Читать книгу From Medicine to Miracle: How My Faith Overcame Cancer - Dr. Self Mary - Страница 8

This is the first day I have had any time to myself since the awful moment I woke up and discovered the miracle had failed. I feel as if I am living in another world, a world that I don’t want to be in. People come and go in my room and I talk to them but I cannot remember what I have said. I smile and nod, I even pray with them, but it cannot be me. I feel numb, detached and unreal. I am living in a horrible dream and soon I will wake up again. They tell me I am brave and my faith is an inspiration but I do not even know what I am saying. I don’t want to be brave; I want to be whole. I don’t want to be an inspiration; I would rather be beautiful.

If I lie here with my eyes closed, I can feel my left leg – every inch of it. I am keeping my eyes closed so I don’t have to be in this world where terrible things happen. I can pretend I am somewhere, anywhere, just as long as I have my leg back. Two days have gone by now and I have not looked under the sheets yet. The nurses come and fuss, changing dressings and pulling at the tubes draining my bladder and my wounds. Dr Jimmy hangs up bags of blood to run through my drip and I watch the bright red fluid feeding me back to life, a life that I no longer recognize.

‘You’re looking better,’ they say to me. I want to scream at them.

‘No, I am never going to look better,’ I want to say.

Today is Monday 10 January 1983. They took my leg on Friday. I cannot remember Saturday. I kept drifting in and out of sleep. Sometimes I woke up and thought my leg was there and then, other times, I knew it wasn’t. My mum was always there for me, holding me like a baby and stroking my hair. I remember she pulled my hands away time and time again when I tried to explore my damaged body. Except it is not my body any more; I do not recognize it. Yesterday I woke up a little bit more but, when I did, I wanted to be asleep again because it was hurting so much. Pains as sharp as hot pins started to shoot down my missing leg from hip to toe and what is left of it started to jump with a life of its own.

I was so scared and frightened and I began to cry. Dr Jimmy came and explained it is caused by the nerves beginning to learn that my leg is no longer there. He weighted my stump down with some little bags of sand. He asked me if I wanted to look at it but I couldn’t. I don’t want to see it, ever. I am just going to lie here and pretend my leg is still there.

Yesterday I had loads of visitors. My best friend, Adele, surprised me by turning up. She is stunning-looking: blonde, tall and leggy. I told her I felt ugly and she is going to help me feel better about that. She promised to bring me in some pretty nightdresses and then she brushed my hair for me. She actually said it looked as if the poison was out of my body. She said I looked healthier already. I guess in a way she is right; I suppose the cancer was poisoning me. But I have been wondering if maybe it would have been better to be poisoned.

I asked Dr Jimmy how long the jumping and the pains would go on for. He said it could take a long time and the phantom feelings might always stay with me. He said I will get used to it and adapt, but I can’t see how. It is really annoying me that I cannot cross my feet. I keep moving as if to, and then I realize the phantom leg can’t move. It is paralysed. Normally, I can feel my two knees gently touching each other and lying there side by side like two good friends. Now there is only one knee in the bed. I want to cry, I want to shout and scream, but I can’t; I feel frozen. It is as if time inside has stopped and everything else around me is carrying on.

When I get the pains I ask the nurses for an injection. It hurts when they do it but then it makes me feel lovely, all floaty and dreamy. Nothing seems to matter to me then, not even my missing leg. I feel extraordinarily happy after it so I ask the nurses for the injection as often as I can. It is like lying on a cloud and it makes me laugh a lot. They also give me tablets which just make me relax and sleep, so I can lie here and dream away and not have to think about the real world. I think I will stay here for as long as I can.

