Another Way to Fall. Amanda Brooke
would lead.
It was Monday morning and Emma was alone, or at least as alone as she could be in a crowded ward. So confident was she of being discharged that she was already fully dressed and ready for her escape. She sat patiently on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed and her wayward foot tapping to the beat of the rain hammering against the window. Despite the miserable weather, the thought of being set free was no less enticing. She had already instructed her mum to stay at home, knowing that she would be busy enough preparing for Emma’s arrival. It was Louise who would be on call to pick her up as soon as Emma was ready, so now all she had to do was convince Mr Spelling that she was fit enough to be released. Leaving hospital and moving in with her mum may not be a complete escape from her nightmare but it was the nearest she was going to get to a semblance of normality.
Emma closed her eyes as she pondered the next phase of her life but her thoughts immediately took her to places she didn’t want to go. She didn’t have her mum’s unerring belief that there was a miracle cure out there somewhere and she wasn’t sure she should go chasing rainbows simply because her mum believed in them. Emma suspected that any experimental treatment would need to be unimaginably intensive to give her any chance of survival, involving what Mr Spelling would describe as ‘heroic measures’. She was already war weary and the question that haunted her was, did she want to let other people decide how much more treatment she should endure or did she want to take a more painful decision?
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Mr Spelling asked.
When Emma opened her eyes, her doctor was standing next to her and for once he had arrived without his entourage. ‘You know the inside of my head better than I do,’ she countered. ‘I’m surprised you need to ask.’
‘I’m good, but I’m not that good.’
‘So why are you so happy?’ Emma asked suspiciously as Mr Spelling grinned at her.
‘Because,’ he said, still smiling, ‘all the arrangements are now in place to escort you off the premises.’
‘What? You don’t want me to perform any more tricks for you?’ demanded Emma. ‘Wouldn’t you like me to walk in a straight line even? I’ve been practising,’ she said as she made a move to slip off the bed, but Mr Spelling lifted a hand to halt her.
‘No more tests today. You’re free to leave.’
‘And then you’ll breathe a huge sigh of relief.’
‘For now, at least,’ he replied with a note of regret.
Emma wrinkled her nose at him. ‘You don’t like accepting defeat, do you?’
Mr Spelling shifted uneasily. ‘We haven’t given up yet. We’ll start radiotherapy in January and take it from there. I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again: I will do my best for you, Emma, whatever that may be.’
‘Do you think it’s a waste of time trying to find a clinical trial?’ Emma felt nervous asking the question, not sure if she really wanted to know but at least without her mum by her side she stood a chance of getting an uninterrupted and open answer.
‘There’s a programme in America that looks promising but …’ Mr Spelling’s words trailed off but Emma waited for him. ‘There’s hope. There’s always hope.’
‘Is there? I can’t help thinking that it might be better to simply accept my fate. If you told me right now that there was nothing more you could do for me, no more treatment, then I swear, I think I’d actually feel relief. It’s hard clinging onto hope, knowing how bad the effects of the treatment are going to be and as you’ve been keen to point out, with no guarantees.’
Emma’s emotions were in complete flux and she couldn’t completely blame the cocktail of drugs she was taking for the mood swings. At times, she was ready to take on the world, whilst at others, she keenly felt its weight on her shoulders and could barely lift her head to the horizon. And then there were the darkest moments when all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and literally die. To make matters worse, she could switch from one mood to another without warning, but at least Mr Spelling’s calming presence gave her the confidence to dip a toe in each of her emotions and test the water.
‘It’s ultimately your choice, Emma. Whatever treatment we can offer you, there will always be choices.’
‘Quality versus quantity, by any chance?’ asked Emma.
‘Yes, I’m afraid in my business, it often comes down to that.’
‘It’s not only me I have to consider though,’ she said with a sigh of resignation. ‘I have to do what’s best for other people.’
The doctor gave Emma a stern look. ‘You have to do what’s best for you, Emma. What helps the people you love in the end is knowing that you got to do what you wanted.’
‘In that case, I want to see Paris in springtime, stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon and stroll through the Valley of the Kings,’ Emma quipped. Mr Spelling didn’t respond other than to raise an eyebrow and she held up her hands in surrender. This was not the time for smart remarks and Emma’s heart quickened as the words to her next question formed in her mind. ‘Are you really telling me I can call it a day now?’ Her tone remained light but, in Emma’s mind, a serious temptation was taking hold.
‘You have choices,’ repeated Mr Spelling sagely.
Emma was briefly lifted at the thought of bringing her treatment to an abrupt and total end, but then she let her body sag. ‘Then my choice is to make my family happy. My mum’s not ready to give up yet, so neither am I. I don’t want to be responsible for breaking her heart, not if I can help it.’
‘Then I’ll support your decision one hundred per cent,’ replied Mr Spelling with an unreadable poker face.
‘I suppose my next challenge is to build up my strength so I’m ready to take whatever you can throw at me. If memory serves, you don’t do things by half measures.’
‘And neither do you. It will be a tough fight, I won’t deny that,’ he agreed. ‘So is there anything else you need to know while we’ve got the chance?’ He had also recognized that the conversation would be quite different if Meg had been there.
‘No, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ she told him, fearful that if the debate continued about her treatment plan she might just change her mind, but Mr Spelling didn’t seem ready to leave. The smile had slipped and he had a look of sadness on his face that Emma was finding all too familiar. She felt obliged to ease his pain. ‘Can you keep a secret?’ she asked.
‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ Mr Spelling said, his eyes brightening with interest.
‘In the story I’m writing, I survive this thing.’
‘Would this be the book you want to finish?’
Emma nodded. Her book was another reason she had to fight, for time at least. She’d had many visitors over the weekend, her closest friends and family with the notable exception of Alex, and all of them had heard that she had started to write. Every single person had tried to find out more about what exactly she was writing but so far Emma had remained tight-lipped. She wasn’t prepared to share her flight of fancy, unsure if she was ready for their judgement, but Mr Spelling was different. She could trust him with her life.
‘Yes, and my biggest problem will be how to fill that life I have in front of me.’
‘So tell me, do I play my part in your story or have you discovered that doctor with the sharper knives?’
‘You give me the all clear,’ she assured him.
‘Good. I like a happy ending.’
‘Ending?’ Emma laughed. ‘Oh,