Page 16 of A Mother’s Last Wish

16

LOUISA

I was warned that the effects of the chemotherapy would probably worsen with each infusion, and they have. My hair started falling out in the week after the second treatment. I’m still not completely bald, but I reckon I could earn a living as a Homer Simpson impersonator. I’ve got the sparse strands of hair and yellowing skin off to a tee. I expected the chemo to make me sick, but it’s always been worse a couple of days after treatment, going hand to hand with the exhaustion that built up to a point where for the last two treatments I couldn’t drag myself out of bed for about forty-eight hours. I know from posting on The Grapevine that everyone’s experiences with chemo are different, but almost every response to my latest message, which I posted last night, said the side effects got more intense with every infusion.

Is it normal to feel like every part of you is damaged forever as you approach the end of the first cycle of chemo? I can’t imagine my body being able to take much more.

One of the handful of messages that weren’t incredibly kind and sympathetic came from my old nemesis @booblesswonder777.

Chemo is shit, cancer is shit and there’s nothing anyone can say to you to make that any better.

I still have no real idea what I did to offend this stranger so much, other than airing my desire to have some say on who gets to raise my children in the future, but within minutes of her comment, I had loads of other messages of support saying that she’s out of order, that the message had been reported to the site admins again, and that it was about time @booblesswonder777 got banned.

Some of the other posters asked me to remind them of the type of cancer I had, and whether I had any specific symptoms, so that they could offer me more constructive help. So I followed up my original post with the one below, maintaining the original white lie I’d told about the cause of my cancer. I was in too deep already with that and the last thing I needed was to give @booblesswonder777 any more reason to come at me.

I’ve got stage four breast cancer and to be honest everything hurts, but right now it feels like I’m peeing broken glass.

There were a host of messages after that urging me to get it checked out because I probably had a water infection that could become a lot more serious if I didn’t get it treated. I assured the concerned forum users that I would see my doctor as soon as possible, not adding that Flo’s seventh birthday was going to take priority first. What I hadn’t expected was a private message from one of the forum administrators @itsnotalloveryet2.

Hi @worriedmum1982. I just wanted to get in touch to apologise for the way you’ve been treated by another member of The Grapevine community. We take breaches of our site rules very seriously and @booblesswonder777 has already had several warnings. Given the nature of our community and the need for our members to have support, we try to give posters a chance to redeem their behaviour before banning them. Unfortunately, the member concerned appears unable to moderate their behaviour and you are not the only person to have been targeted by unhelpful or unkind posts from @booblesswonder777. As such, we have now banned the user from the site. There is always a chance they may re-join with another username, but if you experience any other unpleasant or concerning comments from another forum user, please do not hesitate to get in touch and I will personally look into it for you.

I also wanted to send a private message to respond to your latest post. You have had some great advice already and as others have said, the risk of infection is increased by chemotherapy treatment, due to the suppression of your immune system. I am sure your doctors have been completing regular blood counts to check your neutrophils, but if you are not due one soon you may want to request this. I would also urge you to get a urine test as soon as possible, as a UTI can develop into something far more serious, including sepsis, if your immune system is suppressed. I don’t want to scare you, but this really is urgent, and having liaised with members of the medical team at The Grapevine, that’s also the advice they give, which you can read more about at the link below. Take care of yourself and please do not allow the unkindness of one person to stop you from continuing to reach out for support from the other wonderful members of the forum.

It was such a kind and comprehensive message, and I didn’t for one moment doubt the validity of what had been said. I fired off an immediate thank you, and I am going to act on what @itsnotalloveryet2 said. As soon as Flo’s birthday party is over. I can’t do it before then because I’ve got to do whatever it takes to make my daughter’s birthday the best it can possibly be, in case I’m not here for the next one.

Flo seems to be having the time of her life and thankfully the weather decided to behave itself. Holly has been a Godsend, helping Tom to organise all the games. When Flo said she wanted an Olympic-themed birthday party for her next birthday, after becoming obsessed by the games last year, I thought she’d forget by the time her birthday came around again, but she didn’t. Almost everyone has been completely on board with my need to go all out for this, and I try not to think about why none of them have questioned it. It doesn’t take a genius to work out it’s because they know as well as I do that it might be my last chance. I can’t overthink these things, so I’m focusing on today, even though the burning in my bladder won’t seem to ease up even for a second, and it feels as if my knickers are made out of Deep Heat.

