The Misadventures of a Playground Mother (23 page)

M
att
and I paused outside the old imposing hospital building, admiring its magnificence. Looking up at the impressive architecture that surrounded us, I imagined the millions of people that must have passed through those doors over the years. The telephone call I had been waiting for had arrived earlier in the week, the diagnosis results were available and an appointment was scheduled with the surgeon. After dropping the children at school and pre-school I couldn't even remember travelling to the hospital that morning; Matt drove. I was dazed and must have been on auto-pilot.

Taking a deep breath, we entered the hospital, which held all the information to my future. Matt squeezed my hand for reassurance. After the receptionist had punched my name into the computer, we were told to take a seat and we would be shown through into the surgeon's office in a moment.

With my backside firmly wedged in the plastic chair, I really didn't know what I was thinking; biting hard on my bottom lip, I tried to keep my emotions under control. My palms were sweating and my head throbbing. Matt sat next to me with a reassuring hand on my knee but in complete silence.

‘Rachel Young,' the voice echoed all around me. I didn't move, I couldn't move.

‘Rachel Young,' the voice sounded again.

Matt touched my knee. ‘That's you.'

I looked up and caught the nurse's eye. ‘Are you Rachel?' I could only manage a nod of my head.

‘This way; would you both like to come through?'

I didn't want to go through anywhere, but somehow my legs moved and my body followed the nurse into the examination room, Matt followed me.

‘Take a seat, the surgeon will be with you in a moment.'

Pulling out a chair, I glanced around the room, still biting hard on my bottom lip as a tear slid down my face. I had no idea what the diagnosis was going to be, but hopefully in a couple of minute's time the tears would be ones of relief. Matt sat down in the chair next to me. Another door into the room opened slowly and the surgeon accompanied by a Macmillan nurse entered. After introducing themselves, they too sat down and checked over my personal details.

It was at this moment I knew exactly what they were going to say.

‘I'm really sorry but the mammogram has revealed you have two tumours in your left breast.'

Nothing in this world prepares you for this type of news. Sinking down heavily into the chair my head was spiralling out of control; it was telling me not to panic. My eyes filled with tears and I tilted my head backwards trying to blink them away. This didn't feel real; I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach. Every emotion surged through my body. I was hearing words all around me but I couldn't absorb any of them.

I was in utter shock; faced with my own mortality I wasn't ready to hear this. There had to be a mistake, I hadn't even felt sick. How could I do this to my wonderful family and my children? Looking at Matt the only words I could say were ‘I'm sorry.' His face too was in utter shock; his eyes too were blinking back the tears.

‘I love you and there's no need to be sorry, we will fight this.' He grabbed my hand and gripped it tightly as if his life depended on it.

The next few minutes were all a bit of a blur. I watched the surgeon's mouth move and heard words such as malignant, scans, lymph nodes and chemotherapy but I couldn't digest any of the information. I had grade three evil inside me; I could remember that much, an aggressive kind they said.

I was to commence chemotherapy as soon as possible. I'd heard the word and read about it in magazines but never quite understood was it was. It was going to be injected directly into my vein. The surgeon and nurse were positive; there was a chink of hope. They explained that chemotherapy was more advanced these days and was a very effective treatment that had helped save millions of lives. The surgeon explained the side-effects of the poison that was to be injected into my body; it might cause nausea and vomiting, and I possibly would feel tired and weak all the time. There would be six sessions of chemotherapy altogether, one every three weeks. Living with and adapting to the side-effects could be very challenging.

Then I heard the words, the words that made me sit up and focus.

‘Three weeks after your chemotherapy starts there will be complete hair loss.'

It was at this point reality smacked me round the face and I didn't think I would ever recover from the shock.

My mind transported me back to the summer of 1995. This was the time when the joys of home perms were all the fashion. My mother borrowed her friend's hairdresser's rollers, and bound my hair into the tightest corkscrew curls that you could ever imagine; I was talk of the town and probably not for all the right reasons. I wanted to be back in 1995, I wanted a wig of curls again.

On the way home from the hospital, I was in complete meltdown. Matt drove me home with one hand on my knee and the other on the steering wheel.

I needed to share my news with my two best friends, I wanted to share the news with Melanie and Sue but I had no idea what I going to say or how they were going to react.

I
decided
to send them both a text; if I phoned them, they would automatically detect the upset in my voice and it wasn't something I wanted to do over the phone.

