WALES 2022
DR CHIANG AGREED TO see me the next evening, out of hours.
Arden drove me into Abergavenny and sat in the deserted waiting room while I talked to my therapist. The appointment was the longest we’d spent apart since he’d agreed to let me live, but if he was worried about me sharing our darkest secrets with a third party, he didn’t show it – just gave me a tight smile as I entered the office without him.
The space was large and neat, lined with mahogany bookcases and painted a soothing cream colour. Dr Chiang was a short, round woman in her forties, who had a particular fondness for model trains – her desk was lined with miniatures. She wore floral dresses and woolly tights, and had big gold-rimmed glasses that made her look like an owl. She was badly allergic to dust, and sneezed almost constantly. At the familiar, warming sight of her, I couldn’t remember why on earth I’d stopped coming in the first place. She rushed around the desk towards me.
‘Oh, Branwen,’ she said, in her soft Bangor accent, and I all but collapsed into her.
I was never quite sure whether it was all right to hug your therapist, but while Dr Chiang never initiated, she always reciprocated. She rubbed my shoulder soothingly with her palm, and I fought the urge to sob into the shoulder of her chunky-knit cardigan.
I was so tired. And I was so sad. And I was so afraid.
But then, as all the words withered and died in my throat, I remembered exactly why I’d stopped coming: because the thing that caused me most distress was the fact I’d likely die before I ever saw Gracie recover. Dancing around that core truth had become too exhausting.
A small part of me wondered what might happen if I told Dr Chiang that truth tonight. All of it, every word, every single thing I knew about my entire existence. The idea filled me with relief – a burden not only shared but also unpacked. In reality, though, I knew she’d probably think grief had made me lose my marbles – and I was fairly sure they wouldn’t let a psych inpatient consent to something like a bone marrow harvest.
Then again … maybe I could ask for her help. I could tell her that the boy sitting in her empty waiting room right now was an abuser, that he’d threatened my life if I left his sight. Would she believe me? She had no reason not to. Maybe she would call the police, and he’d be taken in for questioning. He’d never be charged with anything, since I had zero proof, but I could use that time to escape.
And yet where would I go, knowing the tether would lead him right to me anyway?
I needed to focus. Arden was likely going to kill me, no matter what I did, so the priority needed to be Gracie. I needed to use Dr Chiang’s good favour to convince her wife to do pro bono work in the next few days. That in itself was no small ask.
So I decided to walk the tightrope between truth and omission, sharing with her just enough that it would convince her to refer me for minor surgery.
Pulling apart from the hug, Dr Chiang gestured for me to take a seat on the navy velvet chaise longue arranged in front of the desk. I sank into its familiar comfort, grateful for the existence of offices like this. One of the things I loved most about modernity was how suffering was no longer simply accepted as a necessary part of the human experience. It was impossible to escape entirely, yet great lengths were gone to in an attempt to thwart it, to dismantle it, to interrogate it.
‘Thank you for agreeing to see me so last-minute,’ I said, unsure where to start. I was surprised how steady my voice sounded, although it seemed very far away, like I was at the end of a distant tunnel.
‘It’s not a problem.’ She smiled. I felt like I was sitting with a beloved aunt; maybe she had been, in a past life. ‘I’ve been wondering how you are for months. So – how are you, Branwen?’
Where to begin?
‘Scared,’ I said, thinking it as good a place to start as any.
‘That’s understandable. What do you think is causing you this fear?’
I bit my lip. ‘It’s not just my sister’s potential death, although that … I can barely think about that, to be honest. It’s too painful.’
‘I understand. And you know, sometimes it’s good not to pre-emptively agonize over loss too much. Practising grief is of no real benefit to anyone. Losing a loved one is not something you can rehearse – at least, not in a healthy way. It’s better to enjoy the time you have with her.’
Her words tolled in my chest. It was something I had always done – tried to prepare myself for loss, as though it would lessen the blow when it finally came.
‘I know, and I really want to be able to just be there for her, to make her laugh, to play dumb games we used to enjoy as kids. But I’m struggling to even do that. This bone marrow harvest – I’d do anything for Gracie; you know I would. It wasn’t even a question. But having to do it without general anaesthetic …’
God, I didn’t know how to do this. How to bridge the conversation towards needing Dr Chiang’s wife’s help.
When I didn’t say anything else, the doctor simply said, ‘You’re very brave. I hope you know that.’
‘I’m not brave. I’m terrified.’
‘It’s impossible to have bravery without fear. Bravery is picking up the fear and carrying it alongside you, rather than allowing it to block the path.’
One of the things I loved about Dr Chiang was her ability to come up with proverbs on the spot – wisdom that sounded ancient, but was actually just how she thought.
‘To be honest … it’s not just the pain. That’s not the only reason I’m here.’
Her expression remained wholly neutral. ‘Oh?’
Softly, softly , I told myself. Don ’ t make her think you ’ re using her.
‘It’s the fact that the procedure is still so far away. I keep worrying that if something bad happens to me in that time, it won’t just be me who suffers or dies. It’ll be Gracie too.’
Dr Chiang pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. ‘The chances of something bad happening to you in that time are vanishingly small. But I understand that anxiety can make you fixate on the worst-case scenario.’
‘You have to admit that the worst-case scenario is pretty terrible.’
