Gallery Whispers

41

Neil Mcllhenney sat in the waiting area of the Department of Clinical Oncology becoming acquainted with a new companion. He had never known Fear before, not until Sarah had made the introduction after bringing Olive home from her first visit to the Western General.

Of course there had been the odd scary moment in his life, the occasional anxiety. He remembered… he must have been seven or eight at the time… waiting for his father to come home, having upset his mother, and suspecting that he might be in for a real leathering. Then there was the hour he had spent in the corridor of the Maternity Unit, waiting for Lauren to be born. On another night early in his police career he had found himself in a cul-de-sac, in uniform, with his back to the wall and four large, threatening youths blocking the exits.

Those had just been minor crises, mere butterflies in his expansive stomach, and each one had had a happy outcome. His father had decided that the wait had been punishment enough, and had lashed him with his tongue rather than his belt. There had been the indescribable miracle of Lauren's birth, the moment of holding his first child, for the first time. And on that third occasion. Constable Mario McGuire had appeared behind the four young thugs, a Satanic smile on his face as he contemplated the mess that he and Mcllhenney would leave behind them in the alley.

This was different though; this was something which threatened to consume him, yet which he knew had to be conquered and contained within him, never allowed to show on the outside, least of all to Olive.

Since the illness had been diagnosed, he had experienced a succession of horrors. Now, waiting for his wife to come down from the ward, he sat contemplating apprehensively the weekend to come.

They had been warned about the treatment, about the sickness that was the most common side-effect of the drugs. 'These are very powerful and toxic chemicals. Olive,' their supervising nurse had warned as she had talked them through what would happen. 'Their job is to seek out and kill the cancer cells, but they will have a hell of an effect on your entire system. We'll give you steroids to control it, but the chances are that you'll be very sick for a couple of days after your first treatment.'

At that moment, he was fearful of that imminent crisis more than anything else. His mind had simply locked away the long-term possibilities, refusing to contemplate them, but right there and then he dreaded the very thought of watching his wife's distress.

'Mr Mcllhenney?' The calm voice broke into his fearful anticipation.

'How are you getting on?' He looked up from his chair to see Derek Simmers standing over him.

'Okay,' he replied, trying to smile. 'Just waiting for Olive, as instructed.'

'I've just left her,' said the consultant. 'She'll be another twenty minutes or so. Don't wait here; come on through to my office. I'll tell reception where you are, so she can find you when she comes down.'

Neil nodded. He stood, picked up his coffee and followed the tall, fair-haired Simmers to the desk at the entrance, where he paused, then round a corner and into a small office opposite the room where their initial consultation had taken place. There was no desk, only a few chairs and a low coffee table.

'Sit, down, sit down,' the physician insisted. And then unexpectedly, he sighed. 'You know,' he began, 'I've lost count of the number of patients I've treated in this place. I've lost count of the number of husbands and wives that I've seen in your shoes; but still I can't really imagine how it must feel for either the patient or her partner.

'I can try. I do, of course; but, not having experienced it for myself, not having sat on your side of the desk at the consultation, seeing with your eyes, listening with your ears; not even having sat out there being ministered to by the WRVS ladies in their canteen, I don't suppose I even get close to the reality.'

'No,' Mcllhenney answered quietly. 'I don't suppose you do.'

'Maybe that's a good thing, though. Because it ensures that I remain objective, and as long as I do I have something to offer my patients beyond the mechanics of the treatment.' The gentle blue eyes settled on the policeman, and he felt the same wave of inexplicable relief which had swept over him at his first meeting with Simmers.

'I will never lie to Olive, or to you,' he said, earnestly. 'I will always tell it to you like it is; to a great extent the success or failure of her treatment will depend on the interpretation which both of you place on my words. I am dedicated to the preservation of life, Neil, for as long as that can be. I will prescribe and administer the most appropriate treatment for Olive's physical condition.

'But once I've done that, your job begins; you have to remain positive and you have to remain mentally strong. From what I've seen of you both, you will be able to do that.

'The next couple of days will be tough, for both of you; make no mistake about that. But in the course of this treatment, which will last for up to six months, they will probably be the worst you'll experience.

'My best advice to you is to set yourselves targets. For example, in a couple of weeks, maybe even next weekend, you might be able to contemplate an evening at the theatre. After two months' treatment, you might want to go on holiday. If you do, I'll make a gap in the schedule for you. Working towards and achieving objectives like these will be a tremendous psychological help to you both and will improve Olive's chances of keeping this thing at bay'

Simmers paused, and Mcllhenney saw pain written in his soft eyes.

'The hardest thing for me,' he continued, 'is to tell devoted partners like you and Olive that one of you has an incurable disease. I don't discuss survival rates or make prognoses; anyone can pick all that stuff off the Internet if they have a mind. I can tell you this though, from long experience: the people who believe from day one, without doubt, that they will wind up on the positive side of the ratio, whatever that might be, are the people who do best.

'You do believe that, Neil, don't you?'

The policeman felt his jaw tighten as he returned the consultant's gaze. 'Absolutely,' he said.

'That's good. Hold fast to that belief; it's the best advice I have for you.'

The physician rose to his feet. 'We'd better go back out there. Olive should be down from the ward any minute.'

Mcllenney nodded. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Thank you very much, Mr Simmers.'

The man laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Listen Neil, over the coming months you and Olive and I are going to have to maintain a close, trusting relationship. So please, drop the Mr Simmers stuff. Don't call me Derek either; I've never cared much for that name. Call me by the name my friends use. Call me Deacey.'