Because it was Sunday yesterday, loads of priests came to see me. It looked a bit like Vatican City. One of the older ones brought me Communion and said a prayer but it sounded hollow. He prayed for me to be strengthened instead of healed. I don’t want to be strengthened; I want my leg back. I do not understand why the miracle didn’t work despite the fact that everybody prayed so hard for healing. I was convinced God was going to save my leg. I thought God always heard our prayers. I have so many questions and no answers. When I ask the priests they say there is a purpose behind it all. They say God uses suffering. I don’t want to be used any more. If I pray hard enough I know I will have my leg back. That would be the second miracle. Hopefully it will happen soon. I know I am going to walk out of here on two healthy legs. Then the cancer will disappear, which will be the third miracle. Then everybody will believe in God – they would have to, if a leg grew back. That is probably why God has done this to me! Yes, that is His purpose. He is going to use me, just as I asked that day in the church in the Lake District.

Mum and Dad have been with me around the clock since the amputation. I cannot bear to see them crying and so sad. I have been trying to tell them God is going to heal me but somehow it seems to make them feel worse. I need to be strong for them so they don’t get hurt any more. I want to be brave so they will be happy again. I feel guilty because I have made them so upset. They ask me how I am and I say I am all right because I hate to see them this worried. And I will be all right, once I get my leg back.

I am awoken from my daydreams by a knock on the door. It is early in the morning, so it can’t be more visitors. Mr Peach enters my room.

‘Hello, my brave Little Lady,’ he greets me, and immediately I feel better. ‘How is my star patient?’

I want to please him and bask in his admiration, for he is my hero.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, and smile.

‘How is your pain today?’

‘It’s not very nice. I can feel my leg as if it’s still there and I keep feeling as if somebody is pricking it with sharp pins. Dr Jimmy told me the pains might be around for a long time.’ I wait for him to answer, holding my breath. Maybe Jimmy got it wrong.

‘Yes, it’s true,’ he agrees. ‘Phantom legs sometimes stay for life, although the unpleasant sensations will hopefully get less.’

‘But how can I live with it? It’s so strange!’

‘I know it sounds unbelievable now,’ he explains, slowly, ‘but your mind will adapt. Lots of amputees say they just learn to ignore their phantoms.’

I find it hard to believe that I will ever be able to ignore the ghost of my leg and then I remember with a rush of relief that I won’t have to, once the second miracle works.

‘God is going to heal me, Mr Peach,’ I say seriously. He looks at me cautiously.

‘Mary, it will take time to adjust to losing your leg. It’s a bit like losing somebody you love. You will need time to grieve.’

I laugh nonchalantly and say, ‘Okay, Mr Peach.’ Inside I know he will be amazed at what will happen. I can’t wait to see his face when my leg has grown back. I decide not to tell him because I don’t think he believes in God. It will be great, though, when he is converted by the miracle. How pleased the God Squad will be, too.

He goes on to explain what will happen next.

‘The operation is over, Mary, but there is a lot of work to be done now. We need to get you up and about, so we have to start some physiotherapy to help you learn to balance and strengthen your muscles. First of all, we need to get you sitting upright again.’

‘Well, that’s not difficult is it?’ I ask him curiously.

I have been lying flat on my back for two weeks now and I can’t wait to sit up again. This view of the ceiling is getting dull!

‘Let’s try, then, shall we?’ He laughs and his strong arms lift me off the pillow for a few seconds so I am sitting upright. The room begins to lurch crazily and my head is in a spin.

‘Help!’ I cry. ‘Put me down!’

‘Your body has to learn to walk and balance all over again.’

‘It’s like being on a ship! How long will it be like this?’

‘We will sit you up a little bit each day, beginning tomorrow, and then maybe by the end of the week we can get you out into a chair.’

I sink back on my soft pillows, exhausted. He turns to the nurse and issues further instructions.

‘Drip and catheter out tomorrow, Sister.’ He waves to me and is gone.

I replay the conversation. ‘I must not doubt,’ I think to myself. ‘God will give me back my leg so I won’t need stupid physiotherapy.’ I close my eyes and return to my little fantasy world.

Some time later I open my eyes and see Hellie sitting beside me. Because of the pain and the anaesthetic, I have not been able to talk to her since the operation. She is dressed in her school uniform and I remember it is the first day of a new term. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears.

‘Hello, Big Sis,’ and she gives me a hug. It feels so good to be held close to a warm, healthy body. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I missed you, too.’

