liver has now deteriorated to a point where your life would be in danger if we did not take action.’
Her voice very small suddenly, Caitlin said, ‘So I’m going to die, right?’
Lynn grabbed her hand and squeezed hard. ‘No, darling, you are not. Absolutely not. You are going to be fine.’ She looked at the doctor for reassurance.
The doctor replied impassively, ‘I’ve been in touch with the Royal South London Hospital and arranged for you to be admitted there tonight for assessment for transplantation.’
‘I hate that fucking place,’ Caitlin said.
‘It is the best unit in the country,’ he replied. ‘There are other hospitals, but this is the one we work with normally from down here.’
Caitlin rummaged in her bagagain. ‘The thing is, I’m busy tonight. Me and Luke are going to a club. Digital. There’s a band I need to see.’
There was a brief silence. Then the consultant said, with far more tenderness than Lynn had imagined he was capable of, ‘Caitlin, you are not at all well. It would be very unwise to go out. I need to get you into hospital right away. I want to find you a new liver as quickly as possible.’
Caitlin looked at him for a moment through her jaundiced yellow eyes. ‘How do you define well?’ she asked.
The consultant, his face thawing into a smile, said, ‘Would you really like my definition?’
‘Yes. How do you define well ?’
‘Being alive and not feeling sick might be a good place to start,’ he said. ‘How does that sound to you?’
Caitlin shrugged. ‘Yup, that’s probably quite good.’ She nodded, absorbing the words, clearly thinking about them.
‘If you have a liver transplant, Caitlin,’ he said, ‘the chances are good that you will start to feel well again and get back to normal.’
‘And if I don’t? Like–don’t have a transplant?’
Lynn wanted to butt in and say something, tell her daughter just exactly what would happen. But she knew she had to keep silent and play this out as an onlooker.
‘Then,’ he said baldly, ‘I’m afraid you will die. I think you have only a short time to live. A few months at the most. It could be much less.’
There was a long silence. Lynn felt the grip of her daughter’s hand suddenly and she squeezed back, as hard as she could.
‘Die?’ Caitlin said.
It came out as a trembling whisper. Caitlin turned to her mother in shock, stared at her face. Lynn smiled at her, unable to think for a momentof anything she could say to her child.
Nervously, Caitlin asked, ‘Is this true? Mum? Is this what they already told you?’
‘You are very seriously ill, darling. But if you have a transplant it will be fine. You’ll be well again. You’ll be able to live a completely normal life.’
Caitlin was silent. She withdrew her hand and put a finger in her mouth, something Lynn had not seen her do in years. There was a beep, then a fax machine on a shelf near the doctor printed out a sheet of
Somewhere outside, along the street, acar alarm was shrieking.
The consultant looked at Caitlin again for a moment, watching her send a text and then put the phone back in her bag.
‘We have to act quickly,’ he said.
‘I don’t really understand exactly what has changed,’ Caitlin said. ‘Can you sort of explain it to me in simple terms? Sort of, like, idiot language?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll do my best. As you know, for the past six years you’ve been suffering from primary sclerosing cholangitis, Caitlin. Originally you had the milder–if you can call it that–juvenile form, but recently and very swiftly it has turned into the advanced adult form. We’ve tried to keep it under control with a mixture of drugs and surgery for the past six years, in the hope that your liver might cure itself–but that only happens very rarely, and I’m afraid in your case it has not. Your liver has now deteriorated to a point where your life would be in danger if we did not take action.’
Her voice very small suddenly, Caitlin said, ‘So I’m going to die, right?’
Lynn grabbed her hand and squeezed hard. ‘No, darling, you are not. Absolutely not. You are going to be fine.’ She looked at the doctor for reassurance.
The doctor replied impassively, ‘I’ve been in touch with the Royal South London Hospital and arranged for you to be admitted there tonight for assessment for transplantation.’
‘I hate that fucking place,’ Caitlin said.
‘It is the best unit in the country,’ he replied. ‘There are other hospitals, but this is the one we work with normally from down here.’
Caitlin rummaged in her bagagain. ‘The thing is, I’m busy tonight. Me and Luke are going to a club. Digital. There’s a band I need to see.’
There was a brief silence. Then the consultant said, with far more tenderness than Lynn had imagined he was capable of, ‘Caitlin, you are not at all well. It would be very unwise to go out. I need to get you into hospital right away. I want to find you a new liver as quickly as possible.’
Caitlin looked at him for a moment through her jaundiced yellow eyes. ‘How do you define well?’ she asked.
The consultant, his face thawing into a smile, said, ‘Would you really like my definition?’
‘Yes. How do you define well ?’
‘Being alive and not feeling sick might be a good place to start,’ he said. ‘How does that sound to you?’
Caitlin shrugged. ‘Yup, that’s probably quite good.’ She nodded, absorbing the words, clearly thinking about them.
‘If you have a liver transplant, Caitlin,’ he said, ‘the chances are good that you will start to feel well again and get back to normal.’
‘And if I don’t? Like–don’t have a transplant?’
Lynn wanted to butt in and say something, tell her daughter just exactly what would happen. But she knew she had to keep silent and play this out as an onlooker.
‘Then,’ he said baldly, ‘I’m afraid you will die. I think you have only a short time to live. A few months at the most. It could be much less.’
There was a long silence. Lynn felt the grip of her daughter’s hand suddenly and she squeezed back, as hard as she could.
‘Die?’ Caitlin said.
It came out as a trembling whisper. Caitlin turned to her mother in shock, stared at her face. Lynn smiled at her, unable to think for a momentof anything she could say to her child.
Nervously, Caitlin asked, ‘Is this true? Mum? Is this what they already told you?’
‘You are very seriously ill, darling. But if you have a transplant it will be fine. You’ll be well again. You’ll be able to live a completely normal life.’
Caitlin was silent. She withdrew her hand and put a finger in her mouth, something Lynn had not seen her do in years. There was a beep, then a fax machine on a shelf near the doctor printed out a sheet of
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