It read … ‘
Can you both meet me at home in ten minutes it is very urgent x
'

As we pulled onto the drive, Melanie and Sue were already standing outside the front door waiting anxiously. I got out and I was physically shaking as I staggered towards them, my legs were barely able to carry the weight of my body. I opened the front door and my two close friends followed me in silence. They knew there was something seriously wrong. Matt waited in the car. He wanted to give me time to tell my friends, and not surprisingly, needed time to compose himself as best he could. On the way through the hall, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. I knew it had already been a long traumatic day and we were only on lunchtime. My mascara had slipped so far down my face it was no longer accentuating my eyelashes. Instead, it was highlighting very successfully the bags under my eyes. I looked like I had been in physical combat yet it was nothing compared to the battle I was about to fight.

I'd always dreamt of living happily ever after by the sea. That was my dream and I wasn't about to let my dream be taken away from me and certainly not by this evil thing living inside me. I was a fighter with everything to fight for.

Melanie and Sue followed me in to the kitchen.

‘Rachel, whatever is the matter, what's happened?' Melanie asked softly. Tears were already sliding down Sue's cheeks before I even spoke.

Both friends stood in front of me their eyes searching mine for answers. Melanie took a step closer and placed her arm around my shoulder.

‘What is it? You can tell us.'

I wanted to tell them but the lump in my throat got in the way and I lowered my head into Melanie's shoulder, her eyes now pricked with tears.

‘Tell us Rachel, you are beginning to frighten us now,' their eyes were studying me intently.

I took a deep breath, but words failed me; they wouldn't come. I tried again.

‘Something terrible has happened.' There, I had started and I needed to continue.

I knew from the look on their faces their minds must be racing with all sorts of scenarios but my guess was that this one hadn't even crossed their minds. I wished I could turn the clock back but I couldn't. I wished this wasn't happening to my beautiful family but the evil was taking over my body no matter what I wanted.

‘I have cancer, I have cancer.'

There, I had said it. The hardest words I ever had to say.

N
early four weeks on
, it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. You could tell it was just around the corner because in every department store known to man, Wizzard's ‘I Wish it could be Christmas Every Day' was blasting out of the speakers, providing the busy aisles with abundant festive cheer.

I loved this time of year; everything felt magical and everywhere I looked or walked there were jolly Santas and reindeers hanging above my head, wrapped up with colour-coordinated baubles and tinsel that had spiralled out of control.

Matt on the other hand was always ‘bah humbug' when it came to Christmas and the spending of money – being the original Scrooge. With four children, the expense of it all nearly gives him a heart attack. For the sake of marital bliss, I always promised to cut back but I never did.

He does however, love the seasonal foods. My bone of contention is that each year he dances up and down the supermarket aisles filling his trolley with mince pies and twiglets – which the rest of us can't stand – so I can guarantee they will still be gathering dust in the kitchen cupboard in June. But it wouldn't be Christmas without his quirky ways.

Since the first week in September when the children returned to school, I had been putting away a few Christmas presents, well you have to with four children otherwise it becomes a very expensive time of year. I'm glad that I used my initiative and got started early because the last couple of weeks had been traumatic to say the least.

Christmas is always the perfect time to lose myself in family life. I cast my mind back to Christmas as a child; it was a very different time. Every year my Mother would stress over decorating the Christmas tree. The decorating of the tree is usually a family ritual but not when I was growing up – we were never allowed to get involved. We would be sent to bed but could clearly hear her muttering that the baubles didn't hang symmetrically or the tinsel didn't trail evenly. To add insult to injury, there were never any chocolate novelties hanging from the fake plastic branches because they had all been devoured by my mother. In the morning when we awoke, there was usually an empty bottle of sherry lying under the tree which my mother always swore blind had been used in the trifle. Sometimes the tree wouldn't appear until Christmas Eve, despite our constant longing but my father, who had to take life into his own hands by climbing into the loft for the moth-ridden thing, used to put it off until the very last moment.

My mother was never a Christmas person; her entire day was filled with worry. She spent the most of the day huffing and puffing whilst peeling vegetables, before attempting to saw the turkey in half which was always too large to wedge into the oven. My father did what he did best and disappeared to the local pub to stay out of the way. It was only after dinner had been consumed that the stress began to lift for my mother and usually when gallons of alcohol had been consumed.

Smiling to myself while I recalled those memories, I caught my reflection in the mirror. The image that was looking back at me was not one that I recognised. The chemo had taken its toll and as predicted, my hair was starting to thin, Apart from that though, I didn't scrub up too badly. I couldn't describe myself as glamorous but there was a positive twinkle in my eyes.

