From Medicine to Miracle: How My Faith Overcame Cancer. Dr. Self Mary
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idea,’ Hellie says as she pushes me briskly out of the ward. ‘From now on we will all three of us share legs. That makes one point something each!’
‘Bye-bye, Ward Eight!’ we shout together.
Dad is waiting with the car at the front of the hospital. He straps me in the front and speaks to Hellie.
‘You must hold Mary’s shoulders from behind so she doesn’t overbalance when I go round corners.’
I hold tightly to the car seat, for I am indeed unbalanced. He drives very slowly and, by the time we get home, I feel like a cripple. I am exhausted and I haven’t done anything. Mum has cooked a special dinner for me but, having eaten it, I am ready for bed. I hear the door banging and the loud voice of my older brother. He has come home from university to see me.
‘Where’s my little sister?’ I hear him shout. He comes bounding in. ‘You look great!’ he says to me and doesn’t even look at my wheelchair. ‘Have a present from the gang at uni!’ and he fastens a delicate gold bracelet around my wrist.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say and admire it. He has made me feel special and worthy.
‘Okay, so it’s up the stairs, is it?’ and he scoops me up in his arms and climbs the stairs two at a time. Hellie comes up to our pretty room, too, and sits on the bed with me.
‘I’ll stay with you, Mary,’ she says and strokes my hair. ‘When you wake up in the morning, Franny will be here too.’ She kisses me gently and lies down beside me. I feel safe and loved.
I sleep heavily and when I wake it is light and the room is empty. It must be quite late in the morning. I hear voices chattering downstairs and recognize Franny’s laughter. I call down the stairs as loudly as I can. My two sisters run up to see me and we all have a huge hug.
‘Oh, it’s so good to be back here with you both,’ I say. ‘What shall we do today?’
‘We are all going out for lunch later on – somewhere really smart!’
‘This afternoon we’ve arranged for some of your friends to come over.’
‘Perhaps this morning we can go out for a walk.’ I want to get out in the fresh air again. I have been deprived of the outside world. My sisters pass me my clothes. Undressed, I am a little self-conscious these days.
‘Mary, you are so thin,’ Hellie notices. ‘I must tell Mum you need feeding up.’
Franny hunts around the room for her camera and then calls my brother to carry me downstairs again. Everything seems so difficult now. I think back to how easy it used to be to run downstairs two at a time. Now getting downstairs is a huge performance.
‘I want some pictures of you two to take back to college with me,’ Franny explains as she pushes my wheelchair up to the park.
Even though it is still January, it is mild with a hint of spring in the air. I shiver, though, after only a few minutes. My body has been in a warm hospital for so long I have forgotten what it’s like to feel cold. I look at the snowdrops and the bulbs pushing through the soil and wonder to myself whether I will ever see them flower. I have started to count in days and weeks. I have begun to set myself little goals to aim for. I decide to set myself one now. Next weekend the snowdrops will just about be flowering so that will be my goal – to come here and see the snowdrops. At the park we have fun and I enjoy myself but I am also aware that everything now is tinged with sadness. Nothing is the same and never will be. My sisters and I have been up here so often, running and jumping and practising our gymnastics. I will never do these things again. But I am here. I am alive. I shudder as I think back to Thursday morning and my trip down the long corridor. Franny sees me shiver.
‘Time to get you home,’ she says. ‘But first a photo!’ She asks a passing dog-walker to picture the three of us. He looks at me sympathetically. I see the look of pity in his eyes as my sisters help me stand. It suddenly strikes me, as he is snapping away, that these may be the last photos of us three girls together. I realize now why Franny wanted to bring her camera. Aim for the snowdrops, I tell myself. Then aim for the daffodils. For after the winter comes springtime and new life.
At lunchtime my dad takes us all out for a treat. We have a wonderful time at the restaurant. The whole family is together again. I watch my mum and dad looking at us all and I realize they are thinking the same as Franny. They are wondering how many more times we shall all be together like this. I sit between my two sisters. I spend a lot of time talking to Martin and telling him about God helping me through my illness. I thought that being strong in all this would bring him back to God, but it has had the opposite effect. He hates God now for allowing it to happen. He is angry, he says, at what I have gone through. Why didn’t God intervene and rescue you, he asks me, and I don’t know how to answer. Why should you have to suffer this way, he says. My little brother, Adrian, is silent. He doesn’t say a word. He won’t speak to my dad and barely looks at my mum. It seems to me he blames them for making the decision to allow the operation. He thinks it is their fault that I have lost my leg.
With a shock I realize our entire family has been touched by my illness. I see now that we all have cancer one way or another. We all feel grief, anger and guilt. We all feel pain and uncertainty. We are all very scared.
Sunday morning arrives and with it the usual church routine. Because I am home the entire family goes to Mass, even Martin, but he sits there stony-faced. I sit in my wheelchair at the side of the hard church bench, feeling conspicuous and on display. At the end of Mass a large crowd of well-wishers gathers around me. Lots of people come over and clasp my hand. ‘You’re so brave!’ they all say to me and I feel bewildered at their choice of words. They all smile sweetly and treat me like some sort of saint. I am not brave at all. I just don’t have a choice. If there was an easier way I would take it – although I now know I am not yet ready for suicide. After a while I tire of the trite platitudes and ask my sisters to take me home.
Franny has a train to catch after lunch and I cry as she leaves. She promises to write and come over and see me in Christie’s. Hellie gets stuck into her homework and Adrian heads off to practise his music. Soon Martin has to return as well.
‘See you in Manchester, Sis,’ he promises. The house is all too quiet. I potter around in my wheelchair, feeling gloomy.
Later, I am sent an invitation to join the God Squad for an Italian meal. Except for pizzas, I have never had Italian food before. I am told I must order mushrooms and garlic bread.
As I prepare to set off, I think how strange it is – there are so many things I have never done. I have never eaten garlic bread before. I’ve never been abroad. I’ve never made love with anybody and I’ll never wear a beautiful white wedding dress. I’ve never drunk red wine in a grown-up restaurant. I haven’t seen medical school. I might not even make it to my A levels. And, do you know, I have never held a sweet newborn baby. Let alone had my own child which will never, ever be. And that makes me so unhappy.
I make a mental list of all the things I would like to do. I start to imagine medical school. I remember stories Dr Jimmy told me to make me laugh. It must be such fun, apart from dissecting bodies.
The restaurant is dark and cosy. I have never been anywhere like it before. There are bright candles in bottles, and guitar music plays in the background. Waiters appear carrying delicious creations, and one rushes over. He rearranges the tables and fits us in a corner. I order mushrooms, garlic bread and cannelloni. We drink red wine and feel very grown-up. The meal arrives and I taste it.
‘It’s delicious!’ I say, and everyone laughs. We have a good time; the food is wonderful, the waiter tops up our glasses and we all joke and laugh about school. The evening rushes by and, before I know it, we reach our curfew. But, back home, I lie in my bed dreading what lies ahead at Christie’s. I want time to stop. I cuddle up to my sister. She stirs in her sleep and flings her arm protectively around me.
I think back to my happiest moment with my sisters when we all ran hand in hand down a Scottish mountain, our cheeks red and our hair flying loose. We sat on a huge boulder overlooking a loch