‘I love you, Mary.’

‘I love you, too.’ We hug again and laugh. We hug so much, she knocks the cupboard by the side of the bed. There is a huge crash and water, flowers and glass end up all over the floor. We look at each other, Hellie and I, our eyes wide with alarm. Time is frozen, for so much is broken. I cannot decide if I should laugh or cry and I check out my sister’s reaction.

‘Whoops!’ she says slowly. We laugh until we cry, the tears rolling down our cheeks, and a nurse comes in to tell Hellie off.

‘I am so glad to see you at last,’ Hellie says. ‘You don’t know what it’s been like!’

‘Tell me, I want to know.’

She looks at me and rolls her eyes. ‘Everyone has been upset and crying.’

‘When did you find out about my leg?’ I ask her.

‘Thursday night. Mr Peach came to see Mum and Dad and they spent ages talking. I heard Mum crying. Then, when he left, Mum and Dad told Martin and me. Adrian doesn’t know yet – he’s away on holiday, remember? He comes back tomorrow.’

‘What about Franny?’ I ask, recalling that she is away at college.

‘Pastor Tony told Franny. She’s coming to see you this weekend. Tony has been really fantastic, ringing Mum and Dad every day. Of course, everybody is praying at church and the priests are helping Mum and Dad. They are clinging on to their faith.’

‘Hellie, does Martyn know yet?’ I have been thinking about him a lot and wondering who told him. He will feel guilty, I know.

She looks at me hesitantly. ‘No-one told him. He found out in assembly this morning. Mr McCarthy announced about your illness. Martyn walked out of the hall.’

‘Oh no!’ I feel a pang of pain and compassion for him and, looking away, I fight back more tears.

‘Anyway, I’m here to cheer you up,’ she says briskly, handing me a tiny package.

‘What’s this for?’

‘It’s from the folk group, the God Squad, everyone – go on, open it.’

I open the neatly wrapped package to find a gold bracelet and pretty tins of make-up. I look for a few seconds, bewildered, not knowing what to do next.

‘Right, my girl, time to do your make-up! You are going to look great when I’ve finished with you!’ She works silently on my face and hair for a few minutes, then sits back and looks at me.

‘You look gorgeous, you know,’ she says to me. ‘I’m being serious. You kind of have this inner peace. It shines through your eyes.’

‘But I feel so ugly, Hellie,’ I confess softly. ‘My body feels … damaged, mutilated.’

Her eyes hold mine and she is angry. ‘No, Mary! You mustn’t say that, ever! You are not ugly, do you hear me? You have to believe me! It doesn’t matter that you don’t have your leg. You are still beautiful. You are just different!’

‘But I hate being different. I don’t want to be different.’

‘Okay then, you are special.’

‘I don’t want to be special. I want to be ordinary.’

She holds up the mirror for me, exasperated. I have not looked in a mirror for several days. I close my eyes.

‘Open your eyes, Mary. Look! I haven’t done your make-up for nothing.’

I do as I am told. I am stunned. My face is the same – oval, freckled, just a little thinner. My eyes are the same clear blue. Nothing has changed. Except my leg and, with it, my life.

‘Okay, Miss Beautiful,’ she jokes. ‘I hope those Ward Six boys come to visit you, especially the good-looking one! Barry, is it?’ I had mentioned my new friends while Hellie worked.

I blush and she laughs as she leaves the room, waving goodbye and promising to visit me every day.

The room is unbearably quiet afterwards. Is it possible that I can still be considered beautiful after what has been done to me? I cannot see how anyone will ever be able to look at me and love me again. I do not feel whole any more. I have always been strong and healthy. I am the one who wins the athletics races and makes the sports teams. I love to dance and turn cartwheels. Now all I can do is lie in a bed. I think about so many problems in the future – how can I possibly learn to walk if I cannot even sit up unaided?