Tom made Flo a podium with bronze, silver and gold levels, and Holly has managed to source medals to match, as well as having bought enough sporting equipment to start up her own athletics club. Mini cones have been set out to create racing lanes, and much to her delight Flo is already sporting two medals. One gold, for the bean bag race, and one bronze for the hopping race. They might not quite be Olympic events, but it’s only two weeks since the school sports’ day and the kids seem determined to give it their all. Holly came up with the list of races and other events, and I can see what she’s done, in trying to make sure there’s a chance for everyone to win something. There are even prizes for the best cheerleaders, and I know she’ll make sure they go to anyone who isn’t wearing a medal for another reason by the end of the day. A few of Flo’s classmates have got younger siblings, and we told the parents to bring them along too, so that Stan can have the chance to race with children his own age, and he’s already bouncing up and down with excitement at the prospect.

‘Mummy, is it my turn to run?’ He tugs on my sleeve, asking the question he’s asked at least six times already.

‘Soon, darling, it’s the last race before we eat.’ I glance towards where Tom is getting the BBQ going on the other side of the garden. Usually, I’d do a big spread with lots of choices, but Tom insisted we keep the food element simple this time. He’s not the sort to put his foot down about much, he’s always left any decisions about the running of the house and the family to me, seeming grateful that he doesn’t have to give up the head space to think about it. This time was different.

‘Maybe we should just have the party at the soft play centre and let them do the food and everything. I don’t want you overdoing it.’ Tom had held my gaze, as I shook my head. ‘Lou, you need to take care of yourself.’

‘No, I’ve got to do this for Flo, I might not…’ I hadn’t been able to bring myself to finish the sentence, because I knew we’d both end up in tears. ‘We don’t know what will be happening this time next year, and she’s been talking about having an Olympics’ party for months.’

‘If we do it, you’ve got to leave organising the food up to me.’

I’d laughed then. Tom had never really got to grips with anything much more challenging than a cheese toastie. ‘Oh right, what are we having, a Domino’s delivery?’

‘Maybe, or I can order some party food in. If the weather looks good, I might just do a barbecue.’

‘As long as there’s no chicken.’ I pulled a face, and it was Tom’s turn to laugh. Neither of us could forget the time he’d attempted to cook chicken drumsticks on a portable barbecue while we were on a camping trip and nearly poisoned us all. The sausages and burgers were okay, as long as you didn’t mind a bit of charring, and he could probably pull that off. In the end, I decided that fighting with him over catering a kids’ party wasn’t a hill I was prepared to die on. We ended up ordering in some party platters from a local supermarket, so between that and Tom’s attempts at barbecuing, no one should go hungry. I just wish I wanted to eat. There’s an almost constant feeling of nausea nagging inside me now and bone-aching fatigue. Neither of which are helped by the effects of the medication I’m taking for the pain that seems to radiate around my back and abdomen, like I’m wearing some kind of medieval torture device. I’m doing everything I can to fight through the physical symptoms and letting go of the small things that really don’t matter, like catering for the party, is helping me to keep going.

‘I’m going to win, aren’t I, Mummy?’ Stan’s question breaks into my thoughts, and I look down at him.

‘As long as you give it your best try, sweetheart, that’s all that matters.’

‘Look how fast I can go!’ Stan charges off in Tom’s direction and I follow him, wanting to make sure he doesn’t get too close to the barbecue, or make it even more likely that Tom will incinerate the food.

‘Is Stan okay here with you?’ When I reach Tom, the harsh sunlight reveals how much the last couple of months has aged him. I heard him crying in the en suite in the early hours of this morning, when he thought I was still asleep. He does a great job of remaining upbeat a lot of the time, still trying to convince us both that he’s certain the treatment will keep the cancer contained, but the terror and sadness he’s feeling comes straight to the surface when he thinks I’m not looking.

‘He’s fine, I’m teaching him the secrets of barbecuing the way Forbes men have done for generations.’ Tom grins for a moment, instantly knocking ten years off his age, but then he gives me an appraising look. ‘Why don’t you stay and hang out here with us for a bit, sit down and have a rest. You look tired.’

‘I’m fine.’ We both know that’s a lie, but I do feel as okay as it’s possible to right now and I flash him a smile. ‘I should go and chat to some of the other parents. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to accidentally overhear the secret of how the Forbes men can burn sausages and undercook chicken, all at the same time.’

‘It’s an art form.’ Tom mirrors my smile, but then he turns serious for a second time. ‘Just promise me you won’t overdo it, running around after everyone.’