She laughed sincerely, a warm chuckle that felt like a cup of tea and a hug. ‘That’s what makes it so compelling to our brains. And I want you to know that while your thoughts feel desperately emotional, they’re also very logical. Our brains naturally want to pre-empt and solve problems before they occur. You are not broken for feeling this way.’
She left the conversation open for me to continue. She always did this – gave me space to fill should I want it – then, if I didn’t, she would steer us down another conversational road. Today, though, I couldn’t give her the wheel. I needed to double down on this particular topic.
‘I’m scared to leave the house,’ I said, letting a light wobble into my voice. It was a genuine bubbling of emotion, not just for my therapist’s benefit but a real overspilling of fear. ‘Even driving here, my heart was in my mouth the whole time. I can’t sleep, for fear I won’t wake up again. I don’t even want to eat, because what if I choke?’
‘It sounds like you’re in a difficult place.’
I nodded, staring at the hands folded in my lap. ‘I just keep thinking that if there was some way to do my part of the procedure earlier, I could let go of all this fear and actually enjoy my time with Gracie, you know?’
Dr Chiang said nothing, simply waited for me to go on. I knew she was highly unlikely to offer up her wife in the first instance, but a desperate part of me hoped that might happen anyway.
‘She’s had an infection,’ I whispered. ‘Gracie. I’m not sure how bad it’s been, because the doctor didn’t go into detail, but it was enough to force her into more chemo, and to push back the transplant. I’m so unbelievably terrified that the infection might get worse overnight, and these days with her might be the last, but whenever I’m with her I’m just so wracked with worry that I can’t … I can’t really be with her. Does that makes sense?’
‘Perfect sense.’
Deep inhale, deep exhale . ‘I started calling private practices, hoping one of them might be able to do the procedure sooner. But I don’t have insurance, so they wouldn’t even let me register as a patient.’
‘These things can be very complicated.’
Her immaculate composure made me want to drop to my knees, throw my arms round her ankles and beg and beg and beg. Instead I just mumbled, ‘I don’t know what to do.’
She considered this for a moment. ‘I think the only thing you can do is sit with your difficult feelings, and process them as best you can. And that’s why I’m here. I’m glad you’ve come back, Branwen. I think this is a good place for you to be at a time like this.’
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I pushed on. ‘Do you know if surgeons ever do pro bono work?’
‘It’s highly unusual. There’s no real need, thanks to the NHS. But I suppose it’s not impossible.’
‘In what circumstances might one consider it?’
‘I’m not too familiar with the intricacies.’ I could hear the beginnings of a frown in her voice. ‘You look very tired, Branwen.’
‘Like I said, I can’t sleep.’ Tears sprang to my eyes, and I let them fall. Not just because I needed the catharsis, but because they might work in my favour in convincing Dr Chiang. ‘And it’s a vicious cycle, because the less I sleep for fear of dying, the higher the chances of dying from sleep deprivation.’
I looked up to see her face etched with concern.
‘If it helps, I don’t think it’s possible to die from sleep deprivation in such a narrow timeframe.’ She rubbed her temple with her forefinger, and the sapphire of her engagement ring glinted in the light. ‘It would take months and months. You might hallucinate, yes, but your body will take over eventually. It’ll force you to sleep.’
Time to take it up a notch. I’d never been a great actress, but I just had to hope she was in a receptive, uncynical mood.
‘What if I do something dangerous while hallucinating?’ I wailed, dropping my head into my hands. ‘Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dr Chiang hurriedly. ‘It wasn’t my intention to put another troubling thought in your head.’
‘I know.’ I sniffed, wiping at my cheeks with my jumper sleeve. ‘I’m just so tired. And so scared.’ Both were true enough.
‘Oh, Branwen. You’re going through such a difficult thing.’
‘Do you know anyone who might be able to help me?’ I said desperately, aware of how manic my wide, pink-rimmed eyes must look. ‘Does your wife know anyone who’d be willing to take on a pro bono patient?’
For a moment Dr Chiang didn’t speak, but this time it was not an invitation for me to continue. It was a clear weighing of her words. She shifted slightly in her chair.
‘Is that why you came back to me?’ she asked evenly. ‘To ask about this?’
I had nothing left to lose. I nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I just … I would do anything to save Gracie.’
‘I see.’ She pulled her cardigan tighter around herself, folding her arms over her chest. It was a closed posture she seldom adopted. Usually she was warm, open. ‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, Branwen. It’s not technically crossing any lines that I’m aware of, but it would be sort of … validating your anxieties. Not that they’re invalid . That’s not what I mean. It’s entirely understandable, how you’re feeling. But I don’t want to affirm this belief that you’re about to die in a freak incident. Does that make sense?’ She looked out of the window on the west side of the room. The sky was darkening into indigo. A wry smile; an attempt to soften the blow. ‘Besides, my wife is so busy that I myself barely see her.’
The rest of the session passed in a haze of disappointment.
It hadn’t worked, and I could barely believe it. That was the great peril of living in perpetual hope, of letting unbridled optimism inform your every move. When things didn’t work out the way you hoped, the way you believed they would, there was also the genuine shock to contend with. A subtle rearranging of your worldview. Unwanted evidence against the faith you held so dear.
It hadn’t worked .
That ever-burning candle of hope in my chest – the one Arden had remarked upon in the blood-soaked trenches of the Great War – sputtered, but it did not extinguish.
Not yet.