I try to sleep but I am burdened with a heavy heart. Thoughts of easier days go round and round. I imagine myself running down mountains and leaping through rivers. I feel trapped inside a useless body. The phantom pains remind me again and again of a lifetime to come – however brief it might be – of pain and loss. My fear escalates and I begin to panic. I ring the nurses’ bell and a worried staff nurse appears. ‘What’s wrong, Mary?’ she asks.

‘I can’t sleep. It hurts. Everything hurts.’ I just want out of this frightening world. I want everyone to leave me alone.

‘Okay, love. We’ll sort it for you.’ She sticks a needle in my good thigh and helps me take a tablet. Soon I descend into a tunnel of blackness and glorious silence …

The last few days have been awful. I do not quite understand how I have got where I am. It is now almost a week since my amputation. The days have settled into a routine. It is still horrible, but at least I know what to expect. There are not so many nasty surprises.

Each day Mr Peach asks the nurses to sit me up a little more. Now I am upright and can move around the bed on my own. One by one the various tubes have been taken out of my body: first the drip, then the catheter, then the tubes draining my wounds. It hurt a lot when Mr Peach took those out. In fact I screamed and swore. Now they are all gone and I am left with a bandaged stump. The pains are still there, shooting like lightning, but my phantom has changed. Instead of a strong and healthy ghost leg, it is now swollen and mis-shapen. It feels as if I have a gigantic foot and a short leg. But at least I know it isn’t real. I am learning to push it out of my mind. Every day the physiotherapist comes to see me. Over the week she has made me sit up and close my eyes and try and stay upright. At first I was swaying all over the place but now I am quite steady. She helps me do special exercises. She pummels and pushes me and I feel really tired. She tells me I need to strengthen my muscles so I can learn to walk again. She bandages my stump and tells me I will learn to do this so I can use an artificial limb. But I turn my head away and refuse to look at my mutilated body. What none of them realize is that I will not need to do all this. I am just going along with it until my leg grows back.

Every day I check under the bedclothes to see if it is there yet. It seems to be taking some time. I want Mr Peach to be the first person to know about the miracle so I always check first thing when I wake up. So far it has not happened but I am not giving up faith. I must continue to trust and I know God will use all things for good. I just wish He would hurry up and get me out of this hospital so I can spread the word.

My mum and dad visit every day. Mum is very strong and brings me lovely surprises. She has stopped crying and instead tells me all the news and chats. She and Hellie have been shopping to buy me new clothes. Things I can wear without my leg. She brought some of them in to show me and, of course, they are so fashionable because Hellie chose them. I told her not to throw my tight jeans away, though. Mum seemed a little puzzled when I said that. But then miracles don’t happen in our church. This will be the first. She is going to be amazed when it happens to me! Dad usually comes to see me on his way home from work. He is silent and worried. I don’t think he believes I am going to be healed. Hellie comes to see me at lunchtime and fills me in on the school gossip. She seems to have grown older in the last few days. My little brother Adrian is so upset he will not speak to anybody.

When my friends visit me from school, I tell them it’s okay. I tell them God is using me for His glory. I smile this big smile. I call it my plaster saint smile. But all they do is cry or sit there and ask dumb questions. It feels as if they are children and I am no longer part of their world. And yet I would far rather be part of their world. I don’t want to be here. I wish I could run away. But, of course, I can’t run anywhere now. I read my Bible and my prayer book and I talk about miracles and things like that. I pretend I am amazingly happy because of being close to God. Everybody tells me I am so brave. My faith is very strong, they say, and I’m an inspiration. How can I tell them that sometimes I don’t even believe in God now, let alone heaven, and I am just so scared of it hurting? It already hurts. My leg and my hip and all the injections. I guess dying from cancer must take ages and it must really, really hurt. Where is God? Where is He? Heaven? What is it like? I don’t want to be stuck on a cloud with a pair of wings and loads of old people. It sounds pretty boring. I read this bit about heaven in the Bible – the book of Revelation. It was like reading Shakespeare on a bad day. It was going on about golden lampstands and walls made of jasper, white horses and red dragons and seas made of glass. And do you know what I thought? I thought it sounded horrible. Scary and weird. I don’t want to go somewhere like that. I’d rather stay here with my sisters and my school lessons and my pretty clothes.