‘I promise. I don’t think Holly will let me lift a finger anyway.’ Tom looks in my sister’s direction and his shoulders relax a little. Holly has been rushing around for days to get this party organised, and she is circulating now, making sure all the parents have drinks and setting down bowls of snacks until the food is served. She was here to take delivery of the order from the supermarket, plating it all up ready to set up the buffet when Tom gives her the nod that his charred offerings are done. He was up early too, getting the garden ready and setting out the lanes for the Olympics. Making sure the ice machine was on, and that there were enough different drinks to cater for everyone’s taste. I’m largely out of action, but the two of them without me still make quite the team, and I’m so grateful to have them both.

I just wish it was me rushing around, feeling frazzled and a tiny bit irritated by the hassle of it all, as I have at almost every party we’ve ever thrown. It’s always been worth it, but that doesn’t stop it from being stressful too, and more than once I’ve uttered the phrase ‘never again’. Except now that’s probably true. Shaking off the thought so that I don’t cry for the millionth time since my diagnosis, I lay my head against Tom’s shoulder.

‘Holly’s got it all under control.’ Lifting my head up, my hand instinctively moves to check that the wig hasn’t slipped, despite the aid of double-sided tape, and Tom pulls me towards him again.

‘You’ve got no idea how much I love you, Lou. You look beautiful, and the wig… no one would ever know.’

‘I love you too.’ I squeeze him tightly for a moment, and then let go. I need to walk away now before our emotions start to get the better of us. The last thing I want is for Flo’s memory of her seventh birthday to be of her parents standing by the barbecue sobbing. I just hope Tom is right about the wig. I know it won’t be long before everyone in the village knows what’s going on, now that Stan and Flo have been told about the cancer. It’s only been a few days, and Flo’s been too excited about her party to give anything else much thought. But eventually she’ll tell her friends, and it will get back to the parents, including the ones I only tolerate because their children are a part of my daughter’s life. Billie tops that list of people, but she’d be in my life even if her daughter wasn’t one of Flo’s classmates, because she’s married to Tom’s best friend. I can’t help wishing she wasn’t a part of our lives at all, and that his best friend, Jonathan, had married someone else. But he didn’t, he chose Billie, and so I have no choice but to grin and bear it, when I have to include her on special occasions, like today.

‘Well hello, Louisa, I wondered where you’d been hiding!’ Billie looks at me over the top of her expensive-looking sunglasses as soon as she spots me, my attempt to sneak past where she’s sitting to get to Holly a total failure. I give her a tight smile, which I hope conveys the message that I haven’t got time to stop. Just in case it doesn’t, I spell it out for her.

‘So glad you could make it, Billie, I’d love to chat, but I’ve got to go and start getting the food out.’

‘Really? I thought you had Holly doing all the donkey work today, so you can take it easy. She’s been rushing about ever since we arrived, bless her.’

‘That’s what sisters do for one another.’ My smile is saccharine sweet now. I know Billie hasn’t spoken to her own sister in about five years. Their relationship started to sour when Beth had the audacity to fall pregnant in the run up to Billie and Jonathan’s wedding. According to Billie, her sister ruined the photographs by having an obvious bump at the wedding, and failed in her duties as chief bridesmaid by not even being able to attend the hen do, let alone organise it. Poor Beth had hyperemesis gravidarum for the first six months of her pregnancy, suffering from sickness morning, noon and night. I went to the hen do, because back then, before I’d witnessed Billie as a mother, I was still trying to give her the benefit of the doubt for Jonathan’s sake. He’s a lovely guy and he and Tom have been best friends since primary school. I feel guilty that I’ve made things even harder on Tom by asking him not to talk to Jonathan about my diagnosis. It means he hasn’t been able to lean on his oldest friend for support, but I couldn’t bear the thought of Billie being one of the first people to find out. It would have taken away all my choices about when to tell the children, or anyone else who’s important to me.

‘Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a sister who puts themselves out for you quite the way Holly does. You’re so lucky .’ I could mistake it for genuine sentiment, if I didn’t know Billie and if she hadn’t just dragged out the last word for so long. I might also have felt sorry for her about the breakdown of her relationship with her sister, if I hadn’t witnessed so much of Billie’s behaviour for myself.

‘I am very lucky to have her.’ For the first time my smile is genuine as my sister walks towards me, and I put an arm around her waist. ‘The luckiest, in fact, and Holly knows how grateful I am for all her help. Not just today.’

