before i die Jenny Downham

thirty-three

I wake to flowers. Vases of tulips, carnations like a wedding, gypsophila frothing over the bedside cabinet.
I wake to Dad, still holding my hand.
All the things in the room are wonderful – the jug, that chair. The sky is very blue beyond the window.
Are you thirsty? Dad says. Do you want a drink?
I want mango juice. Lots of it. He plumps a pillow under my head and holds the glass for me. His eyes lock into mine. I sip, swallow. He gives me time to breathe, tips the glass again. When Ive had enough, he wipes my mouth with a tissue.
Like a baby, I tell him.
He nods. Silent tears fill his eyes.
I sleep. I wake up again. And this time Im starving. Any chance of an ice cream?
Dad puts his book down with a grin. Wait there. Hes not gone long, comes back with a Strawberry Mivvi. He wraps the stick in tissue so it doesnt drip and I manage to hold it myself. Its utterly delicious. My bodys repairing itself. I didnt know it could still do that. I know I wont die with a Strawberry Mivvi in my hand.
I think I might want another one after this.
Dad tells me I can have fifty ice creams if thats what I want. He mustve forgotten Im not allowed sugar or dairy.
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ve got something else for you. He fumbles in his jacket pocket and pulls out a fridge magnet. Its heart-shaped, painted red and badly covered in varnish. Cal made it. He sends you his love.
What about Mum?
She came to see you a couple of times. You were very vulnerable, Tessa. Visitors had to be kept to a minimum.
So Adam hasnt been?
Not yet.
I lick the ice-cream stick, trying to get all the flavour from it. The wood rasps my tongue.
Dad says, Shall I get you another one?
No. I want you to go now.
He looks confused. Go where?
I want you to go and meet Cal from school, take him to the park and play football. Buy him chips. Come back later and tell me all about it.
Dad looks a bit surprised, but he laughs. Youve woken up feisty, I see!
I want you to phone Adam. Tell him to visit me this afternoon.
Anything else?
Tell Mum I want presents – expensive juice, loads of magazines and new make-up. If shes going to be crap, she can at least buy me stuff.
Dad looks gleeful as he grabs a bit of paper and writes down the brand of foundation and lipstick I want. He encourages me to think of other things
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I might like, so I order blueberry muffins, chocolate milk and a six-pack of Creme Eggs. Its nearly Easter after all.
He kisses me three times on the forehead and tells me hell be back later.
After hes gone, a bird lands on the window ledge. Its not a spectacular bird, not a vulture or a phoenix, but an ordinary starling. A nurse comes in, fiddles about with the sheets, fills up my water jug. I point the bird out to her, joke that its Deaths lookout. She sucks her teeth at me and tells me not to tempt fate.
But the bird looks right at me and cocks its head. Not yet, I tell it.
The doctor visits. So, he says, we found the right antibiotic in the end.
Eventually.
Bit scary for a while though.
Was it?
I meant for you. That level of infection can be very disorientating.
I read his name badge as he listens to my chest. Dr James Wilson. Hes about my dads age, with dark hair, receding at the crown. Hes thinner than my dad. He looks tired. He checks my arms, legs and back for bleeding under the skin, then he sits down on the chair next to the bed and makes notes on my chart.
Doctors expect you to be polite and grateful. It makes their job easier. But I dont feel like being tactful today.
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How much longer do I have?
He looks up, surprised. Shall we wait for your dad to be here before we have this discussion?
Why?
So that we can look at the medical options together. Its me thats sick, not my dad.
He puts his pen back in his pocket. The muscles round his jaw tighten. I dont want to be drawn into time scales with you, Tessa. Theyre not helpful at all.
Theyre helpful to me.
Its not that Ive decided to be brave. This isnt a new years resolution. Its just that I have a drip in my arm and Ive lost days of my life to a hospital bed. Suddenly, whats important seems very obvious.
My best friends having a baby in eight weeks and I need to know if m going to be there.
He crosses his legs, then immediately uncrosses them. I feel a bit sorry for him. Doctors dont get much training in death.