Matt had been fantastic; although devastated by the initial diagnosis, he soon went into positive overload. Cutting his hours back at work, he took over all the household duties and I didn't need to lift a finger, which was a relief as the sickness had taken over my life. The hardest part had been telling the children. Trying to keep as normal a routine as possible, we kept calm, encouraged them to ask questions and frequently reassured them of our love. We didn't hide anything from them and Eva and Samuel were involved in some very important duties, which included the selection of my wig. I wanted to be ready for the hair loss and even before my hair fell out, I wore the wig around the house so everyone could get use to my new hairstyle.

The first time I took my wig out of the box and placed it on my head, I was immediately transported back to 1995. I was certainly no square with my corkscrew hair and I didn't doubt for a moment the sniggers I would hear from the Playground Mafia once they clocked my new hair style. But I didn't care, the only people that were important were my family and friends, these people and what they thought no longer had a place in my life.

Sue and Melanie were sworn to secrecy. They were brilliant, rallying round to support me by taking the children to and from school. Once they were over the initial devastation of the situation Melanie with her wicked sense of humour made me laugh on numerous occasions ‘Well, Young, if we can survive Penelope, Botox Bernie and the Playground Mafia we can survive anything. This cancer thing will be a doddle!'

Melanie and Sue were wonderful friends, shielding me from stress and lifting my spirits at every opportunity; and Matt – well he was the best husband in the world that anyone could hope for.

The year was drawing to an end. It had flown by so fast and I couldn't quite believe I had survived another year of village life. The holiday with Penelope and our lottery win seemed like a distant memory; the money was still sitting in the bank with hardly a penny spent.

Christmas was an enjoyable family affair; Matt, inspired by Jamie Oliver, dished up a succulent mouth-watering turkey with homemade cranberry stuffing and all the trimmings and as usual, the children polished off their selection boxes for breakfast. He was fantastic; he did everything, the cooking, the cleaning and entertaining the children whilst I, exhausted, rested on the couch, but still involved, loving to watch my excited children.

After dinner, the dog's bowl was filled with leftover sprouts. No one in our family were sprouts' fans – like the mince pies and Twiglets – I'm not sure why Matt insisted on buying them every year. He says that it isn't Christmas if there are no sprouts, but unfortunately for the dog, for no one will go near him for days, until he begins to smell less sprouty.

This year's Christmas Day had been as perfect as it could be. Both Matt and I tried to keep everything as normal as possible for the children's sake. Coronation Street played out from the television and yet another Christmas Day baby was born – clearly a must at Christmas for any soap opera.

Out of all the children, Eva was the most affected. Matt and I could see in her eyes how frightened she was. Being the eldest she knew what having cancer meant but she was on a mission and fussed around me continuously making sure I was always comfortable. I was so proud of the way she handled everything, I was so proud of them all. She never left my side all day. Every time I fell asleep, she held my hand, waiting for me to wake.

The nausea had been simply awful, there is no other way to describe it and Eva was the perfect nurse reminding me to take my anti-sickness drugs. As a family we kept everything positive, there was no other way and cuddles with the children were dished out at every opportunity.

Once Christmas was behind us, the countdown to my birthday began again. It only seemed two minutes ago that we were stood watching Frisky Pensioner leave his house one last time on the paramedics' trolley. This year, birthday celebrations would be low key, I wasn't up to hosting any New Year parties but I did want to spend quality time with my family and close friends.

We couldn't believe how things had changed for us and for our friends too over the past year. Rupert was all loved up with Sue and they made a perfect couple. He had finally changed his ways, and with full support from Sue, he was fighting Penelope for custody of the children. Sue was simply a lovely person and I was very fortunate she had come into my life at such a difficult time.

Melanie and the Farrier – I couldn't get used to calling him John – were still besotted with each other and were clearly meant to be together. Melanie had news of her own – she and the Farrier were expecting a baby and she was certainly outdoing me on the sickness front – her morning sickness was definitely taking its toll.

The six of us had decided there would be no madness this year. However, Rupert suggested if I could manage an hour that as it had been a hell of a year for all of us, that a small tipple wouldn't go amiss on New Year's Eve. So with a little persuasion, Sue's mother kindly agreed to babysit all of the children at our house so we could take the short walk down to the local pub to soak up some of the atmosphere.