‘It’s teamwork and I’ve lost count of the number of times Lou has been there for me, so it’s the least I can do to help out when…’ Holly catches herself just in time, stops talking and takes a long, slow breath. ‘…when she’s got a house full of children and their parents, and all hands are needed on deck.’

‘I thought you were about to say while Louisa is out of action. We’ve been wondering, haven’t we?’ Billie leans conspiratorially towards Natalie and Keely, all three of them nodding in unison. ‘It’s just that we haven’t seen a lot of you and there are rumours going around.’

‘Oh really, about what?’ I fight to keep my expression neutral, but it feels as if my right eye is twitching like a dying fish.

‘That you’ve had skin removal surgery.’ Billie’s eyes are twinkling and I’m tempted to tell her that she’s a genius for working it out and leave it at that. After all, the more they come up with their own conclusions, the longer it will be before they know the truth and I have to face Billie’s attempts at sympathy. Even if she tries her best to be genuine, I’m not quite sure she’s got it in her to pull it off.

When neither Holly nor I respond, Billie decides to keep pushing. ‘I mean I don’t blame you. No one can fail to see how much weight you’ve lost lately. Personally, I don’t think drastic diets are a good idea in your forties. They can be so ageing, can’t they?’

‘I’m not on a diet, Billie, and you’ve really got no idea what you’re talking about.’ My tone is so tight it feels like the tendons in my neck might snap. I don’t need to justify myself to this woman, but the ridiculousness of what she’s just said is making the white-hot anger that I’ve been fighting so hard to control bubble up inside me again.

‘There’s no need to get defensive, I’m just saying you can take things too far.’

‘Yes, you bloody well can and you just have, you stupid cow.’ Holly fires her words like bullets and Billie begins to reel, even before she gets to the final two words.

‘Hey, there’s no need for that, Billie was just—’ Natalie, another of the mums, tries to interject, but Holly’s having none of it.

‘Billie was just being the same sort of bitch she always is.’ My sister speaks with the assurance of someone who knows the evidence is on her side. Holly knows her well enough to know this isn’t a one-off error of judgement.

I’m vaguely aware of other people beginning to look in our direction and I want to stop this, to tell Holly not to say anything else, but it’s too late to put the genie back in the bottle and the best way of protecting my children from the hurt these rumours might cause, is probably to put the truth out there.

‘Billie, you and I are not friends, we don’t like each other and I don’t think we should try to pretend any more.’ She starts to splutter a protest, but I hold up my hand. ‘I haven’t got time to keep pretending, or to spend energy pursuing things I don’t need or don’t want. I haven’t been on some kind of drastic diet. I’ve been having chemo, to try and hold back a cancer they can’t cure. That’s why Holly’s been doing everything, and my appearance has changed so much.’

‘Oh Lou, I’m so sorry, I—’ She uses the derivative of my name that always grates when it comes from her, and I hold up my hand again to stop her. I really don’t have time for this.

‘Thank you for your sympathy, but what I really need from you is peace. No more rumours, no more attempts to pretend we enjoy spending time together when it’s not the way either of us should be using our precious time. Cancer is a powerful tool when it comes to taking stock and from now on, I’m going to prioritise the things that really matter to me, and you’re not one of those things.’ As I turn away from her, I’m not even tempted to look back to see how she has reacted, because I meant what I said, it really doesn’t matter to me any more. I’ve wasted far too much time already worrying about things that don’t even warrant a footnote in my story. If I haven’t got long left, I need to make every moment count and there’s still one priority that outweighs everything else.

Stan’s race is the last one before we serve the food, and I watch him bouncing up and down with excitement on the start line.

‘Ready, steady, go!’ Holly calls out the instruction and all the younger siblings of Flo’s friends charge towards the finish line, stopping en route to navigate three hula hoops they have to pass over their heads and down their bodies.

‘Come on Stanny, you can do it!’ I shout out encouragement and Tom calls out to our son too, from where he’s still busy trying to produce something edible on the barbecue, not far from the finish line.

‘He’s going to do it, he’s going to win.’ I sound like a mother in awe of their child performing at some high-level athletics event, rather than watching a four-year-old in his own back garden, but I know how important this is to him.

