Read Online In My Sister's Shoes by Sinéad Moriarty - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sinéad Moriarty
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for four years. Since I’d got my first five-second slot on TV, I’d been starving myself every day. Bread, potatoes, pasta, rice and chocolate were all things of the past. When I was hungry, I smoked. Pretending you’re four years younger than you are requires a lot of discipline and permanent hunger.
The toast tasted fantastic and I decided to have another slice to treat myself. What the hell? I didn’t need a flat stomach. I wasn’t going on TV. Besides, I’d starve myself before I went back to London. For now, I was on a time-out.
Reinvigorated by the food, I cleaned the kitchen thoroughly, let Teddy out for a run in the garden and by the time I’d finished it was eleven o’clock. Fiona was due out of theatre at about eleven, so I called the hospital. The nurse said she was in the recovery room and still very groggy but the operation seemed to have gone well. She wouldn’t give out any further information until the doctor had spoken to Fiona himself.
After pacing up and down, praying that the news would be good and biting my nails, I decided to hop into the car and drive to the hospital. I wanted to be near Fiona physically; whatever the news, I wanted to be there.
When I arrived, Dad was in the visitors’ room, pacing like a caged tiger.
‘Any news?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he growled, ‘they’ll tell me nothing. The surgeon is in with her and Mark now. Jesus, Kate, let it be good news. Don’t let it have spread.’
I squeezed his hand and we sat watching the clock for twenty more minutes, until the nurse came in and told us we could see Fiona, but only for a minute as she was still very tired.
She looked very small and frail in her hospital gown, but she was smiling. ‘It’s good news,’ she said, and began to cry.
‘The surgeon said he was confident he’d removed all the cells and that it doesn’t appear to have spread to her lymph nodes,’ said Mark, taking over.
‘But we won’t know for sure until the test results come back in three days,’ added Fiona.
‘Fantastic news,’ said Dad, and kissed Fiona’s cheek.
‘She has invasive ductal carcinoma,’ continued Mark, as if he was addressing a conference of cancer specialists.
‘In English, please,’ I said.
He glared at me. ‘IDC is the most common form of breast cancer in those with breast tumours. The treatment for early detection has a very high success rate. Fiona is going to have chemotherapy and radiation treatment, but she’s going to be fine.’
‘Excellent,’ said Dad, beaming.
I looked at Fiona, who was smiling weakly. It was good news, but she still had to wait for the test results and then faced a pretty horrendous few months with no guarantee of success. I went over and held her hand.
‘I’m dreading the chemo,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t worry, sis. We’ll get through it. One day at a time.’
She squeezed my hand, and then, looking at Mark, she said, ‘You’d better go, you don’t want to be late. Good luck.’
He bent down to kiss her, and left.
‘Where’s he off to?’ asked Dad, trying to sound casual when it was as clear as the nose on his face that all he wanted to do was go out there and box his son-in-law for leaving Fiona.
‘He’s got a conference call with an expert from China who can help him with his paper. He’s been trying to get in touch with him for weeks.’
‘I see,’ said Dad, not seeing at all. I could tell he was thinking of what to do with Mark’s important paper and it didn’t have anything to do with prizes.
The door opened. Thank God! Mark’s seen sense, I thought. He’s come back to put his wife first rather than some Chinese mathematician.
But it was Derek, looking a bit flushed. ‘Yo, howzit going?’ he asked.
‘Good, thanks. It doesn’t appear to have spread and it’s a very treatable form of cancer so I’ll be fine,’ said Fiona.
I looked at her in amazement. She was so concerned not to upset Derek that she’d made it sound like a walk in the
The toast tasted fantastic and I decided to have another slice to treat myself. What the hell? I didn’t need a flat stomach. I wasn’t going on TV. Besides, I’d starve myself before I went back to London. For now, I was on a time-out.
Reinvigorated by the food, I cleaned the kitchen thoroughly, let Teddy out for a run in the garden and by the time I’d finished it was eleven o’clock. Fiona was due out of theatre at about eleven, so I called the hospital. The nurse said she was in the recovery room and still very groggy but the operation seemed to have gone well. She wouldn’t give out any further information until the doctor had spoken to Fiona himself.
After pacing up and down, praying that the news would be good and biting my nails, I decided to hop into the car and drive to the hospital. I wanted to be near Fiona physically; whatever the news, I wanted to be there.
When I arrived, Dad was in the visitors’ room, pacing like a caged tiger.
‘Any news?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he growled, ‘they’ll tell me nothing. The surgeon is in with her and Mark now. Jesus, Kate, let it be good news. Don’t let it have spread.’
I squeezed his hand and we sat watching the clock for twenty more minutes, until the nurse came in and told us we could see Fiona, but only for a minute as she was still very tired.
She looked very small and frail in her hospital gown, but she was smiling. ‘It’s good news,’ she said, and began to cry.
‘The surgeon said he was confident he’d removed all the cells and that it doesn’t appear to have spread to her lymph nodes,’ said Mark, taking over.
‘But we won’t know for sure until the test results come back in three days,’ added Fiona.
‘Fantastic news,’ said Dad, and kissed Fiona’s cheek.
‘She has invasive ductal carcinoma,’ continued Mark, as if he was addressing a conference of cancer specialists.
‘In English, please,’ I said.
He glared at me. ‘IDC is the most common form of breast cancer in those with breast tumours. The treatment for early detection has a very high success rate. Fiona is going to have chemotherapy and radiation treatment, but she’s going to be fine.’
‘Excellent,’ said Dad, beaming.
I looked at Fiona, who was smiling weakly. It was good news, but she still had to wait for the test results and then faced a pretty horrendous few months with no guarantee of success. I went over and held her hand.
‘I’m dreading the chemo,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t worry, sis. We’ll get through it. One day at a time.’
She squeezed my hand, and then, looking at Mark, she said, ‘You’d better go, you don’t want to be late. Good luck.’
He bent down to kiss her, and left.
‘Where’s he off to?’ asked Dad, trying to sound casual when it was as clear as the nose on his face that all he wanted to do was go out there and box his son-in-law for leaving Fiona.
‘He’s got a conference call with an expert from China who can help him with his paper. He’s been trying to get in touch with him for weeks.’
‘I see,’ said Dad, not seeing at all. I could tell he was thinking of what to do with Mark’s important paper and it didn’t have anything to do with prizes.
The door opened. Thank God! Mark’s seen sense, I thought. He’s come back to put his wife first rather than some Chinese mathematician.
But it was Derek, looking a bit flushed. ‘Yo, howzit going?’ he asked.
‘Good, thanks. It doesn’t appear to have spread and it’s a very treatable form of cancer so I’ll be fine,’ said Fiona.
I looked at her in amazement. She was so concerned not to upset Derek that she’d made it sound like a walk in the
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