He says, If Im over-optimistic, youll be disappointed. Its equally unhelpful to give you a pessimistic prediction.
I dont mind. Youve got more of an idea than I have. Please, James.
The nurses arent allowed to use doctors first names, and normally Id never dare. But somethings shifted. This is my death and there are things I need to know.
I wont sue you if youre wrong.
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He gives me a grim little smile. Although we managed to cure your infection and youre obviously feeling much better, your blood count didnt pick up as much as wed hoped, so we ran some tests. When your father gets back, we can discuss the results together.
Have I got peripheral disease?
You and I dont know each other very well, Tessa. Wouldnt you rather wait for your father?
Just tell me.
He sighs very deeply, as if he cant quite believe hes about to give in. Yes, we found disease in your peripheral blood. Im very sorry.
Thats it then. Im riddled with cancer, my immune system is shot and theres nothing more they can do for me. I had weekly blood tests to check for it. And now its here.
d always thought that being told for definite would be like being punched in the stomach – painful, followed by a dull ache. But it doesnt feel dull at all. Its sharp. My hearts racing, adrenalin surges through me. I feel absolutely focused.
Does my dad already know?
He nods. We were going to tell you together. What options do I have?
Your immune system is in collapse, Tessa. Your options are limited. We can keep going with blood and platelets if you want to, but its likely their benefit will be short-lived. If you became anaemic straight after a transfusion, we would have to stop.
What then?
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Then we would do everything we could to make you comfortable and leave you in peace.
Daily transfusions arent feasible?
No.
m not going to make eight weeks then, am I?
Dr Wilson looks right at me. Youll be very lucky if you do.
I know I look like a pile of bones covered in cling film. I see the shock of it in Adams eyes.
Not quite how you remembered me, eh?
He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. Youre gorgeous.
But I think this is what he was always scared of – having to be interested when Im ugly and useless.
Hes brought tulips from the garden. I stuff them in the water jug while he looks at my get-well cards. We talk about nothing for a bit – how the plants he bought in the garden centre are coming along, how his mum is enjoying the weather now that shes outside more often. He looks out of the window, makes some joke about the view across the car park.
Adam, I want you to be real.
He frowns as if he doesnt understand.
Dont pretend to care. I dont need you as an anaesthetic. Whats that supposed to mean?
I dont want anyone being fake.
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m not being.
I dont blame you. You didnt know Id get this sick. And its only going to get worse.
He thinks about this for a moment, then kicks off his shoes.
What are you doing?
Being real.
He pulls back the blanket and climbs into bed next to me. He scoops me up and wraps me in his arms.
I love you, he whispers angrily into my neck. It hurts more than anything ever has, but I do. So dont you dare tell me I dont. Dont you ever say it again!
I lay the flat of my palm against his face and he pushes into it. It crosses my mind that hes lonely. m sorry.
You should be.
He wont look at me. I think hes trying not to cry.
He stays all afternoon. We watch MTV, then he reads the paper my dad left behind and I have another sleep. I dream of him, even though hes right next to me. We walk together through snow, but were hot and wearing swimming costumes. There are empty lanes and frosty trees and a road that curves and never ends.
When I wake up, Im hungry again, so I send him off for another Strawberry Mivvi. I miss him as soon as he goes. Its like the whole hospital empties out. How can this be? I claw my hands together under the blanket until he climbs back into bed beside me.
He unwraps the ice cream and passes it over. I put it on the bedside table.
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Touch me.
He looks confused. Your ice cream will melt.
Please.
m right here. I am touching you.
I move his hand to my breast. Like this.
No, Tess, I might hurt you.
You wont.
What about the nurse?
Well chuck the bed-pan at her if she comes in.
He very gently cups my breast through my pyjamas. Like this?
He touches me as if Im precious, as if hes stunned, as if my body amazes him, even now, when its failing. When his skin touches mine, skin to skin, we both shiver.
I want to make love.
His hand stalls. When?
When I get back home. One more time before I die. I want you to promise.
The look in his eyes frightens me. Ive never seen it before. So deep and real, its as if hes seen things in the world that others could only imagine.
I promise.
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