Chapter 9
9
Gwen leafed through her magazine as she sat in the waiting room of the GP surgery where she’d been a patient for more than forty years. She’d attempted to read the same article three times about how to ‘eat clean for a glowing complexion’, without taking a single word of it in, when her phone buzzed with a text. It was from Barry.
Let me know what the doctor says and remember you promised to be honest. Don’t just pretend everything is okay, when she asks. We need to get this sorted out and, whatever’s wrong, I’ll be there for you every step of the way. Love you so much Gee xxxxxxx
He always signed his messages off with seven kisses, one for every decade of Gwen’s life. Usually it made her smile to see the string of kisses, but not today. Today all she could think about was what the doctor might say. Even her favourite pastime of people watching held no appeal. She just wanted the next half an hour or so to be over. If her GP suggested she had tests to find out whether or not the symptoms she was experiencing were the early stages of aphasia, she wasn’t sure she could go ahead, despite promising Barry she’d do whatever it took to get to the bottom of the problem. He’d wanted to come with her to the appointment, and promising him that she’d be honest with the GP had been the only way to persuade him to stay at home. She didn’t want to go back on a promise, because it was one of the foundations of their marriage that they didn’t do that. But if it had been possible to cross her fingers at the same time as typing her response, she would have.
I’ll tell her everything, I promise. Love you xxx
Gwen flicked over another page in the magazine, flinching as she read the headline of the next article.
Twenty ways to fight dementia before it’s too late
What if it’s already too late? The voice in her head was back again, outlining her deepest fears as if they hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind for weeks. Aphasia was categorised as a form of dementia, but it had its own unique brand of cruelty. Gwen was her mother’s daughter in so many ways. Despite living half a mile from her nearest neighbour, Alys Evans had loved people. There was nothing she liked better than a good chat, and would always have a cuppa ready for the postie, the milkman, or anyone else who might venture up to Dyffryn farm.
When aphasia had stolen Alys’s words, Gwen had witnessed her mother’s frustration, and the inability to communicate was what had made the light go out in Alys’s eyes. She was cast adrift, a prisoner in her own body, the words she wanted to say trapped inside her, getting further and further out of reach as time went on.
Gwen’s whole life had been built around her love of interacting with other people. The words of encouragement she’d spoken to women in labour, and the advice she dispensed with the sole desire of helping other people feel better about a difficult situation, had felt like her super power. She was self-aware enough to know that sometimes she put her foot in it, but even then she could always try to find a better way of saying what needed to be said. And sometimes things really did need to be said. When other people might shy away from difficult conversations, Gwen never did. It was who she was, except soon it might not be and the thought terrified her.
Gwen Jones to Room 3
The announcement flashed up on the digital screen in front of her and Gwen stuffed the magazine into her bag. It was silly, she knew she wasn’t going to get any results today, even if she agreed to be tested, but that didn’t stop her legs from trembling as she stood up. For a moment she even considered turning around and walking away. She could pretend to Barry that she’d seen the GP and that the tests had been ordered. What she’d do further down the line she didn’t know, but that would be a problem for another day. Despite the urge to run almost taking over, something propelled her forward, and she knocked tentatively on the door to Room 3.
‘Come in,’ Dr Gustafsson called out, and she looked up and smiled as Gwen pushed open the door, her voice sounding far too upbeat as she continued. ‘Hi Gwen, long time, no see. How’s retirement suiting you?’
Gwen had got to know Vera Gustafsson quite well over the years, especially during her time at the Port Agnes midwifery unit. Vera was in her late fifties and exuded the sort of warmth that all GPs ought to possess. She cared about her patients, Gwen had experienced that on both a personal and professional basis, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy to fob Vera off even if she tried.
‘I love it. Three or four shifts a week at the hospital and plenty of time for… other stuff.’ Gwen forced a smile, she’d been intending to list some of the things keeping her busy, but the words had disappeared again, like water swirling down a plughole.
‘Sounds like nothing’s changed, Gwen. Still putting the rest of us to shame!’ Vera gestured toward the chair next to her desk. ‘Come and take a seat and tell me what I can do for you. I must admit I was surprised to see your name on the list of patients; it’s been ages since you’ve had an appointment.’
‘I know how busy you are and it’s probably nothing.’ Gwen was silently praying she was right, but she had too much medical knowledge to really believe that was true.
‘I’m never too busy to see my patients, Gwen, especially one like you.’ Vera’s tone was gentle but insistent. ‘What seems to be the problem?’
‘I feel a lot like I did during the menopause.’ It wasn’t a lie. The confusion that had fogged her brain back then had felt as though it was never going to lift, but it had. There’d been a cure, or at least a solution, that had eventually made her feel more like the old Gwen. She was pinning all her hopes on a similar outcome this time around.
‘What kind of symptoms are you having?’
‘I just feel…’ She hesitated again, knowing that if she crossed the line there would be no going back. Once she knew if she was in the early stages of PPA, she’d never be able to ‘un-know’ it. She’d have a ticking time bomb in her brain, and there’d be nothing she could do to stop the clock from counting down.
‘You can tell me, whatever it is, I guarantee I’ll have heard it before.’ Vera gave her a sympathetic smile and Gwen took a deep breath.
‘I just don’t feel like me.’
‘Do you mean physically or emotionally?’
‘Both, I suppose.’ Gwen sighed. ‘I’ve lost all my oomph and I’ve been struggling to think straight.’
‘How long has that been going on?’ Vera pushed her glasses up her nose and Gwen swallowed hard. She didn’t want to admit just how long she’d been feeling this way.
‘Not long.’
‘Confusion can often be the result of a UTI. Have you had any physical symptoms of one?’
‘I have been needing to go for a wee more often, but at my age…’ Gwen rolled her eyes and a thought popped in to her head that made her next smile a genuine one. ‘An old school friend of mine from back in Wales called me a few months ago, to say things had got so bad with her bladder weakness that she was going into hospital to have a cafetiere fitted!’
‘No, she didn’t say that!’ Vera’s laughter filled the space between them.
‘She did, and I told her to remind me never to have a coffee at her house.’ Gwen laughed too, and for a moment she felt as though she was back, and that maybe she’d been making far too much of the symptoms she’d been experiencing.
‘That’s so funny, but all joking aside, I do think there’s a good chance you’ve got a UTI and I’d like to rule that out before we look at any other possibilities.’ Vera’s glasses had slid down her nose again, and she pushed them back into position for a second time. ‘Do you think you might be able to squeeze out a sample for me, so that we can test it now?’
‘I can give it a go.’ Less than five minutes later the results were in. Vera had performed a dipstick test and, to Gwen’s surprise and relief, she did have a UTI.
‘That could explain a lot, especially if you’ve had an untreated infection for a while.’ Vera gave her a reassuring smile. ‘But I’d like to run some blood tests too, to make sure there’s nothing else going on.’
‘Okay.’ Gwen nodded. Blood tests she could cope with; they wouldn’t show up anything she didn’t want to know about and Barry would be satisfied by the news that the doctor had ordered further tests. For now she was choosing to believe that the antibiotics Vera prescribed her for the UTI would resolve all the issues. She wasn’t going to think about the whole list of symptoms she hadn’t mentioned, which deep down she knew weren’t the result of a UTI. Ignorance was a form of bliss and she wasn’t ready to give that up just yet.