Read Online Will You Remember Me? by Amanda Prowse - Free Book Online
Authors: Amanda Prowse
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exposed. She wondered if that was how medics viewed people – as nothing more than a collection of tubes, pouches, pumps and liquids. It probably made their jobs a little easier.
There must have been some preamble or wider discussion, but Poppy wasn’t interested in that. Only one sentence stuck in her mind: ‘You have cancer.’
Her thoughts flew to the hundreds of people she knew who had been given a similar diagnosis. ‘Poor old Mrs Collins, she’s got cancer.’ ‘Heard about Jake’s dad? He’s got the big C. It’s not looking good, poor thing.’ ‘We’re trying to raise money for Jane at work, she’s got cancer.’ The last three words whispered through pursed lips. ‘She just lost her mum… Cancer.’ ‘My nan died… Cancer.’ The list was endless. All those people for whom she had felt a flicker of sadness as she’d received the news – offered incidentally at the school gate, in the supermarket or over the phone – but without really caring. They had a disease that felt remote from her life. Only now it wasn’t, now it would be underlining her every thought and lurking in every corner.
I have cancer. I have cancer. Cancer. That can’t be right, not cancer, not me! This is something that happens to other people, like car crashes or flooding. This can’t be happening to me. I don’t believe you. I don’t.
It didn’t matter how many times she repeated it inside her head, it still felt unreal.
Dr Jessop was informative, businesslike, and it helped. There was no room for emotion or panic: she made the whole thing sound almost commonplace.
‘They are going to perform some further tests and we will go from there and decide on what will be the best course of treatment for you. I’m referring you to an oncologist, who will be your primary care point, but I’m still here. The thing you need to remember, Poppy, and I say this to all my cancer patients, is that this is new to you and very shocking, but the team that will care for you do this day in and day out. You are in the very best hands.’
Poppy nodded but took little comfort from her reassurances. She was stunned and quite unable to ask the hundred questions that battered her lips.
‘Here’s my number, call me any time and I will get back to you as soon as I can if I can’t take your call immediately.’
Poppy took the little slip of paper with a telephone number scrawled on it and nodded again.
‘The breast cancer clinic will call when they have your other results. We are not quite in panic mode yet, you know that, don’t you?’
And for the third time in as many minutes, Poppy could only nod.
She walked home slowly. The man who owned the kebab shop was placing his ‘Open’ sign on the grass verge; he smiled and waved. Poppy stared at him, unable to reconcile the fact that in the half hour since she had last seen him, her world had changed; changed with the utterance of three words.
You have cancer
.
As Poppy and the sleeping Max made their way up the path towards home, Jo spied them from her sitting room window. She raced to the front door and shouted across to her friend.
‘Cuppa?’
‘Sure!’ Poppy smiled and fished in her bag for her key. Jo disappeared and reappeared seconds later with her cardigan over her arm and her phone and keys in her hand. Poppy had really wanted to lie in a darkened room alone and plan the conversation she would have with Martin, but life wasn’t like that, it didn’t make allowances, not even today.
‘You look knackered, mate,’ Jo observed.
‘I am a bit.’
Jo patted her arm as the two entered the house. ‘Tell you what, you sit down and I’ll make us a nice drink.’
Poppy nodded.
Lovely.
A nice cup of tea was the cure for most ills, but not today, not for this. She felt a bit third party, shocked, and yet chose to carry on as normal, delaying the moment of impact for as long as possible.
Martin was collecting Peg from after-school club today. Poppy relished the moments of
There must have been some preamble or wider discussion, but Poppy wasn’t interested in that. Only one sentence stuck in her mind: ‘You have cancer.’
Her thoughts flew to the hundreds of people she knew who had been given a similar diagnosis. ‘Poor old Mrs Collins, she’s got cancer.’ ‘Heard about Jake’s dad? He’s got the big C. It’s not looking good, poor thing.’ ‘We’re trying to raise money for Jane at work, she’s got cancer.’ The last three words whispered through pursed lips. ‘She just lost her mum… Cancer.’ ‘My nan died… Cancer.’ The list was endless. All those people for whom she had felt a flicker of sadness as she’d received the news – offered incidentally at the school gate, in the supermarket or over the phone – but without really caring. They had a disease that felt remote from her life. Only now it wasn’t, now it would be underlining her every thought and lurking in every corner.
I have cancer. I have cancer. Cancer. That can’t be right, not cancer, not me! This is something that happens to other people, like car crashes or flooding. This can’t be happening to me. I don’t believe you. I don’t.
It didn’t matter how many times she repeated it inside her head, it still felt unreal.
Dr Jessop was informative, businesslike, and it helped. There was no room for emotion or panic: she made the whole thing sound almost commonplace.
‘They are going to perform some further tests and we will go from there and decide on what will be the best course of treatment for you. I’m referring you to an oncologist, who will be your primary care point, but I’m still here. The thing you need to remember, Poppy, and I say this to all my cancer patients, is that this is new to you and very shocking, but the team that will care for you do this day in and day out. You are in the very best hands.’
Poppy nodded but took little comfort from her reassurances. She was stunned and quite unable to ask the hundred questions that battered her lips.
‘Here’s my number, call me any time and I will get back to you as soon as I can if I can’t take your call immediately.’
Poppy took the little slip of paper with a telephone number scrawled on it and nodded again.
‘The breast cancer clinic will call when they have your other results. We are not quite in panic mode yet, you know that, don’t you?’
And for the third time in as many minutes, Poppy could only nod.
She walked home slowly. The man who owned the kebab shop was placing his ‘Open’ sign on the grass verge; he smiled and waved. Poppy stared at him, unable to reconcile the fact that in the half hour since she had last seen him, her world had changed; changed with the utterance of three words.
You have cancer
.
As Poppy and the sleeping Max made their way up the path towards home, Jo spied them from her sitting room window. She raced to the front door and shouted across to her friend.
‘Cuppa?’
‘Sure!’ Poppy smiled and fished in her bag for her key. Jo disappeared and reappeared seconds later with her cardigan over her arm and her phone and keys in her hand. Poppy had really wanted to lie in a darkened room alone and plan the conversation she would have with Martin, but life wasn’t like that, it didn’t make allowances, not even today.
‘You look knackered, mate,’ Jo observed.
‘I am a bit.’
Jo patted her arm as the two entered the house. ‘Tell you what, you sit down and I’ll make us a nice drink.’
Poppy nodded.
Lovely.
A nice cup of tea was the cure for most ills, but not today, not for this. She felt a bit third party, shocked, and yet chose to carry on as normal, delaying the moment of impact for as long as possible.
Martin was collecting Peg from after-school club today. Poppy relished the moments of
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