But today I feel quite excited because I get to sit up in the armchair and, if I do that, then I can use a wheelchair. It has taken a whole week even to achieve this tiny step. I feel nervous about getting out of bed. I have been here now for three long weeks since I was admitted on Boxing Day. It also means I will have to look at my body – and my stump. I still haven’t done that. I am filled with a sense of expectancy as my favourite nurse arrives with the physiotherapist.

‘Ready for the big moment?’ she jokes.

I nod and sit up. ‘You bet!’ I say enthusiastically. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here.’

‘No guesses for where you’ll be going first!’ she teases. Barry from Ward Six has been to visit me a couple of times.

The first time I saw the Ward Six boys after my operation was really difficult. The door crashed open and Peter yelled, ‘Surprise again!’ and in they all came in their wheelchair convoy. Of course, the thing they all noticed was that my splint had gone.

‘What happened, then?’ asked Peter, who is a bit vague after his head injury.

I realized with horror that they didn’t know about my amputation. I felt sick with fear at the thought of telling them. I stammered and tripped over my words. It was the first time I had needed to tell anyone myself. ‘Well, I had to … I had to …’ and stopped.

I looked in shock towards Barry, beseeching him to understand.

‘Are you okay, Mary?’ he asked, and I shook my head and felt the hot tears well up again. ‘Right you two – out!’ he ordered.

‘Tell me what they did, Mary,’ he said gently.

‘I can’t,’ I whispered. ‘It’s too awful.’

‘They took your leg, didn’t they? You have cancer, yes?’

I nodded slowly and he wheeled over and held my hand.

‘Oh kid, I’m so sorry,’ he said, and I wished everyone could be as understanding as him.

So since then he has been to visit me and I love his easy smile and his stories of falling off bikes. I guess he is just being kind.

‘Hey, Mary, come on,’ urges the nurse. ‘Stop daydreaming and start practising and then you can go and visit lover-boy!’ We laugh. I was miles away.

‘Swing your leg round in the bed so you are sitting on the edge.’ She lowers the bed for me.

‘Okay, now put your foot on the floor nice and firmly.’ She pauses and lets me get used to the feeling of planting my one and only foot on the floor for the first time. It feels weird. I keep wanting to put the other one next to it. I stretch out my leg and look at my toes and count them out loud.

‘One, two, three, four, five!’ I look at the nurse. ‘There should be ten, you know. One day there will be.’

I spend a moment looking critically at the little bulge under the hem of my night dress. ‘And there will be two feet and two knees.’

‘No, Mary, that won’t happen. Your leg has gone – you know that. You will always have five toes, one foot, one knee.’

‘No, they will grow back. Just wait and see.’

‘Mary,’ she says firmly. ‘Look at me.’

I glance at her from beneath my fringe, sulkily.

‘No, properly.’

I sigh and look at her.

‘Mary, your leg is not coming back. Not one day. Not ever.’

As I stare into her eyes my veil of deception drops and suddenly, with the force of a ten-ton truck, I am hit with the dreadful realization. I cry out in pain and I throw the pillow across the room.

‘No! no! It’s not going to happen! My leg is gone!’ I collapse in a pile on the bed and my body is racked by huge heaving sobs as my mind takes in, for the first time, the full scale of the damage.

‘Why, why?’ I cry out time and time again and we are all weeping. The nurse holds me close and rocks me like a baby. Soon her uniform is soaked with my tears.

‘Shh, there, there.’ She soothes me and strokes my hair. ‘You’ve been so strong. We were waiting for this. Have a good cry. Cry it all out.’ So I cry for what seems like hours. I cry out all the pain and fear, the frustration and the disappointment. I shout at the unfairness of it all and the destruction of my hopes and the devastation of my plans. Most of all I rage at the mutilation of my body, my beautiful strong body. I hate the Limpet for doing this. I hate it for ever.

