Chapter 9
‘When I’m finished with all this cancer business, I’m going to properly shake up my life.’
Gemma’s first patient of the week, Jenny, had recently started her second round of chemotherapy. Gemma called Jenny her favourite repeat customer, which made Jenny chuckle. It was an in-joke, and Gemma suspected Jenny knew she wasn’t the only one she attributed the compliment to.
‘How are you going to do that?’ Gemma asked, as she hung the chemo line.
‘After my first round, my husband and I booked a holiday in France, which was lovely and all that but we could have picked somewhere different. At the very least, somewhere I’d never been to before.’
‘Where are you thinking this time?’
‘Rwanda. Trekking to see the gorillas.’
Jenny was seventy-nine. Gemma knew, from friends of her parents who’d done it, that gorilla trekking was challenging, but she wasn’t about to put a dent in Jenny’s enthusiasm. ‘Wouldn’t that be exciting?’ Gemma said.
‘Maybe too exciting for Derek. He has a heart condition.’
‘Ah,’ Gemma said, checking Jenny’s vital signs: blood pressure, pulse, respiratory rate and temperature.
‘My thoughts exactly. At our age, you’ve got to tone down the excitement, and consider the cost of it all, plus travel insurance. What about you? Have you ever shaken up your life?’ Jenny’s tiny body nestled into the curves of the large black armchair as though it were about to swallow her whole.
‘Not really. I like things as they are. I like my job. I like my house …’ Gemma let the words trail off as she realised that Adam had done such a superlative job of shaking up her life that she didn’t need to.
She gritted her teeth, determined not to lose it in front of a patient.
‘There you are. You’re all set up. Will you be all right if I go and check on another patient? ’
‘Of course. My son gave me a travel book for my birthday. I’m going to do some armchair holidaying. Hopefully it’ll take my mind off all of this.’ Jenny waved her free hand to indicate the IV line. Then she sighed and buried her head in the book.
After Jenny, Gemma had four other regulars: Doug, Sophie, Michelle and Hugh.
Her day was looking reassuringly repetitive.
Greet the patients, administer pre-meds, hang the chemo line, monitor patients’ vitals, say goodbye.
Then, she had a new patient, Andie, a fifteen-year-old skateboarder whose impending intensive treatment was not one she wished to inflict on anyone, let alone a teenager whose life had barely begun.
So when Andie asked if she could skateboard down the disability ramp when they left, Gemma said, ‘Of course you can,’ even though it wasn’t strictly allowed.
Lunch ended up being later than usual – at half-two – because Doug had an immediate reaction to the chemotherapy and suddenly found it hard to breathe. Once they’d fixed the problem, Gemma sat with him until she thought he was recovered enough to be left again.
Gemma’s colleague Georgie was in the staffroom, finishing a salad. ‘Is Doug okay?’ she asked.
‘He’s shaken but stoic,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m going to recommend that a friend or family member sit with him next time in case he has another adverse reaction.’
‘Good idea.’ Georgie skewered some kale.
Gemma unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite.
‘Hey, you know that party I wanted you to come to?’ Georgie said. ‘I got chatting to another guy, much more my type, and he asked me out.’
‘A real-life dating invite!’ Gemma said. ‘How very noughties.’
‘I know. You should try it.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Oh, come on. All you seem to do is work and mudlark.’
‘I like my hobby.’
‘I know and that’s good. But it’s like you’re so preoccupied with the past that you’re not thinking about the future.’
‘How can I think about the future when I’m still trying to get my head around the present?’ Gemma didn’t mean to raise her voice.
‘I know, sorry.’
‘At least with the past, it’s comforting and reliable. Much like M&S pants,’ Gemma said.
‘M&S pants? If they’re the only type of undies you wear, we’ve got to take you shopping.’
Gemma had no desire to go lingerie shopping.
‘Once you wear silk and lace, you’ll never go back. And, if you want to meet someone again …’ Georgie raised her eyebrows.
‘I don’t want to meet anyone. I’m not even divorced yet.’
‘That doesn’t have to stop you. You’re separated.’
‘That may be fine for others but not for me.’
‘You’ll get there.’
It was time to change the subject. ‘I thought you were supposed to be telling me about this guy you met,’ Gemma said.
Georgie smiled and got a faraway look in her eyes. ‘His name’s Johnny and he’s a product designer. He’s taller than me, but not by much, and his eyes are like Marmite—’
‘Marmite?’ Gemma said. Was this the same person who preferred reading non-fiction to avoid purple prose and metaphors?
‘Yes, dark like the night. And best of all, he didn’t flinch when I said I don’t care about football – he’s a fanatic – or that I’ve been known to walk in my sleep.’ Georgie gazed into her salad as if her new date was sitting on a chickpea and waving at her.
‘Wow, the love bug has bitten,’ Gemma said.
She ate some more of her sandwich but found she’d lost her appetite. Whether Georgie’s infatuation lasted or not, the fact remained that Gemma was about to lose her last single friend.