‘Go on Stan, go on!’ Holly is shouting now too, moving alongside the track to keep pace with him. Stan’s so close to the line it’s almost a certainty he’ll win, but then he seems to stumble, as his foot catches on a tuft of grass and he’s flying through the air, landing in an undignified heap as the rest of the competitors charge past him. Through the noise of the cheers for the winners, one sound is drowning out all of the others: the sound of my son sobbing. I try to get to Stan first to hold him in my arms and tell him everything is going to be okay, but my legs feel like they’re made of lead, and there are others who are faster than me.

I’m still about ten feet away when Tom and Holly reach him at the same time, wrapping him in an embrace and whispering words of comfort that make his tears subside as if like magic. I stop dead and watch them. I don’t know exactly what they’re saying, but whatever it is it’s working. Stan doesn’t need me to make things better, and my absence in this moment isn’t an aching void that nothing can fill. It’s an agonising realisation, but at the same time it’s like the missing piece of the puzzle has fallen into place, and the solution I’ve been searching for has been right here in front of me all along. It’s Holly. My sister and Tom have become a team of two more and more lately, the best possible team my children could have if I’m no longer here. I can’t believe I haven’t seen it before. It’s perfect and all I need now is a way to make them realise it too.

‘Poor old Stan, he was so close to winning I think he could taste it and then one trip and it was all over.’ Holly gives me a wry smile as she comes to join me, Stan now having been taken off by Tom to get a cupcake by way of consolation.

‘It was lucky you and Tom were there, and the two of you have done a great job with organising the party exactly the way Flo wanted.’ I put my arm around my sister’s waist and squeeze. ‘You make quite the pair when it comes to ensuring the kids get what they need.’

‘It was a group effort and none of this would have happened without you.’ Holly leans her head against mine and then pulls away slightly to look at me. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m good, I just feel so lucky to have you around and I know Tom does too. He’s going to need you even more… after, and so are the kids.’ I almost blurt out then that it would be okay with me if that became a permanent thing, but I’ve got to at least try not to freak everyone out.

‘You know I’ll always be here in whatever way I’m needed, but you’re going to be around for a long while.’ I nod in response, letting Holly have her fantasy and, for a moment, allowing myself to have it too.

‘I wish you could have found someone like Tom, instead of Jacob, and I hope one day Tom finds someone like you. You’re the kind of person the kids need.’ It’s not exactly subtle, but I can’t afford to be. The way things are going, I’m scared I just won’t wake up one day, and I need Holly to remember what I’m saying. ‘Just make sure Tom finds someone like you, promise me.’

‘I think he can do better than that.’ Holly laughs in that self-depreciating way she so often does, but then she looks at me again, her eyes suddenly glassy. ‘What he’ll never find is someone who’s anywhere near as good as you.’

‘As long as you’re on his team, he’ll be okay.’ Clutching her hand, I hope she knows what I’m saying and that my words come back to her when the time comes. I don’t want Tom to have another partner, any more than I want the children to have another mother, but if I had to choose someone for that role, then I really couldn’t think of anyone better than Holly.

It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted, yet I still can’t sleep. Tom is snoring softly beside me and I know I should try to get some rest, but my mind is racing and I reach for my phone, needing to get my thoughts in order, in the only way I seem able to right now. Opening The Grapevine app, I click on the link to the forum and start a new thread.

If you’ve read my posts before you’ll know I’ve got a terminal diagnosis. They might not call it that any more, but I know what incurable means for me, with my type of cancer. The end is coming, sooner or later. I hope it’s the latter, but I need to be prepared if it’s not. You might have seen that I posted about having young children and struggling with the idea of who my husband might eventually bring into their lives, and the role this person would then have in raising them. Some of you told me that trying to have any influence over that was controlling, maybe even crazy, but doesn’t being a mother bring out the crazy in us all? I wanted to post again, because I think I might have found a solution. There’s someone in our lives already who’d be perfect to step into my shoes. She’s been in my children’s lives from the day they were born, and she and my husband already love one another, just not romantically. The question is, would I be completely insane to try and sow the seeds for it to become something more while I still can? And, if it’s not crazy, how the hell do I do it?

I shut the app immediately, not wanting to read the replies tonight. I’m not sure I can cope with being ripped to shreds, as some users of the forum will no doubt do, and maybe they’re right. I deliberately don’t say that this woman is my sister, because I think for most people that would definitely be a step too far. But unless they’re in my shoes and facing the prospect of leaving their babies behind, they’ve got no right to comment. And if just one person, who really understands my situation, not only agrees that this could work but also has an idea about making it a reality, then perhaps it’s worth a try. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?