After I am all cried away, the nurses leave and I lie on my bed in agony. I feel abandoned. ‘Please God, help me,’ I pray softly, not expecting an answer. I now know what it is to feel utter despair. I wait silently and mutter to myself, ‘Help me, help me.’

In the silence after the storm I feel a peace descend. It starts in my chest and spreads out, a warmth filling me. It is as if I am being held in a giant hand. I curl up further and whimper but I am not scared. I am back to being a baby. I feel caressed and soothed and I become aware of God being close to me. I remember the words of the Presence, ‘I will lead you through the valley of the shadow of death,’ and I try to think what came next. ‘But I will bring you through.’

I surrender to an overwhelming desire to sleep. When I awake the anger is gone and the fear is replaced with a calm knowledge that I will never be alone again. Somewhere in the darkness and despair I can still find a distant glimpse of my God.

Mr Peach arrives to see me later in the afternoon.

‘Hello, Little Lady,’ he greets me. ‘I hear you’ve had a bad time.’

‘Yes, but I feel better now.’

‘I can understand that. It’s a slow process coming to terms with this at such a young age. You’ve had to grow up very quickly.’ He smiles at me and adds: ‘You are doing very well, you know. So well that you can have a wheelchair to get around in. I want you to practise this weekend. Next week we need to begin your tests, and it would speed things up a lot if we can get you up and about.’

‘Tests?’

‘We need to check that the cancer from your bone has not got into your system. So we will do some tests to check out the rest of your body. Apart from the pain in your leg, you haven’t had any other symptoms, so that is a very good sign.’

‘So if the tests are clear, what does that mean?’

‘We will send you to another hospital for chemotherapy.’

‘And where will that be?’

‘The Christie Hospital in Manchester.’

I feel anxious again. I didn’t realize I would be away from home but I like the sound of the hospital. I imagine it as being kind and benevolent.

‘How long will it all take?’

Mr Peach looks at me cautiously and I know I do not want to hear his answer.

A long time, I’m afraid.’ I steel myself again. ‘Two years.’

‘Two years? In hospital? I can’t go through that!’

‘You will be able to have times at home.’

I consider the options. I should be starting to live my life, taking my A levels, going to university. I can’t just sit in a hospital.

‘What if I don’t have the chemotherapy?’

‘If you don’t have the chemotherapy then I’m afraid that you will not get better.’

‘You mean I will die?’ I meet his gaze again.

‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’ I am glad he is honest.

‘And if the tests aren’t clear?’

He drops his eyes and looks at his hands. ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?’

He thinks I have heard enough, but I know anyway. I will die if the tests aren’t clear. So I sigh and ask, ‘What tests do I need?’ He tells me I will have to undergo a bone scan, a full body CT scan and some X-rays, and they will start on Monday.

‘So get a good weekend’s rest, in between practising your driving!’

I am left wondering how much more I have to take. I had managed to push the thought of the cancer away while I was recovering from my surgery and now I have to face it again. I worry all day and hardly listen when my mum comes to visit and outlines the arrangements for my stay in Manchester. I look at her and notice she has lost weight and there are dark shadows under her eyes.

‘Your teachers have promised to come in and see you so you won’t fall behind with your work too badly.’ I feel depressed, thinking of so much wasted time. I want to be home with my brother and sister and my books. I want my pretty bedroom and my cuddly toys.

When Mum goes I pray again. I am confused. What am I doing wrong? Why are all these awful things happening to me? I am scared of dying. I am only seventeen. ‘How long until I die?’ I think to myself. I haven’t even begun to live my life. I am only a child. I haven’t done anything, seen anything, lived anything yet. Time, time that uncertain commodity. It is time I crave. I am so young, so young. I didn’t know seventeen-year-olds could die of cancer. Maybe it is my fault. Perhaps I have done something terribly wrong to deserve this punishment. I know God loves me. But if He loves me then why am I so ill? Maybe I got ill because of what I did with Martyn – maybe I went too far. Maybe that’s why God has taken my beauty away. My life seems so fragile and uncertain now. It is as though the dark chasm of death is always before me.

I am scared; very scared.